UNPOPULAR OPINION: In Superman (1978), Jor-El didn’t predict Krypton’s destruction – he caused it.
So we watched the new Superman last week. I know some people are upset about the “unflattering” portrayal of Jor-El but, it’s been 47 years since Brando loftily lorded over the crystalline courtroom in Superman ‘78 and I really need to get this long-held theory off my chest.
WHY is Brando’s Jor-El held in such high esteem when he literally blows up his own planet out of arrogance and recklessness?
Now, before you start angry-typing in the replies: bear with me. I have evidence.
For context: I love Superman. Christopher Reeve was *my* Superman – earnest, sincere – just perfect. The new guy’s damn good too. But for years, I’ve harboured a dark secret. I loved talking about the comics vs the movies (and later, how Lois & Clark and Smallville shifted the landscape). We had deep discussions about John Byrne’s Gen X Era revamp and what it meant for Kal-El’s origins. But through all of it, I kept thinking: Jor-El is both a terrible person and a terrible scientist. And I couldn’t understand why no one else seemed to see it.
So I rewatched the extended cut of Superman ‘78 with Pop while he patiently tolerated my long-suppressed rant about the fall of Krypton. I think I even got him to come around a little. And now, with a touch of fragile overconfidence, I’m setting this pet theory free to be savaged by a wider audience.
(Disclaimer: this is specifically about the events and quotes from Superman (1978). Don’t come at me with contradictions from ’87, 2006, 2013 or any other date/parallel universe, otherwise I’ll start throwing Red and Blue Superman out there and it’ll get really messy)
Evidence for the Prosecution:
The first glimpse of Krypton makes it clear it’s a fragile ecosystem. The red sun has faded, the planet is frozen, and the population lives in artificial biomes. Krypton is a dead world kept breathing by advanced technology: geological stabilisers, crystalline computers, climate control. It only exists at all because of its machinery.
Then we meet Jor-El: top scientist, legal authority, and all-round Very Important Man.
He’s sentencing criminals to the Phantom Zone one minute then pivoting straight into a dire climate warning the next. He tells the ruling council Krypton is going to explode. Not collapse, not shake itself apart. Explode. Within 30 days.
The council listens politely while Krypton’s other leading scientist, Vond-Ah, explains that the planet is merely shifting orbit. Jor-El insists he’s right. The council look at each other awkwardly (the same look we all get when *that* friend comes for the barbecue and starts ranting about chemtrails in front of the kids). They tell Jor-El to cool his disco knickers and stop terrifying the space interns, while they go back to wisely consulting their glowing ice cubes (I see you, Miss Tessmacher).
But then something weird happens. Less than an hour later — that same evening — Krypton explodes. Coincidentally, just as Jor-El launches Kal-El’s pod.
Here’s what we know:
Krypton relies on a limited power supply.
The military monitors individual usage.
When Jor-El begins his launch, the council is immediately notified of a massive power drain — so significant it’s elevated straight to the highest level of government.
Imagine having to inform the UN because Steve in Ohio is building a deck with too many power tools. That’s the level of scarcity we’re talking about.
And the launch itself?
A giant, spiked, inefficient chunk of glowing crystal. Jor-El launches it from within the planet’s crust using enough force to break orbit. That would take a colossal amount of energy that the planet desperately needs to keep itself together.
Whether you believe the planet was stable or on the brink of collapse, it doesn’t matter. Either way, Jor-El’s massive energy grab was catastrophic. He knew the risks. He knew the grid was fragile. And he drained it anyway to power his escape plan for one child. It’s negligent, not noble.
And, given the evidence, there’s two possibilities:
Best-case scenario: Jor-El’s just not very clever. He thinks he’s the only one who can see the truth, despite every other scientist disagreeing. He gives the planet a 30-day countdown… and is wrong by 30 days. He doesn’t stop, re-evaluate or even listen to anyone else, he just goes off with his son-launching project and dooms the planet. This isn’t exactly gold-standard, peer-reviewed science as much as full on delusion and a god complex.
Worst-case scenario: He’s not stupid and he’s correct – the planet will explode. He gives us a correct timeline but decides that saving his legacy is more important than giving Krypton even one more month to act. A planet of billions of technologically advanced people who, with a whole extra month, could have re-investigated or re-evaluated and could have shored things up enough to save as many people as possible. But no, Jor-El has a baby to launch. He’s like Ozymandias deciding who gets to live and who gets to burn.
And either way, when Krypton finally shatters into oddly scaled sparks of disco dust, Kal-El is already on his way to Earth, forced to listen to three years of pre-recorded messages from his dad explaining how brilliant he was.
Jor-El is less a misunderstood prophet and more a poster child for the Dunning-Kruger effect: self-important, overconfident and *just* competent enough to destroy everyone around him while thinking he’s the hero.
Which, from his perspective, is really is the beauty of it because he doesn’t leave anyone behind who could prove him wrong.
He gets the blame off his robes, dies smugly, and launches his son like a glowing middle finger into the stars while the rest of his world cracks apart like an egg full of regret.
So, for me, Jor-El isn’t Krypton’s last great hope. He’s no Buckaroo Banzai – he’s Lex Luthor with a(n even bigger) Messiah complex and way too much access to the power grid.
And there it is – I got it off my chest so… come at me if you want. But, like Jor-El himself, I’m walking away smugly before anyone can tell me I’m wrong. – Mom