Superman Returns

[Deleted]

Its nowhere near Superman the movie in terms of acting, music, prediciton.......anything!!

The fact the movie was basically a non event tells you all you need to know. Its too mopey, too depressings, too dark, theres a severe lack of originality and one of the lead parts is an awful actress.

The boards kind of divided into Superman returns guys and STM guys now. Both take pot shots at each others films. That being said I think STM is lightyears ahead of Returns.

For those interested heres an out-take from that scene in the bushes at Lois's home.

[atp]

Sept 24, 2011 4:53:35 GMT -5 @kris said:

For those interested heres an out-take from that scene in the bushes at Lois's home.

;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

[ye5man]

;D ;D ;D ;D and the red is the right shade

[Metallo]

Sept 24, 2011 3:04:15 GMT -5 crazy_asian_man said:

I enjoyed Superman Returns a lot but I can't put it in that upper echelon of films like STM, Batman, The Dark Knight, Iron Man, X2, and Spider-man 2.

SR is a mixed bag, I'm disappointed/underwhelmed in parts, but the parts I like are SO above and beyond, that it outshines the weak stuff.

If going for TOP echelon of superhero films, I know it's subjective, but if I go by 'how often do I need to speed search/do I need to speed search on the remote'.... While I know I said that SR ranks among some of the best, in my list, it's in the top twenty, but not my top ten necessarily, either. When the movie has Routh front and center, I'm fine with it, (most of the time) but when it goes to Luthor's real estate plot - the movie gets a lot less interesting imo. (Not Spacey's fault) While the Luthor stuff works enough, it's JUST enough.... and, after seeing how tight the Dark Knight was even when Batman WASN'T on the screen, makes the weakness of Luthor's conception and subplot even more apparent.... to me.

(Aside: Personal top ten: ((in no order))- X2, Spiderman 2, The Crow, Captain America, Spiderman, Iron Man, STM, Batman Returns, Xmen-First Class, The Incredible Hulk)

Thats why I think its mediocre. The good parts are good but the bad parts make you smack your forehead. People who say its TERRIBLE are over exaggerating. Anybody who says SR is on the Level of Batman & Robin or Catwoman are fucking idiots. Taste is taste but c'mon. Those movies are wall to wall God awful.

Batman Forever has gotten some guilt by association but I'd place SR over that too. Between the hammy acting from Kidman and a few others, Jim Carrey playing Jim Carrey, and Tommy Lee Jones God awful Two face and the piss poor development of that character. The movie was chopped to bits in editing so a lot of it doesn't make sense.

I'd rank SR over any comic book movie Snyder has done so far. 300 was a fun but dumb disposable piece of entertainment and Watchmen is an even bigger mixed bag. Snyder stayed fairly faithful but parts of the movie are painfully awkward. His idea to cover the movie with a soundtrack of the most cliche songs to convey the 60's and 70's moods seemed amateurish sometimes. There are rare instances were it works. He also fell into the trap of his own creative crutches with things like the slow mo. Sally Jupiter was a weak casting choice and Ozymandias was just terrible. But then Dan, Rorschach, and The Comedian were all great and Manhattan was decent. Its also a mixed bag but a level below Superman Returns for sure.

And I'd certainly rank SR over garbage like Green Lantern or Jonah Hex. Hex SHOULD have been awesome. And it SHOULDN'T have cost 100 million dollars. Hollywood and its obsession with Western meets Steampunk/sci fi. They think the western won't sell so they dress it up with all this stuff but if they spent conservatively the film wouldn't have to make so much money.

With Hex WB should have been shooting for a Blade type of hit and budget. The same is true of Constantine. But they can't seem to get that. How do all you Brits on the board feel about WB saying one of your characters basically isn't good enough to work in a film? Constantine wasn't bad but again...middle of the road.

[Metallo]

In the post 2000!

