Superman Returns (M)
Starring Brandon Routh, Kevin Spacey and Kate Bosworth
Directed by Bryan Singer
On DVD now
Reviewed by Ben Marton
In the opening of the 1978 Richard Donner classic, the venerable Jor-El says “My friends, you know me to be neither rash nor impulsive…” In the case of ‘Superman Returns’, I cannot make that claim. Cynics, nay-sayers and cold-hearted curmudgeons everywhere get ready to roll your eyes, shake your heads and sigh, because…
‘Superman Returns’ is a wonderful film.
Now don’t get me wrong; some moviegoers will be disappointed. These include people expecting another post-modern teen-friendly urban soap-opera or angst-ridden bid to give spandex street cred (I am happy to report that neither Nickleback nor Evanescence are anywhere to be heard in this one). The world’s first superhero is not ‘re-imagined’, updated or deconstructed, so earlier script drafts with their black jumpsuits, polar bear duels and giant robot spiders are now a fading memory. Screenwriters Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris, who appear way too young to show such taste and clarity of vision, made exactly the right decision in undoing the numerous ill-advised character re-touches that have been inflicted upon Superman since DC Comics took a sledgehammer to some of their most endearing (but alas, not enduring) properties back in the mid-1980’s. ‘Superman Returns’ is epic in its scale, deeply personal in its sub-text, and manifests a clarity of vision and consistency of tone that leaves A.D.D.-inspired chop suey like ‘Batman Begins’ and ‘X-Men 3’ in its wake.
If I may pause for one more instant of self-justification, one would have to range far and wide to find a Superman fan more loyal, as well as a more passionate analyser of cinema, than myself, so it stands to reason that I was prepared to be more exacting than most in establishing my specifications as to what I felt a decent Superman film would be. There are two possibilities: either ‘Superman Returns’ just happens to align almost perfectly with my vision for a screen adaptation of this most beloved of characters, or Bryan Singer has crafted a film that works. I saw more than I expected, and just about everything I wanted, to see in a Superman story.
There is an effect that I like to refer to as the ‘Lord of the Rings effect’. The basic principle is that when a group of committed and highly professional film-makers truly believe in, and possess a genuine love for, the material with which they are dealing, and their time, energy and resources are given accordingly, something magical happens. The result is a true fusion of entertainment and art. Sounds like a no-brainer, right? The surprise is how rarely this effect occurs. ‘Superman Returns’ is as clear a case as I’ve seen in a long time.
For reasons of brevity (and that, friends and neighbours, is a phrase you will almost never hear from me), I shall truncate my synopsis of the plot. Almost immediately following the events chronicled in ‘Superman II’, scientists discovered evidence of a planet-like mass occupying the sector of space once ruled by Krypton. Superman, with no immediate concerns beyond the usual, and having more-or-less severed his relationship with Lois Lane, set sail for the designated co-ordinates in a vessel uncannily like the one that ferried him to his adoptive planet as an infant. The first minute or so of ‘Superman Returns’, a thrilling CGI update on the original’s opening credits which transforms them into a spectacular ride through a labyrinth of heavenly bodies, segues into a dark interlude; the sinister reversal of Lex Luthor’s fortune as he romances a mammoth inheritance from under an expiring octogenarian dowager; a delightful cameo by Noel Neill, the Lois Lane of ‘The Adventures of Superman’ in the 1950’s (look for Jack Larson, that show’s Jimmy Olsen, as a bartender later on). We cut to scenes of Superman’s fiery landing and recuperation on the Kent family farm (Tamworth ably masquerading as Smallville, Kansas). The quiet, still moment of bucolic dawn which follows brackets a breathtaking flashback sequence of pure, joyous exuberance; youth in flight.
The above moment is a call-back to the ‘Clark racing the train’ scene in ‘Superman: The Movie’ and is the first of many filmic reprises that take an iconic moment and shoot it into the stratosphere. Other highlights include the second night flight of Superman and Lois, rendered in breathless phrasing of tremulous beauty and ending with a wondrous glide over water, and the Fortress of Solitude confrontation, which trades ‘Superman II’s duelling finger lasers and giant cellophane ‘S’ for a truly horrifying beating in the mud; a pulse-hammering encapsulation of the casual brutality to which humans can sink, making you wonder if we deserve to be saved at all. I have never felt more strongly the desire to shout at the screen: “leave him alone, you animals!”
