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One Part Steel, Two Parts Cheese., 11 July 2006

Author: dunmore_ego from Los Angeles, California

*** This comment may contain spoilers ***

This movie did for Superman what *King of Kings* did for Jesus - burned an iconic image of a fictional god into the world consciousness.

And the Word was made Flesh. And the Flesh was Christopher Reeve. So unknown at the time of his casting that he might as well have been from Krypton, Reeve became the Face of Superman for the fortuitous fact that *Superman* was arguably the world's first "serious" superhero movie.

Read "serious" as "money," with a cast that corroborates this: Marlon Brando, Gene Hackman, Glenn Ford, Jackie Cooper, Ned Beatty, Susannah York; with a script initially penned by Mario Puzo, and Omen-hot director, Richard Donner, this movie began a trend which continues to this day – A-Listers unashamedly appearing in what would have been beneath the likes of the Gregory Pecks or the John Waynes in their heyday. And through its success, *Superman* was single-handedly responsible for turning superhero movies into the economic cog they are today.

Leaving no stone of the mythos unturned, the movie follows Superman from his origins on his home world of Krypton (sent to Earth by father Jor-El before the planet exploded), to his teenage years in Smallville, to his first days in Metropolis and his flirtations with reporter, Lois Lane.

Look up "trailer trash" in the dictionary, there's a picture of Margot Kidder. Bringing a much-needed harlotry to what had become a prissy figure, throaty Kidder does Lois Lane like two beers and cab fare will make her anyone's for the night. Superman didn't have to fly her around Metropolis to cultivate her pink panties; he had her at "Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."

When it's good, *Superman* is super. When it's bad, it is cheesier than a German cheese festival.

The Daily Planet scenes "pop" with snappy dialog and cheeky nods to the legend; whilst Brando waxes solemn as a heart attack, Hackman waxes about as solemn as Groucho Marx; somehow melding his *Superman Theme* with every motif that had come before, John Williams forges a soundtrack of steel that will survive through generations; and without the bad boy of CGI, Donner and his visual effects mavens make us believe a man can fly…

…On the other hand, there's Lois Lane's mile-high poetry-slamming; Superman's boy scout dialog; Brando fancily pronouncing "Krypton" like it would kill him to make an "o" sound; and those anachronistic tights and cape – with external underpants - which we still take seriously enough for this movie to gross 300 million dollars.

Chris Reeve was no Olivier, but The Man of Wood epithets aimed at him were not entirely fair, as audiences mistook the simplistic character he plays with his acting ability. As with any protagonist so pure, Superman became the least interesting persona on screen. It was enough that Reeve, at 6'4" with baby-blues and pecs like banquet trays, embody the physical icon; no one cared for developing Kal-El's notions of "truth" and "justice" beyond the boy-adventure tousles Superman involved himself in.

In the movies at least, Superman never tackles corruption higher than street level. Yet when his adopted father (Glenn Ford) tells him that he is "here for a reason – and it's not to score touchdowns," we've got to assume that with such unfathomable powers, that reason should be more compelling than just hindering the lowest rung of the crime ladder, whose crimes are merely manifestations of an infinitely larger social disorder.

Saving lives is another conundrum that Superman tackles unthinkingly: rescuing Lois from falling to her death is commendable, but while he rescues Fluffy the cat, one thousand kids drop dead in Africa for want of a river being diverted to feed their crops.

When Siegel and Shuster unleashed their tale of a being sent to Earth from the heavens who takes the sins of the world on his shoulders, it is doubtful they intentionally forged so many parallels between Superman and Christ. But over the decades, as Superman's chest got bigger and his panties got smaller, innumerable writers, editors, cartoonists and film-makers added elements from humanity's vast pool of mythology, with *Superman* finally sealing the similarities between the Son of Krypton and the Son of God.

Clark Kent is raised by a single, surrogate mother; his father is spiritual (Jor-El, who omnisciently speaks from beyond the grave through Kryptonian crystals); the three stages of Superman's life mirror Christ's – birth, teen angst, and thirty-something; Superman's full-fledged, formidable powers suffice for the miracles of Jesus, and like Jesus, Superman brings a message of peace - which may seem ironic coming from someone omnipotent who can kill you quicker than thought. (Even if Jesus cannot kill you personally, rest assured, one of his obsessive followers will.) That is the great paradox of "respect" – we are more apt to take advice on pacifism from someone who has the power to kill us if we don't.

Like Jesus, Superman is far advanced in knowledge and power; like Jesus, he won't shut up about his home in the sky; and like Jesus, his girlfriend is a whore.

"Now wouldn't that beat all get-out?"

(Read this unabridged review at: www.poffysmoviemania.com/Superman.html)

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