Tag: Ned Beatty

The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts

I have always loved Superman, ever since I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the comic book vending machine at the Jewel Osco on Pulaski Avenue in Chicago as a child and got Action Comics instead of the Betty and Veronica I wanted. I was disappointed, and asked my mom for some more change so I could get what I actually wanted, which was when my mom decided to teach me a valuable life lesson: if you hurry and don’t pay attention you won’t get what you want–and sometimes that’s the end of it. So always, always make sure you’re picking the right thing. (I still do, to this day, and whenever I “forget” and rush–it inevitably ends badly.)

I wasn’t happy about it, but made the best of it. I had a comic book, after all, and while I had never shown any interest in super-heroes and their comics before, I decided to read it when I got home.

Once I did, I was done with the Archie and the world of Riverdale for good. I started reading DC Comics–I already knew about Batman from the television show, which we watched every week with its epic cartoonish campiness–and all the other titles that involved Superman even if only in a peripheral way. Both Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane also had their own titles, there were at least three titles alone devoted to Superman, and of course, Justice League of America. There was a Superboy title, too, and of course we can’t forget Linda Danvers, Supergirl. I read them all, and finally stopped buying them when they reached the (to me then) insane price of a dollar per issue. But I never lost my sentimental attachment to DC Comics and their heroes. I was also terribly bummed when the peripheral titles, like Superboy, Jimmy Olson–Superman’s Pal, and Superman’s Girlfriend, Lois Lane–were cancelled. For the most part, Lois’ adventures that didn’t involve Superman–when she was actually doing her job as an investigative reporter–often involved her in mysteries she had to solve, which were a lot more interesting to me than her schemes to expose Clark as Superman, or to get Superman to marry her. The old television series, with George Reeves, was often shown in reruns on alternative non-network local channels, and while I of course watched, I was kind of disappointed with how bad and cheap the effects looked. Batman’s television show was campy, of course, and highly entertaining–but campy. Wonder Woman was also campy and cheesy, but had Lynda Carter, who personified both the super-hero and her alter-ego, Diana. (When I was watching Superpowered: The DC Story the other night Carter said something I thought was very perceptive and explained thoroughly her role on the show: “I didn’t play them as separate characters–I just played her as Diana, the Amazon Princess, with a strong belief in equality and that there’s a better way than fighting.”)

So, when they Superman movie was announced sometime in the mid-1970’s, I knew I’d go see it, but didn’t have a lot of high hopes. But the tagline was fantastic.

You’ll believe a man can fly.

I think I was at the theater, waiting to watch either The Deer Hunter or Animal House, when they played the preview for the upcoming December release Superman The Movie, starring Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder (among many other major names in supporting roles–from Marlon Brando to Gene Hackman to Ned Beatty to Valerie Perrine). I knew they were making the movie, and I had allowed myself to get a little excited about it as a Superman fan. I’d always found previous Superman adaptations–mostly the television show–to be so inexpensively done that it was almost comical. But special effects had been changed forever by the one-two punch of 1977’s Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and I also knew they were spending a LOT of money on this adaptation, so when the screen and theater went dark, and you just heard a voice saying “You’ll believe a man can fly” and then…there he was, flying. I caught my breath because it looked so real. And when Christopher Reeve turned his face to the camera, smiled, saluted and somehow got his eyes to twinkle, I also knew the movie was perfectly cast. I couldn’t wait for the movie to finally open (I think I also saw the sequel on its opening weekend), and yes, when it finally came to the Petite Twin Theater (apparently still there? No, no movie theater on Commercial Street anymore, alas) I saw it on that first weekend.

I’ve always loved Superman, and Christopher Reeve was fantastic in the part; the bar every actor who puts on the suit has to clear.

Obviously, the recent announcement that David Corenswet has been cast to play Clark/Superman in the new reboot of the film franchise, replacing Henry Cavill, has me thinking about Superman again. I was very pleased, frankly, when Cavill was originally cast; I’d first noted him playing Charles Brandon on The Tudors and thought, “that is one fine-ass man.” I thought he was the perfect choice to play the dual roles of Clark and Superman; he is drop dead gorgeous, for one, and his eyes have the ability to twinkle when he smiles and the dimples? Just take me now, Henry.

Mr. Cavill fills out the suit rather nicely, does he not?

The Henry Cavill version of Superman, which followed on the heels of a failed reboot with Brandon Routh (who returned to the televised DC Universe–the Arrowverse–in Legends of Tomorrow. I always felt bad for Routh, who I didn’t think got a fair break, either), wasn’t the best interpretation of the character but that wasn’t Cavill’s fault; that was the vision of the director and writers and the studio; and while I think I can understand the need to update Superman, the need to darken his story a la The Dark Knight 1980’s Batman reboot was a mistake. Superman is the World’s Biggest Boy Scout; he stands for hope and truth and all those things we used to believe embodied the United States; if anything, Superman was the personification of the idea of American exceptionalism.