Make no mistake; opening half hour aside (and despite the relatively few but critical appearances of bespectacled journalist Clark) this is a film about Kal-El. It is in part a meditation by a god on Earth (more often above it) upon the question of personal satisfaction versus the awesome responsibility of having been nominated the caretaker of our fragile sphere. As far as Singer, Dougherty and Harris are concerned, the much-argued point about whether or not Superman is a Messianic figure in the truly Biblical sense has a simple answer: He is. They take great pains throughout the narrative to remind us, both visually and through the sonorous tones of a digitally resurrected Marlon Brando, of this fact. Superman claims that he ‘hears everything’; his Fortress of Solitude resembles a majestic cathedral, brilliant white shafts of light inter-cut with its interior crystalline structures, which are transformed into Doric columns. At one point his side is pierced. He falls back to Earth defeated, his arms outstretched, a less-than-subtle (but wholly necessary) crucifixion image.
‘Superman Returns’ is, of course, more than simply a Christian allegory. The best superhero stories achieve a mythology of their own, and with a character as seminal as this one it surprises me to this day how few people understand the ‘point’ of Superman. Much is made of the hackneyed argument that the Last Son of Krypton is (or at least has been) almost infinitely strong and well-nigh invulnerable. ‘Too powerful!’ folks cry. ‘Give us a more human hero like Batman or Spider-Man!’ The irony of that statement aside, one need only consider the effect of the inability to connect on an intimate level with other people upon an immortal and one quickly realises that not only is near-infinite power necessary; it is vital to the character’s dramatic makeup. In order for the threat of the loss of one human connection to have true gravity, Superman must win, and win spectacularly, nearly every time. Only then can a loss truly hurt. ‘Superman Returns’ inflicts such a loss upon its titular hero, but one that must be endured for the greater good.
The performances are very satisfying, and some are excellent. To address a point of contention, it is true that Kate Bosworth is no Margot Kidder. In terms of what the film is trying to achieve, this is a good thing. One anecdote making the rounds early in the production has it that Bryan Singer did not even allow Bosworth to view any of Kidder’s performance, lest too close an impersonation result. This rumour initially made me nervous, but as it turns out my fears were unfounded. Bosworth turns in a thoughtful, guarded performance that is all nuance, with none of Kidder’s trademark endearing goofiness in evidence; her portrayal is of an older and wiser career journalist, now balancing a long term relationship and motherhood, who has, by her own admission, ‘moved on.’ Singer’s decision to divest Lois Lane of the childlike wonder fostered in Richard Donner’s spunky girl reporter is entirely the right one. Superman must return to a very different woman than the one he all but abandoned five years earlier.
Brandon Routh is a revelation. While at times he channels Christopher Reeve outrageously, his performance is beautifully and appropriately understated, the very essence of a man who has been travelling alien shores alone for five years. Less winking at the camera is in evidence here; Routh achieves a subtlety and resonance that Reeve, for all his winning charm, could not have matched. To see the interplay of shock and recognition in the young actor’s eyes as Clark Kent is assailed by new complications is heartbreaking. Routh’s Superman is a detached and troubled Kal-El; a watchful guardian of incalculable strength and resolve who ultimately envies the simplicity of hearth and home with an aching longing. It may well be that Routh will be fatally typecast by his performance, but enviably, I’m sure, and for good reason; it is compelling and utterly convincing.
