I'm proud of many things: my blue, bombardier's eyes; my considerable length and girth; the 2-inch white hair growing on my right arm...what I'm proudest of, however, is that I never contradict myself. I'm like the Bible in that respect.
So it is with a heavy heart that I kneel before you, Constant Retard, with the infernal knowledge that I may have misled you on one -- just one -- particular account, namely that Unbreakable is the best comic book film ever made. (Or maybe it was Batman Begins. Or Sin City. It's hard to keep track.)
Fine films, those, today I saw the error of my ways. Today I ate salmon. Today I watched Superman II again.
You can't teach a dog to be a cat, for the past ten years superhero movies have striven to be taken seriously, to achieve respectability. Some have, others haven't. For every great comics-to-film media transition, there has been an equal -- perhaps greater -- amount of terrible dreck. It's a hard task and a scary prospect, trying to make a funny book into a serious film that moviegoers can accept. And it can kick the asses of even the most talented filmmakers.
I'm looking at you, Ang Lee. Free hug.
My question: Why bother?
The easiest way to adapt a comic to film is to play up the hero's angst (also the best way to sell a million records; not the best way to write a blog). You know what, that shit's tired like Goodyear radials. Stan Lee and Co. created a cottage industry out of men*-who-are-more-than-men inflicted with everyday problems. What those worthies did not do, however, is bog down the fantastic storylines of their tales with unrelenting, masochistic self-reflection. Peter Parker was crushed when Gwen Stacy died. You were, too (she was hot). But he did the only thing he could do: he got over it and turned tragedy into positivity by fucking up the likes of The Scorpion, The Shocker, The Lizard, etc.** He didn't cup his forehead and frown like he was constipated for more than a few panels. And Mr. Fucking Brightside always had a choice bon mot to toss at his adversaries, despite his financial/familial/cloning woes.
That's a guy I can get behind***.
So what does this have to do with the greatest comic book movie ever made? In a word -- and to quote Russell Hammond -- everything.
Comic books are supposed to be fun. They're supposed to be fantastic. They're supposed to be silly.
No other movie encapsulates the spirit of comic books as does Superman II. It is singlehandedly the greatest comics story ever told on the silver screen, both in its plot and direction. It is edited -- perhaps unintentionally -- flawlessly: there are no pages to be turned, yet it feels as though every scene is being played out before your eyes, panel by panel, further piquing your interest.
It's funny, often remarkably so, on many levels. Christopher Reeve as Clark Kent provides so many subdued chuckles in his portrayal of a bumbling reporter, and his awkward horniness towards Lois Lane is palpable. Margot Kidder, let's face it, isn't that hot; but, hey, if Supes digs her, she must have something going on. (Score one for Psychedlic Kimchi-championed Keanu Reeves: he, too, made a dull-looking love interest -- Carrie-Anne Moss -- seem alluring).
Zod. Well, what is there to say? Zod is a true comic book villian: he seeks vengeance. He seeks power. He seeks a Subway foot-long sub without olives. I joke, but, in the spirit of comic books, Zod is both menacing and idiotic. Word to Victor Von Doom and Lord Voldemort.
Never a fan of Action Comics, I find Zod, Ursa, and Non to be the perfect foils for Superman. Lex Luthor, no matter how many revisions the character goes through (the president? Try harder -- anyone could beat up the president), is still a human being. Handicap Supes against three mofos of his own planet and abilities, however, and now you got me interested.
Combine all of that with the greatest showdown in New York -- sorry, Metropolis -- since John Starks dunked on Scottie and MJ, and you have, Constant Retard, an ear-to-ear smile of a film.
And that's what every comic book movie should be: exciting. Fun. Incredible. Well-written. Silly.
But most of all, good.
Superman II, though, isn't good -- it's the best. Word to to Brock Landers.
* Women, too. Safe!
** Speaking of masochism, he probably didn't -- and won't -- fuck them up enough.
*** Save it.
Zod being tossed into the Coke display was a great moment in cinema. You know it was orgasmic.
ReplyDeleteDid you watch the original, or the 'Donner Cut' that was released a short while ago? You know it makes a difference.
It's been a solid week without an impuissant comment from that guy who lured BoA away from my mildewy arms. You know it hurts so good.
The only thing that would have made such a great movie better, would be to see Reeve jumping out of that Marlboro truck with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. You know you want to smoke whatever brand Superman smokes.
It's the 3-disc DVD release, avec the Donner cut. How in hell the Donner Cut can surpass the "original," is a big question for me. Just like my sexuality.
ReplyDeleteI don't even like Superman! But Superman II is better than a morning blowjob x infinity.
(Okay, maybe that's a bit too hyperbolic. Maybe.)