Superman Returns as a Deadbeat Dad

I've always liked superheros. I used to read comic books religiously, especially X-Men and some of the DC titles like Legion of Superheros or Dark Knight Returns. But Superman, well, he's never been my favorite. In the Dark Knight Returns, a 60 year-old, alcoholic Batman comes out of retirement to clean up the streets, and he ends up going one-on-one against Superman, who's become an agent of the government, or a tool of "the man." That was always the problem with Superman, he was so powerful that it took bizarre scenarios to cause him any problems, and it seemed like everyone had a little kryptonite stashed away somewhere. It was too much. But in the movies from the late 70's and early 80's with Christopher Reeve they at least managed to make it funny, and the Superman phenomenon probably peaked with Superman II, with the super-cheesy and quotable nemesis General Zod, who was about ten times more entertaining than Lex Luthor.
More recently there's the TV show Smallville, which covers Superman's teenage years and wants to be some kind of cross between the OC and Buffy. No thanks. But I have a feeling that show is part of the reason they decided to make a new Superman movie, and it might also be part of the reason they made such a mess of it.
Superman Returns seems to want to have it all. It wants to recapture the cheesy enthusiasm of the 80's movies, and also tap into that teenage angst thing as well. This is a mistake. First, Kevin Spacey does an OK job as Luthor, intentionally hamming it up the way Gene Hackman did in the original. Spacey is one of the most over-rated actors on the planet, but his tics and mannerisms work well enough when it's meant to be a joke. He's actually much better at comedy than drama in any case, just look at his version of Christopher Walken as Han Solo on SNL. But aside from his jokey-acting, there's really nothing for him to do. The ludicrous plot isn't so much the problem as is the fact that they spend so MUCH TIME on the ludicrous plot. Parker Posey is merely annoying as Luthor's moll, and the henchman are worse than useless. Kal Penn, who was great in "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" doesn't even get to talk in the movie, and the only memorable moment for any of these side characters is when one of them plays Chopsticks on the piano with Lois Lane's young son.
Which brings us to the crucible of this movie's badness. And here I'm going to offer up some spoilers, but frankly, if you haven't seen the movie yet, do you really care? Superman has been gone from Earth for a few years, looking for remnants of his home planet, and while he was gone, Lois Lane really nursed a grudge against him, going so far as to write an article "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman" which somehow wins the Pulitzer! So, now that he's back, Lois is even angrier. But she's moved on hasn't she? She's got a son, and she's got a boyfriend who she hasn't married yet. Which is odd, isn't it? Why wouldn't Lois marry the father of her child? Is this an illogical plot device installed just to leave the door open for Superman? But hold on now, the new boyfriend is a bit of a stiff, and Superman (as Clark Kent) seems to bond with Lois's son. Interesting. What could this mean? Well, as we learn later, this asthmatic child seems to have super-strength! Where could this have come from? Hmmm. Eventually it becomes clear that Superman and Lois did the deed and she had a super-baby, and Superman took off, to "find himself" I guess. Now Lois has a new guy, who may or may not think he's the dad, it's not entirely explained, but Lois loves Superman of course. How complicated! And kind of distasteful. Is this an attempt to humanize Superman? If so, it's a disaster. The last thing we need is to imagine what it would be like if Superman were on the Jerry Springer Show. And what's the message here? At the end of the movie, Superman gives the sleeping boy some fatherly sort of speech that his dad gave to him, and then he flies off, telling Lois he'll "be around." That's great. So, he fathers a child and then takes off, but he'll be back every once in a while. How about some financial support, Superman? How about a regular schedule of visits? No? You've got some stuff to do back at the Fortress of Solitude? Oh, ok, then.
So this is what we get when they try to mix 80's cheese with teenage earnestness. An absolute mess with mixed messages galore, and no fun. If they somehow manage to make a sequel to Superman Returns, I hope Batman returns as well, to knock some sense into him.