A mix of faces old, new, long respected and unknown rounds out the cast nicely. Kevin Spacey gifts us with a Lex Luthor who plays to his acting strengths (barely submerged, smouldering resentment and detached egotism which occasionally breaches the surface in a manic turn of twisted whimsy) and, much like Kate Bosworth, indicates something of a maturation in the character. Ned Beatty’s affable and gormless Otis, Luthor’s bumbling henchman from ‘Superman’ I and II, has been callously tossed aside in favour of an assemblage of mute, coldly practical and vicious thugs who very much up the ante in terms of threat. The only patently obvious cloning of a role is Parker Posey’s Kitty Kowalski (how appropriately alliterative!); a part rescued from the complete redundancy of simply aping Valerie Perrine’s Miss Tessmacher by Posey’s disarmingly hammy, but nevertheless superior, performance. Sam Huntington’s Jimmy Olsen is appropriately jovial and sweet; he is the only staff member of the Daily Planet who seems to have missed Clark Kent while he was away, and James Marsden, mercifully free of the character-deadening Cyclops shades he bore in ‘X-men’, steps up admirably into what could have been a thankless role as Lois Lane’s straight-arrow, frustratingly likeable fiancée, Richard. I breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent that Tristan Lake Leabu, Lois and Richard’s son Jason, was not going to slot into the well-worn (and generally irritating) ‘smart sassy streetwise kid with attitude’ groove, but was directed to deliver a measured, watchful and serene performance as the film’s critical unknown factor.
Unfortunately, and out of necessity, the film’s two most experienced (living) actors, Eva Marie Saint (who plays Clark’s mother, Martha) and Frank Langella (Daily Planet editor Perry White) are rationed very little screen time. They make the absolute best of what they have, however; Saint’s Martha is appropriately careworn and troubled but forthright and practical, the ultimate Midwestern farming matriarch, while Langella opts to indicate the passing of years since Superman’s exodus by jettisoning Jackie Coogan’s rambunctious posturing, all eyebrows and stogie, from 1978, in favour of playing the cool, opportunistic administrator; the bedrock upon which Metropolis’s greatest newspaper is built.
Not only does the film resonate with a heady mix of power, triumph and a deep, abiding sadness, it also looks beautiful. Nearly every frame is suffused with rich blues, reds and golds (of course). The newly-developed Genesis camera, a digital apparatus designed to emulate the clear resolution but softer tones of 70 mm film, sustains the film’s glorious colour palette through numerous location changes to provide a visual sensibility every bit as consistent and satisfying as the ramrod-straight thematic drive of the narrative. Also much like the script, the individual scenes are trimmed of any fat; just about every single shot component can be justified in terms of serving the story. Such pure, undiluted iconography and straight narrative progression hearken back to an age of cinema when all was in service of a single unifying idea. In this way, ‘Superman Returns’ makes many other superhero films appear bloated and occasionally directionless; listing as they do this way and that in a desperate attempt to catch every demographic stratum possible.
Tribute must be paid to John Ottman’s exquisite music. In keeping with the film’s ‘pseudo-sequel’ intentions, Ottman integrates and augments many recognisable themes from the original score by the incomparable John Williams. The ringing, martial keynotes are retained for the opening credits sequence and several of Williams’ more intimate signatures are briefly recalled, but once Ottman’s new musical interludes are clearly established, they render the film’s more wistful moments with true lyrical beauty. After repeated samplings of the soundtrack in isolation, I can honestly say that in building upon the musical aesthetic established by John Williams at the height of his creative power, John Ottman has surpassed him.
If you have stayed with me, Gentle Reader (and I can only marvel at your forbearance) you are probably smiling indulgently by now. This is, after all, supposed to be a review. Am I going to be critical? Well, the fact of the matter is that the only minor quibbles I have over the plot of ‘Superman Returns’ (and they are minor) could not possibly be revealed without entering spoiler territory in a big way. Suffice it to say that some minor characters are dispatched unnecessarily and in a way that, if viewed from a certain perspective, could compromise an element of Superman’s moral position, and one major character, while dealt with very fairly throughout the film, is all but abandoned in the closing scenes, his ultimate status not completely resolved. One must remember, of course, that this is the potential restart of a franchise, and I could conceive of both issues being dealt with in the next instalment.
