I believe a man can fly. . .again

What is the Soul of a Superman?

First of all, I am not an expert on Superman.  I’ve read very few of the thousands of comic books, and have seen only a smattering of episodes of the numerous TV shows in which he has appeared.  I’ve not even screened the third and fourth theatrical films (by choice, mind you) so my familiarity with all the iterations of Superman which have come and gone over the decades is minimal.  Still, I believe that I understand the character well enough to proceed with a passionate plea for his cinematic reclamation.

As a child my first exposure to Superman was reruns of the black and white television serial “Adventures of Superman” starring George Reeves.  Even though I didn't watch the entire series, I enjoyed what I saw immensely.  Yet my interest did not lead me towards other familiar sources such as comic books.  With certain pop culture franchises I have remained a purely visual consumer.  I am the same way with Star Wars.  While I am aware of the vast range of stories set in the Star Wars universe that are available in novels and other print media, I’ve only ever been interested in the movies and the all-encompassing sensory experience that they alone provide.

When “Superman” first came to theaters in the summer of 1978, I was a boy whose imagination was easily carried away, and not just by the colossal charm of Christopher Reeve.  The rose-colored vision of this character was equally reflected in the “modern” city of Metropolis.  I knew that this was not a realistic depiction of urban life, for I had watched the nightly news and knew what happened in big cities.  I didn’t question the omission of certain savageries because I understood that they didn’t fit into the universe which Superman inhabits, for he is not the only idealized element in this cinematic world.

The real world has changed very little in the four decades since, but attitudes towards heroes have become more complex and hyper-critical.  Even at the apex of his popularity in the fifties, Superman was viewed by many as a deluded Boy Scout, unable or unwilling to acknowledge the seemingly inexpiable failings of so much of humankind.  Today the response to Superman’s unfaltering altruism has metastasized from a bemused intellectual superiority to downright dismissive scorn.  How could he be so stupid?  Why does he even care?  What good can he possibly do?

This breaks my heart.  The knee-jerk judgments heaped upon Superman are such an ugly expression of the cynicism which has so virulently infected much popular culture and online social media.  I understand this up to a point.  There’s a lot to be upset about.  Greed, hatred and tyranny still hold much of our world in a poisonous, debilitating grasp.  Pessimism is so rampant and so accepted that even wishing for things to get better is often seen as a futile exercise.  Furthermore, even when something good does happen, often the first reactions are smug and nihilistic assumptions that it was either a fake stunt or merely a momentary anomaly from the norm of misery.

Shouldn’t that make Superman and what he stands for even more relevant and appealing?  In a world where the righteous moral path is shrouded in ever deepening shades of gray, wouldn’t you want a hero who is the most incorruptible?  Wouldn’t you want someone whom you could implicitly trust to tell you the truth and always be there to help?  What’s so wrong with actually giving a shit about the world and the people in it?  Has hope now become something to be viewed as a mental illness?  When did trying to be a good guy suddenly become a bad thing? 

I present below a superlative example of how Superman can beatifically merge with our harsher realities when he is in the hands of a writer who understands his character.

Yeah, I needed a tissue too.

Unfortunately, the three most recent films featuring Superman only serve as cautionary tales about the failure to successfully integrate his character into our contemporary global culture.  After the titanic two-part saga that unfurls through “Superman” and “Superman II”, the franchise faltered with the silly “Superman III” and then augured in with the atrocious “Superman IV: The Quest for Peace.”  Rather than try to launch a phoenix from such ignoble ashes, director Bryan Singer’s solution was to start an alternate timeline picking up after “Superman II.”  It sounded like a fantastic idea, and when the first teaser trailer was released, “Superman Returns” seemed perfectly poised to get the franchise flying high again.

Much to the dismay of many, “Superman Returns” turned out be more like “Superman Mopes.”  Other than the superb sequence involving the rescue of the airplane, Superman’s actions are decidedly un-super, mostly revolving around pedestrian, soap-opera-styled relationship squabbles.  Our hero does almost nothing truly heroic, and despite the welcome attempt to evoke an earlier era in the Art Deco-styled production design, the lighting is somber and the atmosphere moody.  The whole world looks depressed, and Superman doesn’t bring any light or joy to the darkness.

While “Superman Returns” was dreary and misguided, I believe it was an earnest attempt to revitalize the character for modern audiences. However I could not have guessed at the illogical oblivion to which the franchise would be consigned under the guise of further “updating.”  Zack Snyder’s “Man of Steel” was an attempt to reboot Superman’s origin story, but the film is a headache-inducing barrage of blurry, hyper-kinetic CGI mayhem from start to finish.  Again, Superman has only one moment of true heroism, and that single positive spark is soon extinguished by the eye-numbing assault of the interminable final battle.

There’s SO much wrong with "Man of Steel", but the crowning critical error was the whole-scale destruction of Metropolis that occurs as Superman battles Zod.  Thousands of innocent lives are destroyed in the toppling skyscrapers and yet Superman never once pauses to help.  This total lack of concern for the people whom he is sworn to protect is a direct contradiction of the core of the character.  Superman would NEVER do this.  Zack Snyder’s belated claims that this deviation would be “explained” in future films clearly demonstrates that this director does not understand the character.

