Getting right to it, here are the reasons why I’m skeptical of the Watchmen movie, laid out conveniently in a point by point format.

1. Director Zack Snyder has not proven himself.

Snyder’s adaptation of Frank Miller’s 300 is the item on his résumé that has inspired the confidence of Watchmen fans. However, 300 has less in common with Watchmen than it does with the Dawn of the Dead retread, which Snyder was also responsible for. 300 as a comic lends itself very well to a feature film adaptation. Its main story beats fall easily into the standard three act screenwriting structure, and the narrative is lean and straightforward. Even the artwork is drawn in vast “widescreen” panels, mimicking the aspect ratio of a theatrical feature. In short, Zack Snyder had it easy with 300, and Watchmen will, with absolute certainty, pose a much more difficult (perhaps impossible) challenge for him. If he has showcased a talent in his previous films, it’s choosing projects wisely. This may be his first time biting off more than he can comfortably chew, which brings me to the next point:

2. Watchmen is counterintuitive to cinematic adaptation.

The story is told across 12 chapters, each of which serves as a neatly contained “act.” Furthermore, each panel is packed with information—sometimes narrative, sometimes visual, and often iconographic. There is a moment late in the book when the character Dr. Manhattan makes an observation about his unique perception of time. Without divulging too much, his remark can just as well be taken as an argument for why Watchmen succeeds so well as a comic book, and why it would not work nearly as well if transferred to a medium that lacks the features that are unique to comics. Pointedly, the multiple levels of significance contained in Dr. Manhattan’s comment are just a few of the many details that will not translate to film. Other examples include the text vignettes at the end of each issue, plus the Tales of the Black Freighter (the “comic within the comic” read by a young boy, which provides both metaphorical commentary on the story and subtle information that is crucial to interpreting the ending).

It can be argued that much of the material can be stripped away without sacrificing the basic details of the story, but it is this very material that helps to make Watchmen such a rich and multifaceted experience, as opposed to merely a good story about superheroes.

3. Not all that is good must be adapted.

Baldly put, the popular mode of thinking seems to be that the logical next step for all popular things is to be adapted into a film—that if something is great in its native format, then it would be even better as a movie. This simultaneously grants undue legitimacy to the film medium and shits on the legitimacy of other media, comics in this case. There is no reason to immediately conclude that a consummate self-contained comic such as Watchmen should be made into a film as a matter of course. There’ll definitely be lots of money and Hollywood razzle dazzle involved, but as far as what film has to add to Watchmen, I strongly doubt it’s very much. It will add motion to something that is designed to be motionless, and substitute Dave Gibbon’s fine hand drawings with flesh-and-blood stand-ins. On the other hand, what film would subtract from Watchmen would be detrimental to its appeal. The comic is more than just a story—it’s a rich experience, and simply translating the story to the screen, even with painstaking faithfulness, would leave it incomplete.

If you insist that a comic’s greatest aspiration is to serve as the storyboard for the eventual motion picture adaptation, then you’re placing comics below a glass ceiling. Until people are ready to treat the medium purely on its own terms and not as the R&D division of another medium, they will be holding it back in a state of arrested development. There’s a reason why there is an abundance of forgettable low-quality fare on the shelves, but only a handful of “respectable” titles like Watchmen.

I have discussed this at length with other comic book fans in recent times, and I’ve been accused more than once of wanting to cling to Watchmen as something that only I and other niche readers should be privy to. This is absolutely not the case. I want nothing more than for everyone to experience the richness and quality of Watchmen, but I don’t believe they can do that by watching a misguided, watered-down imitation of it.

Postscript

While writing this entry, it has come to my attention that the Watchmen production is in jeopardy as a result of legal action being taken against Warner Bros. by 20th Century Fox. My thoughts: if you’re excited about this movie, don’t get too upset. WB is spending $120 million on this film, and I doubt they’re going to eat the cost just because Fox saw a golden opportunity and jumped on it. If WB has to give up a cut of the profits, split the merchandising rights, and rent a battalion of hookers to service every top level executive at Fox, they’ll do it. Remember the legal troubles faced by the recent big screen version of Dukes of Hazzard? (Me either, but I’m assured that it was a similar situation.)

Worst case scenario: Watchmen stays on the shelf for a while until WB can get Fox out of its hair, and things proceed normally from that point. John Q. Moviegoer still gets his watered down version of Watchmen. Guys like me still hide in our damp, dark caves, clinging to our dog-eared copies of the trade paperback while scratching our matted hair and muttering “my preciousss” with bitter paranoia. The universe continues to unfold as it will.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

First off, my apologies for the long delay. I originally planned on having this out a week after The Dark Knight opened, but what was originally intended to be a brief post quickly grew too big for its britches. After several attempts to edit it down and shorten it to a reasonable length, I decided to just cut it in half. This is part one of a two-part post concerning Watchmen, a celebrated graphic novel with a film adaptation on the horizon.

Secondly, it doesn’t escape my notice that many of my recent entries have featured movies based on comic books, and this one is yet another. I’ll try to change things up a bit, at least for the next couple of weeks, which means I’ll be putting off the final two reviews in my Superman series until another time. (There is some symmetry with reality here—the last two films themselves came out after a prolonged hiatus for the franchise.) If you, reader, are getting as sick of talking about comic book movies as I am, you’ll soon be in luck… just not today.

Before I go on: I realize that, on average, people aren’t familiar with Watchmen the way they are with Superman and Batman. With that in mind, this first of two posts is intended to provide some exposition, aimed at those of you who had no idea what was going on in that trailer at the beginning of The Dark Knight. It’s worth looking into, I assure you.

In the category of people who know about Watchmen, there are probably two major sub-categories: those who haven’t read it and expect that it won’t live up to the hype, and those who have read it and understand that the hype is for damn good reason. The idea behind Watchmen is to take the masked crime fighters common in mainstream comics and transplant them into a more rational universe (namely, the real world), setting the stage for a study of both character and setting. How would the proliferation of real life costumed vigilantes affect our popular culture? What would the presence of a true blue superpowered human being do to the stability of our international politics? Can the superheroic ideal of saving the world be achieved, and what would be the underlying motivations for the individuals involved?

These are the concerns of Watchmen, a graphic novel told across 12 chapters. It features a well-developed cast of characters that is both original and just close enough to preexisting superheroes to evoke some nostalgic significance. It takes place in the Cold War year of 1985, albeit a 1985 that culminates from an alternate history, divergent from our own at two crucial points: one, the activities of a masked crime fighter during the Great Depression calling himself Hooded Justice. Two, a laboratory accident (is there any other kind?) that bestows incredible abilities upon a brilliant young scientist.

If it sounds gimmicky, it very well could have been. Thankfully, the project germinated in the able hands of writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons, and the result is a book that succeeds beyond even its loftiest ambitions. Unfortunately, I don’t believe the film will achieve the same heights, and I’ll explain why one, two, or seven weeks from now—whenever I finally get this thing finished.

A footnote: I decided long ago that attempting to review or analyze Watchmen would be a waste of time, as it is one of the most reviewed and analyzed graphic novels that I can think of. However, the advent of the film adaptation has provided new grist for the mill. Most people, upon learning that I’m a fan of the book, naturally assume that I’m excited about seeing the story converted to the big screen. This inevitably puts me in the position of having to explain why I’m not, since it seems far beyond the comprehension of the average comic book reader that someone might not be eager to see Hollywood’s latest regurgitation of a major comics property. Obviously to my faithful readers, it isn’t that I dislike comics-related films as a matter of general principle.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

Knowing ahead of time that I would be writing this review in the wee hours, after 142 minutes in front of a movie screen and a 20 minute drive home, I had prepared a loose structure and a few remarks ahead of time so that I could plug in the relevant information wherever necessary. I’m throwing all of that work away and starting fresh, because this film deserves more than a piecemeal review littered with stock remarks about the Batman and the Joker.

Earlier this year, Iron Man impressed me with its well-realized characters and its exploration of the real world issue of arms ethics. The 1978 adaptation of Superman is an all-time favorite of mine for its sincerity and respectful treatment of its titular character and his world. The Dark Knight equals or even tops these films (time will tell) and unquestionably outstrips the rest. It does so by dealing with issues not of fantasy and not of the news headlines, but of the human condition. Director Christopher Nolan and his creative team go beyond pitting good against evil by questioning the nature of both.

Spider-Man, this is not. If you’ve allowed yourself to tolerate formulaic superhero films churned out of the Hollywood mill by the bundle, you’ll find The Dark Knight to be a major change of pace. In fact, I worry that its very quality may be its undoing. While many moviegoers will rightly welcome this film as an intelligent and complex breath of fresh air for the genre, many others will likely be turned off by its refusal to fall in line. To those people, the only depth a superhero needs is a reason to put on a mask and fight crime. The only depth a villain needs is a reason to challenge the hero. Put the two together and watch the pyrotechnics. It is this latter group of people who will be sorely and gloriously disappointed.

The obvious leads of this film are Batman and the Joker, but the story doesn’t play out as a grudge match between the two. In a way, they’re merely part of an ensemble cast that operates as a whole. It’s the major themes of the film—order and chaos, sanity and madness, heroism and vigilantism—that tower over any of the individual characters. Speaking of which, nothing is spared in the quality of the characterizations and performances of each of them. Everyone, major and supporting, gets an opportunity to shine, and the acting is uniformly excellent. It would do a disservice to any of them to single out specific players, though I will say this: it would be a shame if the excellent Aaron Eckhardt (Harvey Dent) received short shrift in favor of his sadly deceased costar, Heath Ledger (you know who).

In addition to the strength of the performances, characters, and thematic content, The Dark Knight also excels technically. The human scenes hit their targets, the action is adroitly handled, and the fight choreography is shot with clarity—a merciful boon to those turned off by the shaky handheld camerawork in Batman Begins. It comes to a close with both triumph and tragedy for the heroes, in a denouement that is unforgiving in its bittersweetness. To the Batman fans both hardcore and casual who have been anticipating it for so long, this film is a dark and ugly Valentine. It surpasses any previous screen adaptation of the character by a long shot.

I am giving The Dark Knight my fullest and unreserved recommendation. Not only is this possibly the best film ever based on a comic book, but it’s also one of the great movies of the past few years. If I sound enthusiastic, it’s because I am. The Dark Knight will do more than any other film before it to bring mainstream attention to the unfairly overlooked medium of comic books.

Next week, with apologies to the people who do not enjoy them (I’m sure you’re out there), I will be discussing yet another comic book movie. You’ll get to watch the trailer for it if you go to see The Dark Knight this weekend.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

I have a confession to make: I’m excited.

It’s unusual for any snob worth his salt to admit anything other than disgust for everything, especially in the vast wasteland of the Internet. They might revoke my geek club card for saying this, but I’ll say it anyway. Let the chips land wherever. I am excited. I’m looking forward to The Dark Knight like Rick James looked forward to crack, but that’s not to say I don’t have reasons for trepidation. I had my reservations about the previous film in the franchise, Batman Begins.

In Batman Begins, the focus is often placed on the technology. This is bad. For one thing, Batman in flesh and blood is no different an organism from you or me. Actually, he has about 60 or 70 pounds on me, but you get the idea: there is an element of physical danger when he’s in a scuffle armed with only a couple of batarangs and a blowgun, and the excitement lessens with every piece of miniaturized equipment that gets added to his arsenal. Is there tension in seeing Batman deploy a series of specifically-designed futuristic devices in order to fell opponents who outnumber him by the half-dozen? Or to see him with instant access to any means of escape he can dream up in the moment? Maybe for the Jeph Loebs of this world, but I’d rather see a Batman whose adventures don’t unfold like a video game with all the cheats turned on.

For another thing, overreliance on technology creates difficulty with the suspension of disbelief. No, I’m not talking about the plausibility of the gadgets themselves—if Bruce Wayne has access to all the cutting-edge crap he can afford, more power to him. When Batman brings that stuff out to the streets with him, it’s ridiculous that nobody is able to figure out his civilian identity. If you’ll indulge me, I will propose a hypothetical scenario involving two police detectives.

Cop A: “Anything noteworthy about this bat-guy that we’re looking for?”

Cop B: “Well, he was sporting a cutting-edge suit of battle armor with tons of miniaturized gadgets and weapons hidden in it, and he drove what appeared to be an experimental military vehicle.”

Cop A: “I see. That stuff sounds like it costs a fortune. That narrows our pool of suspects down to rich guys.”

Cop B: “And that isn’t anything you just buy off the shelf. This guy has connections to some kind of military development firm.

Cop A: “Yeah, and judging from the localization of his activities, he probably lives in or around the city.”

Cop B: “And judging from eyewitness descriptions, he’s built like a motherfucker. Probably a younger adult male, and buff as hell.”