David Corenswet certainly has the right look for the part; he’s from the Ryan Murphy stable of dark-haired blue-eyed square jawed hunks who regularly appear on his television series. I first saw Corenswet in The Politician, and then again in Hollywood. I found the following fan art through a Google search, as there are no available official images of him as the Big Blue Boy Scout. James Gunn’s vision for the DC Universe is one I am interested in seeing; while I didn’t enjoy the second and probably won’t watch the third (I’ve come to detest everything about Chris Pratt over the last few years), I did think the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie was pitch-perfect for a popcorn super-hero type movie.

But I do hope they move away from the dark broodiness of the Cavill version. I enjoyed them (and love Henry Cavill for reasons that should be obvious; look at the posted picture above again), but they didn’t feel right for Superman movies. The underlying theme and element of all the Superman stories is his positive energy and determination to protect people from harm and most importantly, lead by example. One of the core elements of the original Superman series (before the first of many DC reboots of their universe) was that Superman’s most sacred vow was that he would never take a life, no matter who or how much they deserved death. That didn’t matter to Superman, whose pursuit of justice was limited to capturing the bad guys and turning them over to the judicial system. It wasn’t his job to determine justice and punishment.

I keep hearing good things about the animated DC movies and series, but have yet to really watch any of them. I don’t know why I have this automatic resistance to animated super-hero shows/movies; I love Disney animation, and there are literally hours of DC animated entertainment available for streaming. I’d been hearing good things about a new DC animated series on MAX called My Adventures with Superman, so while I was waiting for Paul the other night (and was tired of LSU football highlight videos) I decided to give My Adventures with Superman a chance.

Constant Reader, I am so glad I did.

The show is utterly charming. It’s very well animated, for one–Clark/Superman is handsome, which is weird to say about a cartoon–and it’s refreshingly well-written with more emphasis on the characters and who they are, as well as their relationships with each other, over the adventure aspects of it, which makes it all the more likable and enduring. The premise is that Clark, Lois, and Jimmy Olson are all interns at the Daily Planet; Clark and Jimmy are just starting, and Lois is given the job of breaking them in and showing them the ropes. Lois is ambitious and determined to become a star reporter, and her impetuosity and ambition quickly leads them all into trouble–not only with the bad guys, but with Perry White back at the paper. Fortunately, Clark is, well, Superman, so all turns out for the best and Lois gets the scoop of all time: there’s a super-man amongst us! Which gets all three of them hired on staff. Clark is exactly the way he should be: kind, thoughtful, empathetic, a little bit shy–and the cold open of episode 1, which has young Clark suddenly discovering that he can, actually, fly; and his excitement and wonder at discovering this sudden new ability slowly begins to fade–imagine learning at age ten or eleven that you have super-powers–and he begins to wonder not only who he is, but what he is….then after the opening credits it flashes forward to Metropolis and Clark and Jimmy–roommates–getting ready for their first day as interns. The chemistry between the three of them–truly the Holy Trinity of the Superman stories is Clark, Lois and Jimmy (it’s so nice to see Jimmy Olson finally getting something to do and being included as something more than just a bit part, which is a nice nod to Superman history), and I am really looking forward to watching more of it.

And the art is fantastic.

Well done, DC. I hope this series lasts and is a hit–and I hope James Gunn is watching so he can see how to do the Big Blue Boy Scout properly.

How You Get The Girl

Friday morning and all is right in my world–at least so far so good, one would think.

The weather has been truly spectacular here these past few weeks–despite dipping into the “almost too cold for Gregalicious” category after the sun goes down–and I’ve been really enjoying it. LSU is playing tomorrow–although I don’t have very high hopes for the game, since the program is now in turmoil, not only from having a surprisingly bad season but from allegations of sexual assault from players and ensuing cover-ups, which is despicable, frankly–and of course the Drew Brees injury has things looking rather bleak for the Saints as well. Ah, 2020 football season–so much worse than I’d ever thought it could be for fans in Louisiana. Heavy heaving sigh.

I reluctantly came to the conclusion yesterday that I am not going to try to get my story finished for that “monsters of Christmas” anthology. Much as it would be fun to be in the book if accepted, while the pay would certainly be lovely and welcomed, and I also loved the idea of trying to get a story written and publishable (maybe) in such a short period of time–despite all of those things, I really shouldn’t take time away from either the book or the other story already in progress that is developing nicely. It’s not the smartest thing in the world to do, and can I really spare the necessary time to get it done? Probably not, so while I am not crossing it off my to-do list entirely, I am not going to pressure or push myself to get it done.

My back is still sore this morning–but sitting in my easy chair with the heating pad while making condom packs certainly helped dramatically. I’m still not entirely sure what I did at the gym to cause this soreness, and the last time I went to the gym I didn’t feel it getting worse as I went through my workout, so who the hell knows? More heating pad today, and hopefully when I go to the gym later it’ll be okay.

Yesterday I watched two films while making condom packs, and while both fit squarely into the Cynical 70’s Film Festival, the other also crossed over, theoretically, into the Halloween Horror Film Festival–or would have, had it not been so incredibly terrible.