‘Superman Returns’, for all its touches of nostalgia, evocative old Hollywood gloss and stately pacing, is a fascinating post-modern essay in cinema. While the Batman franchise had long languished under the yoke of a brutal law of diminishing returns and even Tim Burton’s gloriously garish and macabre restart seemed easy to overwrite, fans of Superman new that the epic magnificence of Richard Donner’s vision would be hard to leave by the roadside. What Bryan Singer has made cannot simply be labelled a sequel, for to do so would be to take only a part of its measure. Significant time has passed, and in many respects the years cannot be convincingly abridged by any work of art no matter how well intentioned. Something of a re-telling must inevitably be fused with the evolution of the narrative. If indeed it could be given a name, ‘Superman Returns’ is therefore a ‘re-quel’.
One must consider Bryan Singer’s position; in many ways an unenviable one. He inherits the helm of a cultural vessel which has long foundered, struggling through a sea of appalling identity confusion and script rewrites; a fictional construct which is at once the flagship property of a merchandising empire and its most oft-mishandled icon. A being who, like the version which finally made it to the screen, has been absent for a long time and has difficulty finding his place in a world which has moved on, but hardly progressed. He is simultaneously provided with millions of dollars of someone else’s money and a laundry list of things that can and cannot be done with the character (and it is a good bet that column B is twice as long as column A) and then cajoled, by anxious studio heads and hysterical online fans alike, into crafting what must stand simultaneously as a negotiated vision for this generation’s take on Superman, and a lovingly crafted work which acknowledges (and, if at all possible, integrates) the most beloved superhero movie of all time. Singer has stepped up to the plate, smiled and waved at the fans, didn’t baulk at their jeers, demands and exhortations, and swung with all his might.
Upon much reflection, and in the final analysis, ‘Superman Returns’ graces the screen with moments of spectacle, true warmth and affection for modern culture’s most recognisable and greatest hero. It is also quite obviously the culmination of a deeply personal vision of what Bryan Singer thinks the character should be. It shares the stage with Tom DeHaven’s recent novel, ‘It’s Superman!’ in presenting a far more engaging and respectful take on the Last Son of Krypton than any number of recent comics.
Recently, in an excellent essay for ‘Wired’ Magazine called ‘The Myth of Superman’, comics luminary Neil Gaiman wrote:
‘Other heroes are really only pretending: Peter Parker plays Spider-Man; Bruce Wayne plays Batman. For Superman, it’s mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent that’s the disguise – the thing he aspires to, the thing he can never be. He really is that hero, and he’ll never be one of us. But we love him for trying. We love him for wanting to protect us from everything, including his own transcendence’.
‘Superman Returns’ succeeds despite its summer blockbuster touches. A film sparse in terms of plot twists and with surprisingly few climactic set pieces, it manifests its considerable narrative and thematic power through the consistent employment of iconographic visual motifs; Superman bearing aloft the huge Daily Planet globe after it is shaken from its moorings becomes Atlas, literally bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. A moment hurriedly captured by a young bystander with a mobile ‘phone camera echoes the now legendary cover image from ‘Action Comics’ issue one. Clark employs his X-ray vision to observe Lois as she rides the elevator to the roof of the Daily Planet and she is transformed, a golden angelic figure which simultaneously objectifies her as Superman’s heart’s desire and places her metaphorically beyond his reach. This deeply personal work, the pinnacle of Bryan Singer’s ambition and creativity thus far, is, in the end, most notable for its quiet moments; almost silent tableaux that stir the heart with their elegance and simple goodness. ‘Superman Returns’ is richer than is immediately apparent, a fact that has, sadly, left some confused and jaded critics missing the point entirely.
There are many moments in ‘Superman Returns’ that I will never forget. The most powerful is that of the lone, orphaned god rising majestically into a dream of amber, way up beyond the clouds, to pause suspended for a moment, bathed in a baptismal sea of life-giving light. It is a contemplative and deeply moving instant before the inevitable plunge back towards Earth, to rescue us once again from our own folly. Like all such great cinematic experiences, the memory of watching this film is infused with a touch of sadness, because, as the song by the ‘Crash Test Dummies’ puts it:
“And sometimes I despair
The world will never see another man
Like him…”
Rating: 9 out of 10.