Cop A: “Right.”

Cop B: “But even if he did have the money and access to get all that shit, what kind of nut would bother putting it all together and using it to stalk purse snatchers and petty thieves?”

Cop A: “Probably some isolated eccentric guy with a fucked up childhood.”

Cop B: “Okay, so I guess we have a check list. Our mystery man is probably a young billionaire, lives in or near Gotham City, is built like an athlete, has connections to a technological R&D firm, and has likely had some kind of traumatic incident occur during his childhood. He will also have to account for his whereabouts between the hours of 12AM and 6AM every night for the past month, and a stack of false alibis that tall won’t stand up for long.”

Cop A: “My god, he could be anybody!!!”

There’s nothing wrong with Batman employing hi-tech bric-a-brac in his crusade, but he should leave it at home. On the streets, it betrays his wealth and connections. Furthermore, it’s just plain more exciting to see Batman fighting crime with his fists and his wits. The only compelling reason I can think of for the elaborate costume and its various accessories is that the injection-molded look of it all lends itself well to the manufacture of toys.

Aside from that issue, it’s all minor quibbles. I didn’t like the out-of-character one-liners, which are like a thumbtack in your brain every time. I would have liked to see Batman apply his intelligence more often. Bruce Wayne seems almost proud of his ignorance when Lucius Fox describes the process of counteracting the Scarecrow’s fear toxin, which is disquieting. Batman should be formidable for not only his brawn, but also for his brain. And as with most superhero films, the third act supplants storytelling with mindless action. This is a fault not unique to Batman Begins; it is a piece of formula flotsam that washes up in most movies of this genre.

Beyond that, Batman Begins is solid and respectful. The performances are uniformly good, the story is a fitting adaptation of the early mythology, and most importantly, it attempts to understand Batman as a character. It’s refreshing when superheroes are treated as drama rather than kitsch, particularly in the cinema. This is what excites me most about The Dark Knight: in terms of its understanding of the character and his universe, Batman Begins shows so much promise.

The Dark Knight will deliver on that promise, so long as the filmmakers iron out the kinks of the first film and work to their strengths. What a treat it will be if we get to see the beacon of understanding shined on one of the most venerable hero/villain pairings in modern fiction.

Check back next week on the 18th for the second half of this article, which will consist of my review of The Dark Knight. I hope to sincerely title it “What The Dark Knight Does Right.”

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

This is the fourth in a series of articles that will discuss the cinematic portrayal of Superman—specifically, the franchise beginning with Superman (1978). The subject of today’s entry is Superman IV: the Quest for Peace.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, so they say. If that’s the case, then Superman IV must be the cinematic equivalent of hell. After the directionless mess that was Superman III, Christopher Reeve famously refused to play the title role in another film unless he could personally ensure that the story had some sort of relevance. When the rights to the franchise were picked up by Cannon Films, the new producers made him an offer: participate in Superman IV and have a say in the material. Reeve accepted.

Long after the fact, Reeve would make a telling comment in his autobiography, Still Me: “The less said about Superman IV, the better.”

Reeve’s idea was one that is relevant now, was especially relevant then (it was the twilight of the Cold War), and had untold potential to be spun into a great Superman story. How does Superman confront a problem as universal and unyielding as war? Could ending war really be as simple as getting rid of all of the instruments of war? Surely if any one man is capable of doing so, that man is Superman. So, in a world with a Superman, why is there war? In the looming face of war, could even a being of such limitless power as Superman falter?

As a fan and admirer of the character, these questions capture my imagination. It is unfortunate that Superman IV not only realizes none of its potential, but also takes a tremendous dive in production values due to a mishandled budget and generally poor direction. It confronts war with the ham-fisted storytelling and piss-poor production values of an old sci-fi matinee. Perhaps Superman III is worse for having no potential to tap, but I find IV more disappointing for its failure to deliver on its tremendous promise.

To its credit, the film attempts to address other relevant topics in Superman’s universe as well, things that the previous films—even the excellent first film—did not take into consideration. What happens to the farm Superman grew up on after his adoptive parents are both dead? How is his life affected when the livelihood of his colleagues and his alter-ego, Clark Kent, is threatened? When he’s needed as both Superman and Clark at the same time, what does he do? What happens when Lex Luthor, in his mania for revenge, throws Superman’s goals back into his face by engineering a nuclear-powered monster?