just don't think about it

I saw the movie "Children of Men" last night and wanted to share a few thoughts. The movie is set in a near-future England (2020? 2030? I missed the first five minutes so there's a little bit of summary missing). For whatever reason, every human on the planet has become infertile; the last birth was some 18 years earlier, and England has become a police-state, interested primarily in managing its human population, testing for fertility, offering painless suicide solutions to everyone who's ready to "opt out," and restricting the presence of refugees ('fugees) from other countries (primarily, it seems, Africa and Asia). The protagonist, Theo, is an alcoholic ex-radical who lost his son in a flu epidemic and now carries on his day-to-day routine in a complete haze. He's shaken out of his stupor by the return of his ex-wife, who left him sometime after the death of their son, and her request that he help her in a highly sensitive project; to get a very special young woman out of England and into the arms of a secret group of scientists who are trying to restore hope to a world without children. Theo agrees to help, and then things start to go wrong. I won't say anything more specific about the plot.
The England that we see in the film is the paradigm of a dystopia, but what's most disturbing about it is how, for awhile at least, you could imagine living (like Theo does) in such an environment without necessarily doing anything about it. 'Fugees are rounded up in cages and detainment centers throughout the city of London, and Theo walks by them as they cry and complain, and police dogs snarl, on the way to work with his coffee. The streets and sidewalks are littered with garbage, the walls are covered with graffiti. As they drive through the countryside, piles of cows (and other things) are being burned. Buses and taxis carry electronic billboards and on-board computers, but there's a simultaneous sense that things are running down, buldings falling into disrepair, everything slowly grinding to a halt. Theo carries a small bottle of whiskey in his pocket and takes long sips whenever the reality of the situation threatens to overwhelm him.
Radical activists (or terrorists, depending on who is describing them) threaten violent revolution on behalf of 'fugee rights, and for a while Theo is carried along with their program. But they turn out to be the flip-side of the government, interested in pursuing an ideological agenda that has nothing to do with the people themselves, with actually bringing life and hope to this society. Theo and the young woman he protects find themselves caught in the middle of this conflict (literally) and the results are terrifying and, just maybe, hopeful.
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret the movie's message. On the one hand, the English government and its totalitarian measures surely stand in for the United States to some degree. At one point, Theo and the woman (her name is Kee) are herded through a checkpoint with the label "HOMELAND SECURITY" above the gates. There is also a sense that the idealism of the 60's is being invoked, both by the soundtrack (which includes at least one John Lennon song and a cover of the Stones' "Ruby Tuesday") and by characters like the one played by Michael Caine, who is an aging hippie who resists the government and grows weed to sell to the local army base. But it's not clear if the movie is suggesting that a return to 60's idealism is any solution. In the end, it seems like the only thing we can count on is our shared humanity, the willingness to treat each other decently, to consider each other as human beings and not just abstractions (refugee, fascist, hippie, homeless, "whatever"). And even that is no guarantee. It's just the only way we can keep being human.
The movie is very violent and there are many moments of desperation and fear, but the scariest moment for my money is one of the quietest, and it echoes eerily with some of the points made by Thomas de Zengotita in the Harper's essay we read. Theo goes to see his "connected" cousin to try and get emigration papers for himself and Kee. His cousin is fabulously wealthy, and lives high up in a luxury tower above the shattered city of London. He has used some of his money to rescue famous pieces of art. Michelangelo's David sits in the entranceway, missing part of one calf (looters had started to take it apart before he secured it). Theo, his cousin and his cousin's son eat lunch beneath Picasso's "Guernica" (an ironic moment if ever there was one). His cousin seems to be a bastion of civilization in a world descending into barbarity. But his cousin's teenage son eats while strapped into a video game and he plays obsessively, as if the world around him doesn't exist. His father has to scream at him to take his "pills" and even then the boy does not stop playing his game. Finally, Theo has to ask his cousin, how can you go on living like this, when the rest of the world is going to hell? His cousin smiles and says "You just don't think about it." Outside the window, a giant, pig-shaped balloon sways absurdly in the gray, smoke-choked air. We move on. And then, one day, we don't.

Intro

Hello everybody. I think it's bad manners to ask you all to post an intro for your blog without doing the same, so here it is. I'll be posting semi-regularly, and I'll let you know when something important is posted up here. Briefly, what's on my mind? The Super Bowl was exciting for one quarter. It is really really cold, and I'm trying to decide if I've ever experienced lower temperatures. There's something exotic about it, though. I like calling my friends in NY and bragging about -15 (-25 with the windchill). I'm staying inside most of the time. I'm definitely not ice-fishing. I heard an interesting radio show on boredom yesterday, and I'm thinking of writing some more about that. Boredom as existential crisis, as an authentic (ha!) experience of the uncanniness of the world. When I was younger I always kept in mind a quote from Henry Rollins, that "bored people are boring," and I think that still rings true. To the extent that we're bored (like, for example in a dull class - not mine though!) it has as much to do with our inability to actively create something interesting in that environment. Of course, the whole institutional set-up (the lecturing teacher, the formal structure of the lesson, the rows of small uncomfortable desks) tend to reinforce a passive disengagement from the educational experience. But that's not gonna change, it seems. At least one philosopher seems to suggest that boredom is a fundamental characteristic of being human - that in boredom we experience our relationship with the world in a negative way (we can't engage with it) and that this negative relationship is the ground of all possibility, of all becoming. Who knew boredom could be so interesting?

That's all for now. Extra credit for the first person to identify the source of my title for this blog page.