Harder

For as long as I’ve been a journalist, which is a really long time, public entities have hated public records requests, even while claiming they don’t.

Ask your typical elected or hired official, from the governor to the animal control folks, and they’ll tell you transparency is vital and sunshine in government a key value.

Then turn in the most benign of public records requests — access to a calendar, for example — and prepare for weeks of delays and excuses. Want emails or financial records or, heaven forbid, anything from the police? Months or even years may pass before a single page is delivered, no joke.

That’s why I am deeply concerned about a bill winding its way through the California Legislature that would definitely slow down public records requests and likely make them more difficult and expensive. At its worst, it could push people into costly court battles just for having the audacity to ask for information.

The legislation, Assembly Bill 1821, is authored by Democratic Assemblymember Blanca Pacheco, whose district includes Norwalk, Downey and Bell, where legendary scandals are Example 1 of why public records matter.

Pacheco’s office told me Wednesday that the troubles with the bill are far from what Pacheco set out to do.

“It was never the author’s intention to take away people’s rights to a [Public Records Act] request,” said her chief of staff, Nikki Johnson.

Johnson said the bill was meant to curtail malicious records requests, which do happen, where a citizen goes after copious amounts of records just to be a jerk and cost the government time and money.

It was also meant to address the growing problem of artificial intelligence and other for-profit businesses requesting thousands of records with the intent of using the information to create money-making products — think of sites that already sell publicly available personal information as “background checks.”

I believe Johnson on the good intentions of the bill in addressing those real if nebulous difficulties, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

The bill passed through the Assembly recently with ease, largely because most of its problematic portions (I’ll get to those in a minute) were removed — though not all. Even in a watered-down form, which basically gave government more time to answer requests, I found myself in the unlikely position of agreeing with conservative Republican Assemblymember and Trump supporter Carl DeMaio of San Diego, who offered some of the only opposition from elected leaders during the Assembly vote.

“We cannot police the public’s right to know, and we want to err on the side of transparency in how government agencies operate,” DeMaio said.

Amen, brother.

But the Democratic-controlled Assembly erred on the side of secrecy and slowdown instead, and the measure sailed to the Senate, where seemingly out of the blue, a bunch of new provisions were added that fill it with loopholes, vague language and tons of room for abuse.

David Snyder, executive director of the First Amendment Coalition, said the bill as written now was “comprehensively bad for transparency and therefore for government accountability.”

Sean McMorris, transparency, ethics and accountability program manager for the advocacy organization California Common Cause, put it even more forcefully. He pointed out that “public records are the public’s records.”

“They’re not owned by the government,” he said. But this bill would shift that paradigm and make the public “prove why you need them.”

“It’s going to chill people who want to make requests, and it’s going to complicate the process, and it’s just wrong,” McMorris said.

In its new form, the bill basically allows government entities to decide if they feel a public records request is malicious or for commercial gain. If they do, they can petition a court to intervene — potentially sparking both legal costs and new fees associated with fulfilling the request.

It would also, Snyder said, force a requester to explain why they wanted the records — something California law has repeatedly avoided because it gives power to government to treat those it perceives as enemies differently.

In this age of fairness and reason, it’s hard to imagine a government official misusing power to keep secrets, but I’m told it happens. That makes it all the more crucial that people not be forced to explain why they want information, or if they will use it to, say, expose corruption — be it wrongdoing by a single individual or the entire system.

Faced with unintended consequences, Assemblymember Blanca Pacheco (D-Downey), shown in 2023, will seek to scale back the bill to its original form, according to her chief of staff.

(Rich Polk / Getty Images for Equality California)

“I have little doubt that some agencies will use that provision to overburden requesters that they view as political opponents, requesters that they view as just a hassle, requesters that ask for things the government doesn’t want to disclose,” Snyder said. “They can bring the requester into court, and at a minimum, slow down the process, and probably more likely get the requester to simply withdraw.”