Again, all interesting concepts, but the failure is in the approach. Smallville is dealt in and out of the game within the span of one scene. The Nuclear Man is just another villain for Superman to fight; the more interesting implications of Luthor’s transgression go unexplored. The hostile takeover of the Daily Planet is handled like the B-plot of a television sitcom (in fact, much of the film resembles a bad sitcom). The stealthy maneuvers Superman must execute in order to hold up the façade of his dual identities on their improbable double date are handled without much tension or comedic spark. It’s nothing that hasn’t been done better in other films.

The salt in the wound is the inclusion of John Cryer as Luthor’s obnoxious nephew, Lenny. Luthor’s cohorts in previous films were bumbling idiots over whom he could lord his boundless intelligence, but they were never this annoying.

There is a sequence towards the end of Superman IV that provides a semblance of resolution to the interesting questions it raises. Perhaps Superman can’t personally put a stop to war, and perhaps he shouldn’t. War is a human problem, and as we all learned in the Cold War era, the few most powerful among us might only be worsening things when they attempt to solve the issues of the masses. It’s unfortunate that, as with the rest of the picture, this portion is handled with all the sophistication of one of Aesop’s fables. Without shame, it panders to those among us who don’t understand anything unless it’s shouted in their faces with a bullhorn.

This series on Superman will take a short break, but will return soon. Next week: the first part of a double article, featuring a movie about an anarchist clown and a guy who buys everything in black.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

This is the third in a series of articles that will discuss the cinematic portrayal of Superman—specifically, the franchise beginning with Superman (1978). The subject of today’s entry is Superman III.

No more Mr. Nice Guy, as the song goes. Sooner or later, everybody gets a little cranky. It happens to Supes in this movie and it probably happened to anybody who paid money to see it. Superman III is a litany of bad ideas on film, and had its potential been better tapped and the weaker material pared down, there would be no need to give it the hatchet job it so very much deserves.

Putting it baldly, this is not a Superman movie. This is bad comedy that includes Superman as a supporting character, with the lead role going to (at the time) superstar comedian Richard Pryor. The bad news is that this film is good for neither Superman fans nor Richard Pryor fans. Pyor’s hysterical R-rated personality is declawed and defanged for a PG audience, while Superman’s usual superheroic feats are pushed to the margins. The worse news is that there isn’t much in the way of good news. Superman gets to save the day in a nicely done sequence involving a chemical plant fire. Metropolis is beset by a chain sequence of little disasters in an opening interlude that might have been funnier in a different movie. Good moments like these are in short supply.

Last time around, I discussed how the split personality of Superman II worked to undermine the strong directorial groundwork laid by the first film. It is clear which of the two sides eventually won the battle, since director Richard Lester is back at the helm and his penchant for mindless gags and empty stylistic flourishes has returned with him. One might wonder if Pryor’s inclusion in the cast is a knowing commentary on the direction taken by this production, symbolizing how slapstick and silly stunts would overtake good-natured heroism.

It isn’t as though there is nothing here to chew on, no potential to be tapped. There is a pair of interesting subplots that deserves to be examined, though they are incidental to the overarching story (a bland Lex Luthor wannabe attempts to control the world, aided by Pryor’s computer expertise).

In one scene, an attempt to synthesize kryptonite goes wrong, turning Superman into a jerk rather than a corpse. This is fertile ground for good superhero storytelling. Imagine a Superman with all his great powers, but without his equally great sense of responsibility. What would he be like without his goodness or his dedication to truth and justice? He would be a walking time bomb, unsafe to be around. He could be a world-threatening disaster. However, the filmmakers don’t deliver on the promise of this idea, soft-pedaling the ensuing havoc rather than pursuing the more fascinating implications. Other than unwittingly providing minor aid to the villains, Superman’s evil activities are limited to super-annoyances such as blowing out the Olympic torch and straightening out the famously leaning Tower of Pisa. There is no exploration of the duality of a hero’s personality, nor even an attempt to examine the what-if scenario of a world dominated by a superpowered being with no virtues. For that matter, there is also no explanation for Superman’s drunkenness. What about his super-liver?