[stargazer01]

My fave superhero movies:

1.SR
2.STM
3.X2
4.SII
5.Iron Man/X-Men

There is very little that bothers me about SR and so much I enjoy. And I also like Luthor's plan. I like Luthor's characterization in this movie a lot. His plan just needed more development, but it was still interesting to me, I think it had lots of potential. I like movies Lex (the greatest criminal mind of our time!). Other prefer businessman Lex and that's ok, I think both interpretations ARE valid.

I also like Nolan's batman movies, but they don't have the heart SR has, IMO. And I'm not a fan of the way Nolan handles dialogues/speeches in his B. movies. It's a bit ridiculous at times and it takes me out of the pic. He's also nothing special for action sequences. Batman himself doesn't seem to have enough charisma in those movies to me. He's always overshadowed by the others. Bruce comes off much better. Good plotting in his movies, but overall it's not that great to me.

The Spiderman movies are ok, fun action flicks with some heart, but they seem a little dumbed down to please the lowest denominator, IMO. And they did. They just seemed geared for very young audiences. It does little for me.

So yeah, my fave superhero movies so far are the ones made by Bryan Singer (and Donner), haha! I just really like his style of telling stories I guess. And yes, he's not that great at action, but I think he learns fast. But what I like the best about him is that he handles drama and characters Very well. He SHOWS instead of tell. His superhero movies just have a lot of heart.

I haven't seen Thor, First Class or Cap. First Class is the one with the better buzz.

[stargazer01]

gothamist.com/2011/09/24/video_james_marsden_sings_stevie_wo.php

;D watch James Marsden sing. Not bad!

[stargazer01]

I always liked this pic because it clearly shows that he was plenty big. And I understand Langella is a big guy too. Colors are bit odd. Odder than usual. ;D

[stargazer01]

I just finished reading another insightful analysis of Superman Returns. Gah, this movie is so awesome!!




SR - A Thematic Analysis

The Hero, Alienation and Family in Superman Returns

“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” – F.Scott Fitzgerald


A narrative has its protagonist. And he (she) is often, generically, referred to as the “hero.” But in classical myth and legend (or in their modern-day equivalents) there is the true, larger-than-life hero – possessed of exceptional character, cunning, bravery or abilities (sometimes even super human ones). Not just a hero, this is a Hero.

Rarely do such individuals exist in the real world - where complicating ambiguities (not to mention physical limitations) prevail. Nevertheless, there’s something evocative and resonant about them as ideals. Thus, they find a ready home within fiction.

It is a point of some irony, however, that the fictional Hero (in one form or another) often exists apart from the normalcy that he seeks to/is sworn to restore and protect. This is more than mere convention; it looms as a structural requirement. A larger-than-life adventure is, by definition, an extraordinary sequence of events. And it only makes sense that an extraordinary individual should be called upon to confront those events. If an “everyman” could do the job, it wouldn’t be much of an adventure. No, what’s required is less an “everyman” and more a “superman.” But by that same token, this Hero has no role or function absent a worthy adventure or dramatic crisis. Likewise, there’s no role once the extant crisis has been resolved. At which point in time, the Hero figuratively (or sometimes literally, in the case of the stereotypical Western) rides off into the sunset – his narrative duty fulfilled.

Consider the quasi-antihero, “Dirty Harry” Callahan. By necessity, he’s not a typical cop. He functions outside established authority because established authority, as defined, doesn’t work. In the unlikely event that San Francisco was rid of violent crime, there’d be no further purpose for the likes of Dirty Harry. The story, thus, comes to a natural conclusion and the title character, presumably, goes back to being a typical cop (at least until a sequel beckons).

Alternatively, the Hero may make the “supreme sacrifice” whereby he’s expelled from the narrative in very permanent fashion – having first, of course, accomplished the goal of restoring order and normalcy prior to his noble martyrdom.

This is the paradox. The Hero’s role is to re-establish normalcy; but he doesn’t represent it nor can he exist within it.