Those die-hard fans of Superman who were able to forgive Snyder’s ill-conceived initial approach must have been gobsmacked by “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.”  This ponderous, chaotic monstrosity laid bare the myopic scope of Snyder’s glum and murky vision.  Batman and Superman duking it out seems like a natural match-up as Batman is a creature of the shadows while Superman is a harbinger of light.  Even though they strive for similar goals, these two heroes are polar opposites in their world views and their actions, so it's easy to see them coming blows over their divergent methods.

Yet Snyder’s psychological sketch for both characters is nearly identical.  They brood and glower with furrowed brows, looking in dire need of some Metamucil.  Speaking of coming clean, I have to confess that I haven’t seen the movie, and I never will.  “Man of Steel” was more than enough to convince me to avoid any future Snyder films because I don’t have enough ibuprofen and bourbon at home with which to self-medicate afterwards!  I have heard enough to know that my decision was correct.  But it still makes me sad.

The one consolation that I can take from this is that “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice” did not do as well as was hoped.  The opening was a financial bonanza, but the film experienced a second weekend plummet of ticket sales by almost 70 percent!  This is due not just to the failure to properly present the main characters, but also because Zack Snyder is such a poor director with no sense of character development, coherency or pacing.  Despite this precipitous drop in attendance, I doubt it will be enough to convince Snyder to reconsider his approach to Superman or film-making in general.

What’s worse is that Superman is still in Snyder’s hands, as it has been confirmed that he will direct at least the first of a two-movie Justice League saga.  I have no hope that Superman will finally be able to show his true colors again in this next installment.  However, I still believe that this character has a place in our lives and could be presented in a modern film in a way that is not corny or anachronistic.  It can be done, they just have to find that one director who knows who Superman is, where he comes from and why he does what he does.

Superman is an immigrant, and his story is a celebration of the ideal of this country being a place for anyone who wants to remake their lives or just start over.  Superman is also an orphan, yet he found a new home with his foster parents who taught him to value everyone and everything in equal measure.  Superman knows that the world is usually not fair, but nevertheless he tirelessly struggles to makes things better because he believes that we have the capability to overcome our flaws and learn to live together peacefully.

Kindled by hope, guided by the love of his new family and powered by the yellow sun in the bright blue sky of his new home, Superman carries forward upon his mighty shoulders our fondest dreams for a better future, and the source of the inspiration for this virtuous goal is eloquently evoked by his father, Jor-El, in perhaps the single greatest summation of what Superman represents to us:

“They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be.  They only lack the light to show the way.  For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you. . .my only son.”

"Finding Vivian Maier" - review

A fascinating yet harrowing portrait

For me, the photographer’s eye has always been a maddeningly elusive talent.  All my life I have struggled to capture through the lens what I see around me.  When something I’ve snapped a picture of even approximates the feeling in my mind, I experience a euphoric surge of accomplishment, primarily because these achievements are so exceedingly rare and precious.  A person who can preserve the essence of every moment with nearly every click of the shutter seems to me to have powers of perception bordering on the mystical.

Vivian Maier had this unerring eye, and yet her astonishing street portraits of the citizens of New York City were seen by few while she was alive.  They might have been lost forever had it not been for John Maloof, a young real estate agent and frequent auction attendee who was looking for photographs for a local history project.  John bid on a box containing a hefty quantity of negatives, but despite the striking nature of the pictures, they did not apply to John’s current project.  The true enormity and significance of the discovery would remain secret for a little while longer as Vivian's work was consigned to storage for a second time.

In the interim, the impact of the images refracted in John’s subconscious, and when he took them out again and examined them more closely he realized that he had to find out who Vivian Maier was and to make her pictures known to the world.  John’s journey was long and arduous, as the scope and breadth of Vivian’s work could have easily consumed the entirety of any museum’s human resources to properly catalog such a massive collection.  After sharing some of her pictures online, John was at last able to locate and interview people who personally knew Vivian, and the story of her life that unfolds is both enthralling and haunting.

The initial reminiscences about Vivian paint her as a frumpy but appealing woman whose surreptitious yet piercing pictures are astounding in their combination of guarded remove and furtive intimacy.  Vivian was never without a camera, and as a nanny for many New York families over the years, she went everywhere.  Her urban adventures with her wards seem charming and innocuous, but then a dark side suddenly slithers out from the shadows to coil around your heart like an icy, implacable python.  Vivian Maier had demons, and was driven by them to do and say some horrid things.

These revelations are shocking at first, but they make Vivian’s story and the photographs that accompany them even more interesting and revealing than before.  What began as a breezy examination of the artists’ work becomes a dark descent into a damaged soul.  Vivian’s compulsion to take the kinds of pictures she did has a painful parallel to the slow, methodical stitching up of a near fatal wound.  The process is laborious and painful, and though a scar will always remain, it is the only way to begin to heal.  As Vivian’s personal history is more deeply explored, a new and even more complex interpretation presents in equal measure the horror and beauty of human life.