The other noteworthy subplot is Clark Kent’s return to his adopted hometown of Smallville, Kansas. For various reasons, Margot Kidder’s presence in the film was minimized, so the all-important thread of Superman’s courtship of Lois Lane is dropped. Instead, Superman III introduces Clark’s high school sweetheart, Lana Lang, and it is here that it exhibits the most resemblance to its superior predecessors. The interaction between Clark and Lana is often sweet, but it ultimately feels inconsequential next to the grander romance of the first two films. Superman III is marginally richer for including material like this, but its overall mediocrity is also emphasized due to the clearly unfulfilled potential.

Examining the main plot, there isn’t a sense that anybody involved in the major action especially cares about what he’s doing. Why does Richard Pryor’s computer wiz want to help Robert Vaughn’s wealthy industrialist take over the world? We don’t know. Why does Superman want to stop them? Why, so they can’t take over the world, of course. Why are they trying to take over the world? Again, we don’t know. The bad guys have no recognizable motivation, and the final confrontation clings weakly to the circular logic. One expects Superman to have all sorts of adventures, so there must be at least some that aren’t exciting or intriguing enough to be worth documentation. This is one of them.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

I thought I’d pause at the 33.3 yard line of my Superman movie retrospective in order to attend to a more timely Superman-related matter: his 70th birthday. It is now the month of June, and it was June 1938 that Superman made his first appearance in the pages of Action Comics #1. (Actually, though Action Comics #1 was cover-dated June 1938, it was first published in April of that year. But let’s not spend too much time worrying about that.) With this in mind, I figured I’d ramble on about the character for a bit.

My earliest memories go back to when I was three years old. As with most people at that age, my literacy was not impressive, so I wasn’t interested in comic books. I was, however, already a fan of Superman. Through a combination of generous grandparents and grocery store bargain bin videos, I had acquired all of the 1940s short films animated by Fleischer Studios (famous as well for their productions of Betty Boop and the early Popeye cartoons), and my father had recorded the first Superman movie off of HBO. I’m not sure my family knew what they were doing when they introduced me to the Man of Steel at such an early age, but I pinpoint that time in my life as the beginning of my appreciation for the character. It is worth mentioning that I could hand-draw the iconic “S” emblem before I could spell words with the letter “s” in them.

I never liked the Superman comics growing up. When I was old enough to read them, Superman was bogged down in a run of editorial decisions that could charitably be described as idiotic, stemming from a radical reboot of the series in 1986. The Superman in the comics identified himself chiefly as human, paying only lip service to his alien heritage. He never seemed very powerful. Krypton was depicted as a sterile scientific dystopia. Pa Kent’s death never happened, bereaving Superman of a crucial guidepost in his development as a heroic character. And there were so many other differences between the real deal and this weak impostor.

Fortunately, I happened to come into comics in a time when there was a growing interest in old back issues, and compilations containing reprints of classic titles would become increasingly common. (No, we didn’t always have omnibuses full of the old stories; those are a relatively recent luxury. Believe it or not, kids used to have no access whatsoever to the history of their favorite characters outside of combing comic book stores for moldy back issues. Eventually, someone figured out that there was a demand for new reprints of classic titles, and that someone is probably very rich today.)

I eventually found the real Superman primarily in the 1960s era comic books edited by Mort Weisinger, whose grand, fantastical vision is largely responsible for the quintessential elements of the character. This was the real Superman: the guy with a fortress full of wonders, who came from an even more wondrous technologically advanced planet, and whose straight-laced heroism was tempered by the kind of anxieties you’d expect from someone with the powers of a god and the terrible responsibility of using them wisely. Furthermore, the storytellers were audacious, always taking chances that would be deemed outlandish by current standards.

Superman is many things, depending on how you look at him. In terms of modern mythology, he is our Hercules, our Samson, our John Henry. In personal terms, he has both the authority and approachability of an older brother figure. In action terms, he’s the one superhero who cannot be trifled with—badly written schlock stories to the contrary, there is no greater challenge to the fraternity of supervillains than the Man of Steel. In cultural terms, he is our metaphor for what we have become as a society in our modern age: gifted with the power to have it all or smash it all, and cursed with the responsibility to exercise that power with wisdom and restraint. Superman sets an example to strive towards, both as a real person in his fictional universe and as a fictional character in our real universe. And he himself doesn’t always get it right, which has proven to be fertile ground for telling stories about him and ourselves.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

Recommended Reading:

This is the second in a series of articles that will discuss the cinematic portrayal of Superman—specifically, the franchise beginning with Superman (1978). The subject of today’s entry is Superman II.