More prosaically, it’s familiar (if not a cliché) within fiction that the brilliant private eye, the brave fire fighter or the accomplished investigative journalist has a dysfunctional (or, at least, unconventional) home life. We seem to appreciate (even admire) that the Hero’s passionate commitment to duty precludes benefiting from the status quo that’s being preserved, protected and defended on behalf of others. (Sherlock Holmes, for example, is a colorfully eccentric misanthrope who dabbles in cocaine to alleviate the boredom between cases).

This is not to say that there’s never a happy ending for the hero/protagonist. When the detective finally nabs the long-sought serial killer or the intrepid reporter finally exposes the corruption, the narrative may (and often does) conclude with a re-establishment of (at least implied) normalcy. A new romance blossoms, a reconciliation with the spouse occurs, a reunion with “family” is enacted. (Holmes, at the end of his career, retired to bucolic Sussex where he took up beekeeping.) With the goal attained (and/or the “personal demons” vanquished), there’s now room for “home.” But at that point, to reiterate, the Hero (as so defined) ceases to be. The Hero and normalcy don’t coincide.


~


The superhero genre takes this notion to extreme lengths. Inspired by a supernatural fate or bizarre circumstance, the Hero takes to donning outlandish garb. This is not solely for disguise; it’s also used to distance the Hero from the commonplace or conventional. The expectation here is that these protagonists have so devoted their lives to their respective noble causes that they don’t even want to look like (be mistaken for) the rest of us. Their “mission” is paramount. The mission is why they exist and why we idolize them. For them to covet or be distracted by a milieu that approaches normalcy is – in some fundamental aspect – a violation of the rules (hereafter labeled “the paradigm”) that the Hero is supposed to function within. In more conventional narratives, there may be “reluctant heroes.” But seldom are there reluctant superheroes.

Arguably, there’s no greater modern incarnation of the Hero – in its purest and most idealistic terms – than Superman. He’s the Man of Steel, the Man of Tomorrow; he fights for Truth, Justice and the American Way. Occasionally and as parodic criticism, he’s also called the “boy scout in blue.” But even this epithet has been unapologetically reclaimed as a virtue. Superman, it seems, wears his simplicity and “old-fashioned values” proudly. And his tales follow (or are supposed to) an equally simple formula. When assignment calls, he springs into action. With the crisis resolved, he’s Clark Kent, watchful guardian – waiting for Superman’s next summons to duty.


~


In Superman Returns, writer-director Bryan Singer explores and deconstructs this formula (“the paradigm”) – though, ultimately and with due attention, he puts it back together. He posits the eponymous hero as the definitive outsider who imagines that he, nevertheless, can be an insider. This is not obscure subtext; it’s front and center as a theme: the alienated Hero repudiating his alienation.

The disembodied voice of his long-dead father reminds Superman: “Even though you’ve been raised as a human being, you are not one of them.” Yet, clearly, Superman wants to belong. Even his adoptive mother validates the idea of belonging. She assures him that he’s “not alone” – that there are ways for him to attain the sense of “family” and normalcy that he seeks. Thus, the rules that conventionally govern the Hero – “the paradigm” – are explicitly denied in Superman Returns.

At least initially.

At the very beginning of the film, we’re informed that Superman has “disappeared” – gone to the distant and recently discovered remains of his native world. Ostensibly, this was to seek out survivors. But even as a pilgrimage to a shrine for the dead, we recognize and appreciate the common longing that this gesture represents – the connection to “home” and to ancestors. What may strike us as odd, though, is that it’s the great hero, Superman, doing the longing. To the extent that the Hero is entitled to (or achieves) this normalcy, it typically occurs in the final act or dénouement (the “happy ending”) when abdication of hero status is permitted because it’s no longer required. But in the case of a perpetually present superhero, in on-going adventures, the abdication isn’t supposed to happen. Again, this would be a violation of “the paradigm” – the notion that the Hero and normalcy, by definition, don’t occupy the same space. As part of Singer’s deconstruction, Superman is, in effect, “doing it wrong.”