As written, the bill also gives a shoddy carve-out meant to protect journalists, but which in reality could be used to curtail requests from freelancers, student journalists and more.

McMorris said access to public records is a “moral issue,” and fixing any problems with the current law requires “a scalpel, not a meat ax.”

This bill, he warned, is a meat ax.

“I don’t discount that there are abusive requests, and that there are requests that really are a burden on government agencies, but the law right now has ways for government agencies to address that,” he pointed out. “Once these laws go into place, they’re going to be hard to roll back.”

It could “fundamentally change” our access to public records, he said.

Johnson, Pacheco’s chief of staff, told me that faced with all these unintended consequences, the Assembly member is going to ask for the amendments to be removed, and for the bill to progress as it was written when it passed the Assembly. That could happen as early as next week, when the bill with the new provisions is scheduled to come up again in a Senate committee for debate.

Reverting to the bill the Assembly voted on would be better, but slowing down public records is in government’s best interests, not the people’s. The bill does nothing to address the problems it seeks to fix, but stretches out the time officials have to simply tell a requester if any records do exist — never mind delivering them.

So even back to its watered-down form, the bill remains a meat ax for a scalpel problem, chopping up transparency with good intentions.

Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) can swill an entire sorority’s supply of booze. As a Kryptonian, her hangovers are instantly cured by a yellow sun. And so director Craig Gillespie’s “Supergirl” follows a trail of empty beer bottles to find Superman’s lonely younger cousin marking her birthday on a solo interstellar bender, pounding shots alongside her dog, Krypto.

Unlike sweet-natured Kal-El (David Corenswet), a.k.a. Clark Kent, who escaped Krypton as a baby, this traumatized 20-something bore witness to their home planet’s long and painful extinction. Playing grief like the sandblasted absence of emotion, Alcock’s Supergirl isn’t in the mood for Metropolis do-gooding. She prefers slumming it at extraterrestrial honky-tonks with suitors who look like armadillo-plated slugs. She’s most visibly depressed when she tries to convince herself she’s having fun.

Who doesn’t want to go on a “Star Wars” cantina crawl? The opening stretch of “Supergirl” is great — Alcock even passes out on a toilet with aplomb. Briefly we hope that Gillespie and screenwriter Ana Nogueira are shaking up the superhero format like a bottle of gas-station champagne. I’d love to see Alcock’s heroine in a grotty, silly “Animal House”-style comedy, out-drinking a galaxy of alien squids. But the limits of Hollywood’s imagination squeeze Supergirl to stop partying and start doing some regular old rescuing. Sigh. Someone’s gotta save franchise movies from themselves.

As usual, there’s a tyke in trouble: 13-year-old Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a fellow orphan with a ramrod disposition and a tidy brunet braid that gives away that her character is modeled on Hailee Steinfeld’s vengeful teenager in “True Grit.” Ruthye wants to hunt and kill the creep who murdered her family. Unlike Supergirl, the child thinks it’s healthier to exorcise — not imbibe — one’s heartache. The duo visit an Epstein-island-like planet of kidnapped breeding women where, in one of the script’s subtler sick horrors, the locals imply that pubescent Ruthye is more valuable than aged 23-year-old Supergirl. (Although some of the caged extras appear to be as ancient as 30.) It’s yet another swiped idea, this one from “Mad Max: Fury Road,” for a minor story beat that’s unnecessary. Still, Alcock reacts with exactly the right note of disdain: “Cool,” she croaks. ‘Nuff said.

They’ve come to this cesspool to find the villainous Krem, an unrecognizably vile Matthias Schoenaerts with a mug that’s been pierced all over like he face-planted into a pile of thumbtacks. His biker-scumbag-times-infinity prosthetic design is fantastic, but what makes it genius is that the makeup team allowed a couple of metal studs to fall off Krem’s forehead before his first close-up. You know, for that lived-in barbarian sex trafficker look.