Superman (1978) was made with the intention of being the first half of a two-part project, and both films were intended to be filmed simultaneously. Due to budget and time constraints, the second half had to be shelved before it was finished so the full attention of the production could be focused on the first half, and director Richard Donner was fired once that film was completed. The producers then put director Richard Lester in the saddle midstream to save the troubled Superman II.

Many of the key elements that made Superman: the Movie work return in Superman II, chief among them the principal actors. The film continues the thread of Superman and Lois, which blossoms from a courtship into a full-blown romance. Regrettably, the balance of the material is shifted; the romance is shuffled to the side in favor of the pyrotechnics caused by the arrival of a trio of Kryptonian supervillains. Though it seems like logical storytelling to up the stakes and throw a true challenge at the Man of Steel, Superman: the Movie was ultimately not about the villains. Superman II is, and it suffers for it.

When a film is about villainy, the objective of the story is to reveal how the villain either meets his demise or, at the very least, is driven off to menace the characters another day. Films like this lend themselves to formula; the idea represents the shallows of the storytelling pool. By making the hero the focus of Superman: the Movie, Donner willingly relinquished the opportunity to repeatedly mine the territory of the villain story, forgoing the possibility of plugging new villains into the same tale for multiple films. The difficulty of this approach is in figuring out where else to take the story in the next installment, since the answer is not obvious. The initial goal of Superman II was to further the love story, but during the turmoil of the production, the subplot of the villains who menace the Earth—initially serving the noble purpose of restoring the hero’s sense of responsibility to mankind—became the main reason for the film to exist.

Adding to the split personality of the film is the difference in style between Donner’s and Lester’s scenes. To Lester’s credit, there are times when the differences aren’t obvious, but they’re sometimes jarring. Donner’s production was lavish, spared no expense, and was shot in an elegant fashion befitting its subject matter. Lester’s approach is thriftier and somewhat showier. The orchestra is smaller. The shots have lost their richness. Lester throws in tacky zooms, sight gags, and protracted sequences of rampaging violence, which makes me wonder if he’s aware of how cheapened the production values of his contributions are in comparison to Donner’s and is attempting to misdirect the audience with sound and fury. Donner had confidence in his material and in his production, and the style showed it. There is no doubting that Lester is a competent filmmaker, but he does not gain mastery of Superman II.

In a way, the division of the focus of the film and the disconnected styles complement one another. In the material that is most faithful to the groundwork laid by the first film, things progress as the audience might hope. Superman and Lois still light up the screen together and win the audience over. As for the rest of the material, it only lays the groundwork of a shallower future for the series.

Before closing this installment, I would like to mention something that I had no room to include in my previous entry. For anyone who wishes to watch Superman: the Movie on DVD, I strongly recommend watching the theatrical cut and using the Dolby 2.0 stereo audio mix, rather than the Dolby Digital 5.1 audio mix. The disc that contains these features is available in two box sets: the Ultimate Collection and the Christopher Reeve Collection, both released in 2006. Unfortunately, neither the theatrical cut nor the 2.0 audio mix are available on the 2001 DVD, which reinserts deleted scenes into the film (incidentally, these scenes are amusing enough, but are ultimately pointless and detract from the pacing of the film). To compound the problem, the 2.0 mix was accidentally omitted from some early pressings of the 2006 disc.

If your version of Superman: the Movie has the option for Dolby 2.0, I strongly recommend using it, as it is the only way to experience the film in its original form. In order to create the 5.1 mix, the studio scrapped the original audio effects and replaced them with new ones, resulting in a jarring collision of 2001-era sound effects and 1978-era dialogue and visuals. The 2.0 version is a more seamless viewing experience and maintains the integrity of the original production.

Reggie White Jr. has linked me on his blog, so I would be remiss if I did not plug him here. He’s a good writer and the interests of his blog share some eerie similarities with mine, so visit his site at reggieblogged.blogspot.com and check his stuff out.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.

This is the first in a series of articles that will discuss the cinematic portrayal of Superman—specifically, the franchise beginning with Superman (1978). That film is the subject of today’s entry.

“Magic” is a word often heard in conversations about the classic era of Hollywood moviemaking, but I wonder if many moviegoers still understand what it means. I don’t believe “magic” applies to just any movie. It conjures up visions of innocent and charming storytelling, high wattage smiles, and endearing naïveté (viewed, of course, by today’s by no means permanent cynical standards). Perhaps movies lost their magic with the increasingly distrustful cultural climate of the 1960s and 70s, or maybe it was when high dollar special effects became commonplace. Whatever the case may be, it has become increasingly difficult to find that quality of magic in movies over the decades.

When director Richard Donner was offered the chance to direct Superman in 1976, he approached the project with the goal of respecting the character as a fundamental cultural icon. In doing so, the cast and crew invested Superman: the Movie with a sense of old time Hollywood magic.

The film opens appropriately enough as grand, ethereal sci-fi, but it begins to show its true colors once the setting changes from Krypton to Smallville. The Kansas of Superman: the Movie is a living Norman Rockwell painting, a gently glowing landscape of wheat that stretches almost uninterrupted by modern technology. The material here is so simply written, yet so rich. Glenn Ford feels right at home as Jon Kent, essaying the kind of portrayal that Henry Fonda might have delivered with a twinkle in his eye. Kent’s last words of advice to his adopted son Clark (Jeff East) are laced with portent: “One thing I do know is that you are here for a reason.”

Flash forward 12 years and one journey to the arctic later, Clark Kent arrives in Metropolis—and fortunately so. It is only later that night when his new colleague, spirited girl reporter Lois Lane, becomes the victim of a helicopter flight gone awry. In the nick of time, a mysterious caped stranger gracefully flies in to pluck her from the jaws of death and neatly places the helicopter on its landing pad, having effortlessly held it aloft with one hand, thus beginning one of the most enduring fictional courtships in our popular culture. The helicopter sequence is marvelously executed; the heroism of the scene and the chemistry between the actors make it work. It establishes the film as the story of Superman and Lois, further cemented when he takes her for an impromptu flight over the Metropolis skyline.

The movie pays lip service to the perfunctory convention of the supervillain, but the filmmakers understand that there is little old school magic to be had there and wisely relegate Lex Luthor’s evil scheme to a subplot. Gene Hackman’s Luthor is narcissistic and long-suffering, surrounding himself with cronies less intelligent than himself in order to indulge his ego. Luthor may not be as physically imposing or as overtly dangerous as most villains in films today—his villainy is more of the dastardly mustache-tweaking variety. Luthor is there for the audience to sneer at, rather than be frightened of. Again, the filmmakers have garnished their disarming take on Superman with a classic Hollywood touch. It all meshes together with clockwork precision—the magic, the fantasy, and the sincerity of the heroic values.

When the antihero was introduced into comic book storytelling, it was a revolutionary alternative to the traditional hero, but scribes did not realize the long term implications of their choice. The concept of the antihero has since lost its novelty; the alternative has become the standard. Superman is one of the last vestiges of the old guard, wearing his moral aspirations and his good intentions as plainly as his outlandish costume. He is the last stand of the socially responsible, morally upright superhero, and he is so disarming in this film that his sincerity is never in question. There is not a hint of irony here, no ham-fisted attempts at deconstruction. This is a traditional hero’s tale, though Superman is by no means perfect (his stoicism falters in a key sequence towards the end, providing emotional grounding to a scene that otherwise absurdly defies logic and physics).

Christopher Reeve’s performance is often regarded as definitive, and for many good reasons. The flight sequences work because he makes them work. Perhaps his greatest contribution to the role is his in-flight body language, which is convincing enough to make us believe that he’s really banking and swooping around instead of merely dangling from wires. The special effects (laughable by today’s standards) don’t do the job on their own, so Reeve makes himself the greatest special effect of all. Also to his credit is that Superman and Clark are palpably different. It doesn’t matter that they superficially resemble one another; the sense is that the two identities are separate enough to enable the suspension of disbelief. Both Clark and Superman are endearing in their own way, and it is interesting to observe the way each one acts around Lois Lane—different enough to be convincing, yet same enough that they just might harbor the same feelings for her. It is also interesting, to actress Margot Kidder’s credit, to observe the differences in the way she acts around each of them.

Reeve plays Superman as the classical leading male, a modern day Prince Charming. His portrayal of Clark also draws upon the classical, emulating Cary Grant’s performance in Bringing Up Baby. Drawing upon vintage Hollywood, resurrecting its magic—they don’t make them like this anymore.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Use the comment feature, or visit the discussion thread.