As it turns out, however, Superman’s interstellar voyage and five-year absence produced no personal satisfaction or epiphany. Upon his return to Earth, Clark/Superman reports that “home” was a barren “graveyard… I’m all that’s left.” But the (“disallowed”) longing for “home” still haunts Superman. And if it can’t be rediscovered or reclaimed then perhaps it can be constructed. Unfortunately, this too (as is soon revealed) is a dubious prospect. Superman’s prior relationship with his iconic paramour, Lois Lane, did not end on good terms – the duties and obligations of super heroism, apparently, being too onerous. (Indeed, there are indications that Superman’s absence was, at least in part, precipitated by a romantic falling-out.) So there’s no great optimism that a reconciliation will be easy or, for that matter, wise. But, as we learn, even a return to the less-than-satisfactory status quo is all but impossible. Lois has moved on; she’s with a new man and even has a son. In fact, she has written an award-winning article entitled Why The World Doesn’t Need Superman – signifying the clean (and very public) break she has made. And Richard (the new man, a good man) – by occupying the role of non-hero, with no extraordinary abilities or mythic responsibilities – represents everything that Superman cannot be. Richard’s function within the narrative is to call attention to the proper boundaries of “the paradigm”; Superman, at this point, is still rebelling against them.

As if by magnetic force, Superman is drawn to “home.” But, significantly, it’s not his. (Clark Kent actually has no place to live in Metropolis. At one point, Lois asks if he’s “found a place yet?” No, not yet. He’s “still looking.” Indeed.) The “home” in this case is Lois’s – the one she shares with Richard and their young son, Jason. In secret, Superman takes in the domestic normalcy. He can listen to it with inhumanly powerful hearing and see it with x-ray eyes. But he can’t have it. Moreover, eavesdropping produces its own punishment: Superman learns that Lois did not love him. However insincere that may be, it’s meant to reassure Richard – a declaration that she has, indeed, moved on. And it confronts Superman as well.

Uncertain, Superman essentially retreats to his work. Floating high above the Earth, serenely waiting for the inevitable cries for help and the call to action, Superman is in his element. Heroism is here represented as sanctuary. Indeed, the suggestion of “reluctant superheroism” is carefully navigated in the film. After his spectacular rescue of a 777 airliner, the assembled crowd cheers and celebrates. And Superman smiles at the adoration. Later, in a montage, he’s shown making news around the world, performing his expected super exploits and saves. As the narrative in Superman Returns is formulated (and owing to genre expectations), there’s no real ambivalence about the “role of hero” taken in isolation. The conflict only arises at the personal level when Superman deludes himself into thinking that he can “have it all” – be the Hero that he is and, simultaneously, have the life of a non-hero (something like Richard’s life).

With the intractability of this conflict – this paradox – fully realized, the narrative then undergoes a thematic reversal. Structurally (and appropriately), it occurs at almost precisely the halfway point – whereupon “the (deconstructed) paradigm” begins the process of repair and restoration. The pivotal scene takes place on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building where – for the first time in the film – Superman and Lois are alone and face-to-face. The scene, rather explicitly, isn’t structured as a true or total reconciliation. It can’t be for Lois, given her circumstances and the bitterness she still harbors. And it isn’t for Superman – who, by this point, simply hopes to explain the conclusions that he has come to.

“What do you hear?” Superman asks Lois as they hover over Metropolis.
“Nothing,” she responds. Indeed, the night is deathly quiet.
“I hear everything,” he says, alluding to the cries for assistance that he’s ever vigilant for.

