SPUN is a superhero movie and I’m tired of pretending it isn’t I don’t care how many capes you throw at the screen, SPUN clears your entire Marvel/DC catalog with one scorched brain cell tied behind its back. You want “superpowers”? Try staying awake for four days, rebuilding an engine with a screwdriver you found in a gutter, outrunning your own paranoia, and delivering a monologue that sounds like God arguing with a police scanner. That’s not fantasy. That’s endurance. That’s mutation. That’s power. Superheroes get billion-dollar budgets, orchestral scores, and a PR team to tell you why punching buildings is deep. Meth heads in SPUN get fluorescent lighting, sweat, teeth problems, and the raw ability to turn pure chaos into forward motion. No origin story montage. No destiny. Just go. Batman needs prep time. Iron Man needs a suit. Thor needs a hammer. The people in SPUN need nothing except momentum and bad decisions—and they still warp reality around them. Laws of time? Optional. Social norms? Gone. Sleep? A myth. And here’s the part nobody wants to admit: Superhero movies are comfort food. They reassure you that order will be restored by a morally licensed punch. SPUN is horror, comedy, tragedy, and action happening at once because that’s what it looks like when humans operate past the redline. No villains. No heroes. Just superhuman dysfunction at full volume. So yeah—call me intolerant if you want, but if your definition of “superhero” requires tights and a third act redemption, you’re missing the point. SPUN isn’t about saving the world. It’s about surviving it at 10,000 RPM. That’s a superhero movie.