As Ruthye, Ridley’s crisp British elocution is the cleanest thing in the movie, which is shot by Rob Hardy in shades of mustard smog and latrine brown. Neither Supergirl as a babysitter nor Gillespie as a storyteller let the kid carry her share of the action, but I suspect Ridley has the talent for it. She seizes her small opportunities to impress in the film’s second half. Spitting on a baddie, her righteous loogie stings like a moral disinfectant.

Meanwhile, Jason Momoa swaggers into the fray from the cover of an ’80s hard-rock album with Kiss’ makeup, Manowar’s muscles and Meatloaf’s motorcycle. His character, a blue-skinned bounty hunter, only tangentially slots into the plot. Really, Momoa’s massive presence is here to prove that James Gunn was serious when he announced he was hard-resetting DC Comics’ film canon up to 2023’s “Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom.” Momoa as Aquaman is dead. Long live Momoa as Whoever This Guy Is.

Gillespie likes to champion difficult women, from Tonya Harding in “I, Tonya” to the Dalmatian-skinning Disney villain of “Cruella.” Yet as his budgets have mounted, so has the pressure to make his problematic ladies popular with a mass audience. “Supergirl” feels anxious to entertain. The jokes all have the same sense of snarky humor, no matter what species is cracking them. One scene even has a comic slow clap that, in my theater, didn’t get a reaction. The camera and cutting pace refuse to relax. Major set-piece action shots are impossible to follow. You can’t squint past the distracting lens flares.

Alcock’s wildling Supergirl is the one reason to see the film. As in her too-brief role on the “Game of Thrones” prequel “House of the Dragon” and her rollicking cameo at the end of 2025’s “Superman,” the Australian actor is a striking combination of grounded conviction and otherworldly essence, the ideal one-two for a character who plays anti-gravity fetch with her dog. Floating weightless in the stars, her hair unbrushed and bathrobe-like jacket shrugged on, she makes the impossible look casual. (Supergirl’s iconic red-and-blue minidress is so not her style.)

Alas, Krypto the pup is sidelined early on with a whimper, both from him and us. Maybe he’ll get more screen time when the digital animators figure out how to make him look more realistic. (Between the mutt’s anime eyes and that gawky-phony deer in “Disclosure Day,” are CGI creatures getting worse?)

Grief tethers Supergirl to Ruthye, even though they disagree on how to handle it, and it also seems to repel her from Corenswet’s dopey, innocent Clark Kent. There’s rich irony in the personality contrast between the cousins. Her Kryptonian parents raised her to help humanity; his parents intended their son to rule it. But due to twists of fate, she’s the miserable, maladjusted one. The movie has no time to mine the psychology underneath their clash, let alone summon a sniffle for the other pitiful characters who die during this escapade. Perhaps it’s holding that tension back for a sequel, but I’d rather invest in the characters now.

A flashback to Supergirl’s first touchdown on Earth has the awkwardness of a study-abroad student realizing she doesn’t like her host country at all. Despite our planet seeming to have enforced its monoculture on outer space — an extraterrestrial dive bar band even does “The Girl From Ipanema” — Supergirl appreciates little of it besides some product-placement dog treats and, in a forced touch, the pop music on her headphones as well as crammed into the soundtrack next to Claudia Sarne’s gravelly score. I’ll accept this degenerate Supergirl sporting a retro Blondie shirt, but not her willingly choosing to listen to mopey contemporary Earth jams like Rilo Kiley and a twee cover of Jimmy Eat World over, say, Kryptonian death metal.

Still, the production design has imaginatively askew takes on the mundane: gridded jail cells, plodding space buses, clumsy oxygen suits that shimmy on with a satisfying squeak. When Supergirl makes a pit stop at a celestial convenience store, she samples a snack that I’m forced to call poop-corn. If “Supergirl” sells enough of it, hopefully Alcock can rampage again in a more confident sequel that truly cuts loose.