The first was Deliverance, which was an enormous hit on its first release, made Burt Reynolds a bonafide movie star, and has added so much to the common vernacular that people probably quote it without knowing the source material. While I knew the whole “squeal like a pig” thing came from Deliverance, I did NOT know “he’s sure got a pretty mouth” also came from the film. My parents took my sister and I to see it at the drive-in (and in retrospect, what in the name of God were they thinking? That movie is definitely inappropriate for junior high school students), and while I do not recall the other movie that played with it (which might have explained the choice better), I was pleasantly surprised in some ways by Deliverance. For one thing, it’s beautifully shot in the back woods/mountains of Georgia–breathtakingly beautiful. James Dickey wrote the screenplay based on his only novel–he was primarily known as a poet, and was also an alcoholic–and I’ve tried several times to read the book; I have a copy on my shelves somewhere right now. The film definitely fits in that paranoid 1970’s sub-genre of city people discovering how truly terrifying the country can be, despite the entire American mythology of the country and rural communities being the real America (which still rears its ugly head from time to time today). I could write an entire essay debunking that myth, frankly, as I am rather surprised no one has ever written (doesn’t mean someone hasn’t) an essay or a treatise about this entire sub-genre of film and fiction novels.

Deliverance is also an interesting exploration of 1970’s masculinity; the concept of masculinity, and what is traditionally masculine, was already starting to change and shift around the time the book was written and the film made; in its four characters we see the four masculine archetypes of the time, and how they compare/contrast with each other. The basic premise of the story–a river is being dammed to create a lake, and the dam will provide hydroelectric power for Atlanta, while the lake will flood towns and force communities to relocate away from land held in their families for generations, so these four men decide to canoe down the river one last time in a kind of “back to nature” type weekend thing that was becoming more and more popular with city-dwelling men whose city lives were beginning to make them think they were soft. Burt Reynolds, with his rubber zip up sleeveless vest, with the zipper strategically unzipped enough to show off the thick black pelt of hair on his chest, stood in for the masculine ideal; a strong man who, despite living in the city, only truly comes alive when pitting himself against nature in a game of survival; he is also the only member of the party who understands the dangers of the wilderness–the other three men in the party all think of it as a fun lark. He keeps referring to the Ned Beatty character as Chubby–he’s out of shape and not as fit; out of his element in the wilderness and often complaining and unable to meet the physical demands of the trip. Jon Voight, still at the height of his blonde youthful beauty, is prettily masculine–overshadowed by Reynolds’ machismo, but able to rise to the occasion and do what needs to be done. The fourth member of the trip–played by Ronny Cox–is yet another soft city type, definitely out of his element; while not seen as useless as the Ned Beatty type, also not as useful in a crisis as he could have been. The film’s bottom line is ultimately about survival, and who will survive when a fun weekend goes wrong. Deliverance also plays into a lot of the stereotypes about poor rural Southern white people–in fact, I would go so far as to say that Deliverance is responsible for cementing a lot of those stereotypes into the public consciousness. It’s a very good, if slightly bizarre, film; it certainly has to be one of the first films to depict male-on-male rape (and that’s one of the flaws in the film; why on earth did that happen? Why did the two rednecks attack them? Maybe it makes more sense in the book), and one of the reasons I always wanted to read the book was to see if there was more information, more explanation, to make the story work better. But I never have been able to get past the first chapter–Dickey was also one of those hard-drinking macho bullshit Hemingway-type writers, oozing with toxic masculinity, and that really comes through in the first chapter of the book, which is as far as I’ve ever gotten without putting it aside with a wince. But there’s an interesting essay to be written about masculinity and how it is portrayed in the film; reading the book and including it, with a comparison/contrast, could be enlightening.

The second half of my double header was Damien: Omen II, which is now available on Amazon Prime–but wasn’t back when I rewatched The Omen and The Final Conflict, the third part of the trilogy. Damien is just a bad movie, from beginning to end; it opens shortly after the conclusion of the first film, and the archaeologist in the Holy Land, Bugenhagen, telling a friend that Damien Thorn is the anti-Christ, proving it by showing him a newly excavated wall where a medieval monk who was visited by the devil and went mad, painted the images the devil showed him; amongst those images are the anti-Christ at numerous stages of his life–and he looks like Damien Thorn. Bugenhagen also has the ritual daggers that must be used to kill Damien…which is interesting, since he gave them to the Gregory Peck character in the first film, who was trying to use them at the end when he was killed; how did the old man get the daggers back? Was there more than one set? The rest of the movie is about Damien slowly learning who he is, while people continue to die around him, including his cousin/best friend. Damien was taken in by his father’s brother and his second wife, played by William Holden and Lee Grant (and just like in the first film, they are way too old to have thirteen year old sons), and the movie makes no sense, isn’t scary in anyway, and just really comes across as a pale imitation of the first, which wasn’t very good to begin with.

I also read a short story last night, from The Darkling Halls of Ivy, and while I did enjoy reading the story, “Einstein’s Sabbath,” by David Levien, in which a Princeton student after the second world war, one who was on the ship that sent the planes with the atomic bombs to Japan, comes to Professor Einstein’s home to blame him for the use of the bombs, and their creation. It’s an interesting story, but like the Jane Hamilton, not really a crime story per se; which is the only real problem I had with it.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader.