If film critics have their own hell, one circle of it must
surely be devoted entirely to comic book movies. That’s the circle where they
will inevitably put me, where I’ll be forced to watch every superhero movie on
a loop for eternity. Like that train circling the earth continuously in Snowpiercer, I will slowly become
conditioned to the mindlessness of it, and be overly grateful when, once a
year, Superman comes around to
provide a 2-hour reprieve from my cinematic exhaustion.
People criticize the 1978 Superman for its cheesy special effects (a mostly valid claim) and
its decidedly square sensibility about the world (also valid). I often hear
fans of superhero movies sniffing that they prefer the “dark” subject matter
of those Christopher Nolan Batman
movies (or just the darker sensibilities of Batman as a character) to the
America-loving, endlessly optimistic Boy Scout that is Superman.
I counter these arguments by reminding all of you that in
1978, American cinema was capable of magnificent bouts of cynicism, and that a
dark Superman would have been strangely out of place, since Superman is,
ultimately, depicted as a Savior, the Ubermensch sent here to redeem us from
our own moral failings. The weirdly out of place Superman fits into this time
frame in the culture: We were still reeling from Vietnam and Watergate and so
many internal conflicts, and American movies had grown up right along with all
those issues. Superman feels
refreshing; it’s as innocent as E.T.,
although perhaps not as insightful.
Superman’s
insights are too manufactured, and they set the tone for every other movie
about a young hero who is marked by specialness and set apart to defeat some
all-powerful villain. But with Superman,
the distinction actually registers. He’s actually
better than you and me. (Today’s movies don’t know how to depict specialness.
They turn their heroes into the dullest, most depressed characters in the
movie.)
But despite is corny values, Richard Donner’s Superman captures a sense of wonder
about the mysteries of the universe. 90% of that power comes, I’m sure, from
the swelling, emotionally charged score by John Williams. Superman is always bowled over by the myth it’s trying to tell.
It’s that love of storytelling, the way that Superman is enchanted with its own mythology, that is contagious:
When I watch this movie, I’m pulled in too, suckered in every time like some
schmuck at a used car lot. When Superman rescues Lois Lane as she tumbles out
of a helicopter, my heart skips a beat. When he takes her on a ride through the
night sky and she delivers that horrible narration of freeform poetry, I want
to vomit, but I don’t hold it against the movie. “It’s not your fault, dear,” I
say, “and I still love you.”
Lois Lane, meanwhile, is beautifully fleshed out by Margot
Kidder, who’s a perfect foil for Christopher Reeve, who embodies that Boy
Scout, G-rated veneer he represents as the Man of Steel. Kidder is tough and
quick-witted, a women’s lib version of the women reporters like Rosalind
Russell played in 1940s comedies. But she’s got those dazzling eyes that are
capable of suspending that cheeky modern cynicism long enough to be swept off
her feet by an old-fashioned boy from Kansas (or Krypton). She has a knack for
mixing contempt with pity and sugar with sweetness.
But the best thing about Superman
is the villain, Lex Luthor, played with absolute relish by Gene Hackman. I know
it’s probably naïve to read a fun performance as surefire proof that an actor
was having a good time on the set, but that’s exactly what I think when I see
Hackman’s performance as the mastermind Luthor, whose mental powers and finesse
cannot compensate for his incompetent staff (chiefly the beloved Ned Beatty as
Otis, Luthor’s bumbling right-hand-man). Lex Luthor admires Superman for his
goodness while simultaneously mocking him for it, and more importantly, taking
advantage of it. While Superman approaches every crisis with an almost
heavy-handed seriousness, Luthor maintains a happy “who-gives-a-shit” attitude.
Movies today seldom even try to accomplish this kind of lightness. We’re too
obsessed with villains who are supposed to be deadly serious mocking heroes for
being deadly serious.
We often mistake the seriousness of our heroes and villains
for depth, when really there’s nothing there but the absence of real feeling
and complexity. Depth is not always a good thing, especially if it’s a deep,
dark morass. Superman is rich in
feeling and lightness and majesty. It doesn’t weigh us down with heaviness: it
lifts us up with a humane view of the world, of reaching for kindness even when
it’s impossible to obtain. And yes, that does mean that Superman rates higher on the cheese factor than Batman. But how can you not respond to
this movie’s world-view and feel truly lifted: Jor-El (played by a somber,
stoic Marlon Brando) leaves his son with these words about the people of Earth:
“They can be a great people, if they wish to be. For this reason, for their
capacity for good, I have sent them to you: my only son.” Chills.
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