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Building a mystery and choosing so carefully
I just finished watching Superman: The Movie (1978) and Superman II (1980), neither of which I had ever seen before, and my reaction is essentially thus: damn that Christopher Reeve died.
I hadn't expected to like these movies so much. Granted that neither of them was the best story I've ever seen commited to cinema, but with the exception of the first half-hour of the first film, I enjoyed myself the whole while. Even through the twelve-year acid trip that he spends in the Fortress of Solitude. And not to discount Margot Kidder as Lois Lane, who screamed a little too much for my tastes, but whom I found otherwise plausible as a crack reporter, I place most of that reaction onto the shoulders of Christopher Reeve. He made the character work. Clark Kent is a gawky überdweeb in horn-rims, whose prose is crisp but who's a handful of thumbs in person, but he's not unbelievable; and an immortal, invulnerable, near on divine Superman should be the most boring person on the planet, and yet he's not.* And there were all sorts of small moments I loved—in particular, the frustration with which Clark casts around at a moment of crisis for a proper phone booth in which to change, and his smile when he unfolds his hand to reveal the bullet he has saved Lois from, caught in mid-shot, when she only thinks her milquetoast co-worker had fainted. I could even deal with him spinning the planet to run time backwards, and the presence of people named things like Non and Zod. (Gesundheit.) I only wish I'd had some popcorn.
And now I too can watch Superman Returns in Reeve's shadow . . .
*Look, my obsessions are masks and selves and identities; I would have liked to see more time devoted to the interplay between Superman, Lois, and Clark—and Kal-El, in a sense. "I don't even know what to call you," she says in the second film, as though "Superman" and "Clark Kent" are insufficient names; each only half of the man she loves. But he never does tell her his birth name . . . I'm nitpicking, I suppose. What there was made me very happy. But this is why I'm not the scriptwriter.
I hadn't expected to like these movies so much. Granted that neither of them was the best story I've ever seen commited to cinema, but with the exception of the first half-hour of the first film, I enjoyed myself the whole while. Even through the twelve-year acid trip that he spends in the Fortress of Solitude. And not to discount Margot Kidder as Lois Lane, who screamed a little too much for my tastes, but whom I found otherwise plausible as a crack reporter, I place most of that reaction onto the shoulders of Christopher Reeve. He made the character work. Clark Kent is a gawky überdweeb in horn-rims, whose prose is crisp but who's a handful of thumbs in person, but he's not unbelievable; and an immortal, invulnerable, near on divine Superman should be the most boring person on the planet, and yet he's not.* And there were all sorts of small moments I loved—in particular, the frustration with which Clark casts around at a moment of crisis for a proper phone booth in which to change, and his smile when he unfolds his hand to reveal the bullet he has saved Lois from, caught in mid-shot, when she only thinks her milquetoast co-worker had fainted. I could even deal with him spinning the planet to run time backwards, and the presence of people named things like Non and Zod. (Gesundheit.) I only wish I'd had some popcorn.
And now I too can watch Superman Returns in Reeve's shadow . . .
*Look, my obsessions are masks and selves and identities; I would have liked to see more time devoted to the interplay between Superman, Lois, and Clark—and Kal-El, in a sense. "I don't even know what to call you," she says in the second film, as though "Superman" and "Clark Kent" are insufficient names; each only half of the man she loves. But he never does tell her his birth name . . . I'm nitpicking, I suppose. What there was made me very happy. But this is why I'm not the scriptwriter.
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I just rewatched Superman II aswell which up untill X-men II was supposed to be the best comic book movie of all time.
Not getting into the hatred I have for the idea of 'comic book movies' or the fact that X2 was split focus and kinda weak, I always prefered the first Superman to the second, but I didn't remember how much till last night.
Really, it's fine and all, but everyone always condemns the third movie and praises the second, but the Superman vs Clark scene in Superman III alone is better than all of II (though yeah, the rest of III is mediocre) and...
Aw, you got my fanboyness up. I'm going to have to go see the new one again.
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