Things have been rough for DC Studios lately. 

“Supergirl” tanked a few months ago. Last year’s “Superman” was a modest hit, albeit an enjoyable one, but it didn’t attract the sky-high interest that a tentpole should. I suspect a lot of people still don’t know who David Corenswet is.

So it’s no wonder with its fun new “Clayface” that the now-Skydance-owned division is spiritually looking back to its last movie to gross more than $1 billion — “Joker.” 

The acclaimed 2019 Joaquin Phoenix film chose “Taxi Driver” as its inspiration instead of rigidly sticking to tired comic-book mythology. The movie didn’t connect to any confusing “universe.” And its genre was psychological thriller instead of action. 

“Clayface” won’t be taking in $1 billion or getting a Best Picture nod. The Joker is one of the best foes of all time; Clayface was ranked No. 73 on IGN’s list of comic book villains. I thought he was a skincare mask.

But this delightfully disgusting flick also walks its own sick path. It’s assuredly horror — the genre audiences crave the most right now. Specifically this is body horror, similar to “The Substance” with Demi Moore or an organs-galore David Cronenberg film. It’s gross. In a fun way! 

That means we witness, in gnarly closeups, Matt Hagen’s pretty face gruesomely sliced open, some exposed bone here and there, long needles inserted near the eye sockets, buckets of blood and a lot of other stomach-churning sights. Don’t bring the kids, unless your kid is the type you wouldn’t trust around a chipmunk.

Director James Watkins’ swift and grotesque movie combines a few Clayface origin stories, but it hews closest to that of Basil Karlo, an envious B-list actor who goes on a murderous rampage. 

The filmmakers pair that glam Hollywood trade with the less-cheesy name of another variation, Matt Hagen, and lean into showbiz’s unquenchable thirst for youth and beauty. “Clay Becomes Him.” 

Raised in the skids of Gotham, Matt (Tom Rhys Harries) is an actor who’s new on the scene and has just received his first Oscar nomination. The same day the egomaniac hears his name called out, the overconfident and reckless star hops into bed with the girlfriend of a powerful mobster.

“I know you — you’re famous,” she says at the club.

Matt flirts back: “I just have one of those faces.”

Not for long!

He wakes up after his one-night stand to her boyfriend’s thugs carving him up like a pumpkin.

Horrifically disfigured, Matt gets fired from a major movie and dropped by his agent. A #MeToo-style smear campaign is waged against him and he loses his court case because the mafia controls the Gotham PD.

Hiding out in a dingy apartment — the audience shrieked when a cockroach crawled across his head — he spots an interview with Dr. Caitlyn Corr (Naomi Ackie) about an experimental nanotechnology that can repair damaged tissue. It’s meant for degenerative diseases, but he’s an actor — aka a flagrant narcissist who couldn’t care less about other people’s needs.

Ackie, who played Whitney Houston in that awful biopic, is intriguing and real as the complicated doc. Drained of enthusiasm and looking like she just stepped off a red eye, Caitlyn insists it would be ethically wrong to perform trials on Matt. The tech is not FDA approved. But, far from perfect, she wants to flip the bird at the cosmetics company that stole her research.  

And so the doc injects the actor with pink goo — always a good start — and he’s soon back to being shiny and handsome on the red carpet. That is, until his face begins to droop like stretched pizza dough. 

While that sounds like any number of comic-book set-ups, say “Spider-Man” or “Deadpool,” the mood and motive here are vastly different. Matt is a desperate and attention-starved man. Ravenous, he needs fame and its addictive trappings back pronto. And, once the doc treats him and discovers he can shape-shift into other people, Matt doesn’t use his powers to save any puppies or Girl Scouts. It’s killin’ time.

He goes after his enemies one by one like Arya Stark. 

And he keeps changing his appearance like, um, Arya Stark.

Yet no visage is creepier than Matt’s.

That’s where Welsh actor Harries’ abnormality comes in. I hope he won’t mind me saying that he visually walks a fine line between a GQ model and a serial killer. On the big screen, he’s a new face, pardon the expression, so you feel uneasy and eventually queasy watching him. He’s A+ casting.  

He uses that mighty mug in an electric climactic bloodbath, when Matt goes to a nightclub to off those who wronged him while morphing into countless partiers to lead the mob off the scent. Every so often he’ll turn back into himself in the middle of the crowded dance floor to shake everybody up like a game of “Where’s Freak-o?”. 

When Clayface completely takes over Matt then, Harries smiles a menacing and psychotic grin — a lot like our old friend the Joker.