James Gunn’s Peacemaker just wrapped up its second season, and with it, one of the strangest and most ambitious swings in superhero television. The finale leaves the titular anti–hero stranded in another dimension, sets up the upcoming not–a–Superman–sequel film Man of Tomorrow, and quietly introduces some major concepts for the DCU’s future. What it doesn’t do, however, is end its own story.
Since Guardians of the Galaxy, Gunn has been walking the knife’s edge between narrative closure and corporate architecture, a struggle for all modern comic book media. The DC Extended Universe’s Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice crumpled under the weight of its world–building, sacrificing emotional coherence to set up a larger franchise. Sony’s Madame Web and Morbius, meanwhile, decided to treat their mythology as marketing material rather than fodder for storytelling. Television has generally been a bit safer from this—for better or for worse—but there are some exceptions. WandaVision’s raw exploration of grief was ignored and destroyed in the subsequent film Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, written by writers who reportedly didn’t even watch the show. On the other hand, Loki wrapped up loose ends from Avengers: Endgame into a genuine redemption for the titular fan–favorite.
It’s been clear from the start that Gunn is striving to build an interconnected universe and tell stories in new and creative ways. But without some serious course corrections, the newly–formed DCU risks suffocating under the same expectations it’s trying to escape.
When Peacemaker premiered in 2022, it was lightning in a bottle—an R–rated, deeply strange, and surprisingly heartfelt character study about the audience’s least–favorite character from The Suicide Squad. Chris Smith, aka Peacemaker (John Cena), seemed to be nothing more than a washed–up killer, and Gunn turned that assumption on its head. Peacemaker’s first season is a case study of how nationalism and white supremacy don’t just hurt the “other,” but also those who grow up believing it.
Smith is forced to reckon with the sins of his father, the White Dragon (Robert Patrick)—a literal white supremacist supervillain. It’s a struggle made more complicated by his burgeoning friendship with Leota Adebayo (Danielle Brooks), the daughter of Amanda Waller (Viola Davis). The relationship between Peacemaker and Leota is the “true love story” of the first season—thought to be clear, it’s all platonic. Both are forced to grapple with the unreasonable expectations of their parents and reflect deeply on their beliefs to succeed in becoming better people.
Although there’s some backsliding, the work done in Season 1 isn’t forgotten in Season 2. The show's second season shows how grief and depression can isolate men like Smith, dragging them towards nihilism and fantasy. At the end of Season 2, Episode 5, Smith escapes from his world into a so–called “perfect” dimension, leaving behind a letter to Leota that reads heartbreakingly close to a suicide note. But escapism never works—that’s made all too clear when the other characters follow him into the universe and realize they’re in a world where the Nazis won World War II.
What makes Gunn’s writing stand out from other comic book media is that his “Nazi world” isn’t just a gimmick or cameo slop—it’s a dark reflection of our reality. Smith’s privilege keeps him unaware of the world’s dark truths, but it’s unavoidable for Adebayo and the antagonist–turned–ally Judomaster (Nhut Le). The two queer POC characters share a conversation that doesn’t even attempt subtlety: “The sad part is, I'm not so sure this Nazi world is as different from our own world as we wish it was,” Adebayo says. Combined with a confrontation with the alternate version of Rick Flag Jr. (Joel Kinnamen), the Task Force X leader that Smith betrayed and murdered in The Suicide Squad, the second season feels more like a character reckoning than superhero homework. That is, until the finale.
The Season 2 finale doesn’t feel like a conclusion so much as an orientation session for the new DCU. Smith is kidnapped by Rick Flag Sr. (Frank Grillo), the A.R.G.U.S. leader seen in Creature Commandos and Superman, and exiled to another dimension, the newly christened “Salvation.” Meanwhile, Adebayo and the rest of the 11th Street Kids—including ex–A.R.G.U.S. agents Emilia Harcourt (Jennifer Holland) and John Economos (Steve Agee), as well as Peacemaker’s psychotic bestie Adrian Chase aka Vigilante (Freddie Stroma)—form Checkmate, an intelligence organization inspired by their growing disillusionment with A.R.G.U.S. authority. There’s also plenty of screentime for Lex Luthor’s employees and a dozen other still–dangling plot threads.
It’s not that the episode is completely devoid of emotion—it's just that the pacing and focus are off. Gone are the sprawling hangout scenes and introspective moments that made Season 1 feel anti–superheroic. With a limited run of episodes, most of which came in under 40 minutes, Season 2 feels like it’s rushing towards the DCU instead of sitting with its own characters. That's exactly what tanked the MCU’s middle phase—an obsession with interconnection over character development. I love that the DCU is exploring different genres and different ratings for their stories and that it appeals to all interests and ages. And frankly, I don’t really believe that “too much homework” is a bad thing—if you’re a fan, you should watch the shows! But even though Flag Sr.’s anti–metahuman crusade echoes Superman’s themes of xenophobia and power, that overarching plotline serves less as an emotional payoff and more as groundwork for upcoming projects. The cameos and connective tissue aren’t the problem—it’s that the story is becoming secondary to them. It’s as if Gunn’s filmmaker brain—obsessed with underdogs and found families—has been forced to make space for his studio executive brain—the one tasked with designing a new cinematic universe from scratch.
Right now, the DCU consists of three projects: Creature Commandos, Superman, and Peacemaker Season 2. All of them are written and/or directed by Gunn. And, unfortunately, it’s starting to show. There’s passion running through all of them, but also fatigue—the inevitable kind that comes when one man tries to do the emotional labor of an entire studio system. Gunn’s magic as a storyteller has always come from the constraints placed upon him, his insistence on creating projects that stick it to the man. But now, he is the man. The DCU’s next challenge isn’t tone or branding—it’s whether Gunn can find collaborators willing to tell him “no,” rather than studio executives like co–CEO Peter Safran nudging him to weave in even more connections to a larger universe.
With Lanterns, Clayface, and Supergirl coming up in 2026, the DCU must prove it can stand without Gunn as writer–director and fully embrace the creative opportunities available. Seasoned veterans like Mike Flanagan, Chris Mundy, and Craig Gillespie lead these projects, making me hopeful that fans will be getting strong, exciting projects. But to keep the DCU from collapsing under the gravity of his own ambition, Gunn has to find a way to balance his role as filmmaker, studio executive, and architect of a flourishing new cinematic universe—a universe that focuses on the man under the helmet, quietly trying to be better.