What is familiar as one of Superman’s many extraordinary abilities is taken to its logical extension. It connotes an unending duty and commitment. This is what it is to be the Hero, to be Superman. “I hear everything” isn’t regret so much as it’s self-definition. Lois - looking down on the “quiet” city and imagining the way Superman experiences it - perceives (perhaps for the first time) the true nature of the Hero’s place. Extra-textually, she begins to understand the limits imposed by “the paradigm.”

But this understanding has to make it past one considerable hurdle: Lois and Superman are still in love with each other. As much as this scene serves as explanation and transition, it is – equally - a seduction. In preparation for their impromptu, nighttime flight over Metropolis, Lois elects to slip off her shoes – an almost submissive gesture. When she grasps Superman for security (they remain in embrace throughout), she remarks how warm his body is. In partial bravado – and with the double entendre obvious – Lois mentions that Richard, too, “takes me up all the time” (he’s a pilot). “Not like this,” Superman reminds her as they ascend – invoking the same double meaning. Indeed, Lois can’t deny what is a simple fact: among his many other virtues, Superman is also a romantic idealization. But the kiss that almost is… is resisted. Superficially, the kiss is forbidden because it represents a betrayal of Richard. Thematically, the abstinence connotes a mutual acknowledgment: the Hero, if he is to remain the Hero, can’t be tempted towards an impossible normalcy (the mistake that both Superman and Lois made before).

At their next meeting, as if to signify resolution, the circumstances are far less complicated and “controversial,” far more conventional and classically iconic. Lois is in jeopardy and Superman comes to her rescue. But, rather crucially, Lois isn’t alone. She’s with Richard and Jason aboard a rapidly sinking yacht in open ocean. Strictly speaking, she’s not a damsel-in-distress; she’s one part of a family-in-distress. And the imagery of the rescue is noteworthy. In the nick of time, Superman hoists Richard up into the air, clear of the foundering wreck while Richard (in turn) is the one who actually holds on to Lois and Jason. Thus, visually, Superman has retaken his proper place as the Hero/outsider. Within the narrative, he no longer functions as a usurping threat to this family (a rival of and replacement for Richard); he’s its savior and guardian.

As the paradigmatic reconstruction progresses, two (of three) key enactments happen in close succession: the “wounded hero” and the “martyred hero.” And as formulated in Superman Returns, a personal redemption occurs between them. Importantly, both enactments are classic archetypes of the monomyth – straight out of Jung and Joseph Campbell. Thus, their invocation signifies a reconnection to narrative conventionalities and expectation. The subversive deconstruction of the Hero that the film began with is now repudiated in favor of classically familiar narrative formulae.

Within the first archetype, Superman suffers a debilitating kryptonite attack from his nemesis, Lex Luthor, and from which he’s saved by Lois. Beyond, the classic “wounded hero” touchstones (the manner of the attack, the type and location of the injury and the ministration of the injury), this episode precipitates a reckoning between Lois and Superman which, in turn, sets up the second archetype: the “martyred hero.”

In order to thwart Luthor’s scheme (calculated to take billions of lives – including, of course, Lois, her family and most everyone else that Superman knows), Superman realizes that he must sacrifice his own life. Just before embarking on this mission-of-no-return, Superman offers a somber and simple “good-bye” to Lois. It’s what he failed to do before; it’s what Lois specifically admonished him for not doing (“What’s so hard about saying good-bye?”). But the distinction is stark. In the prior instance, the words would have been little more than hollow etiquette. Here, they’re used to denote a true finality – an acknowledgment of the archetypal martyrdom that’s about to be enacted.

And (again) the usage of both archetypes recommits the viewer to familiar territory - conceptualization of the Hero in terms of iconic paradigms rather than subversive deconstructions.

Superman’s mission is, of course, successful – though, as anticipated, at the cost of his life. (Technically, Superman may only be comatose. But medical instruments can’t make sense of his vital signs nor can medical interventions assist. The worst is feared and the Daily Planet editors prepare their headlines for the grim news.)

However… pragmatic constraints, necessarily and understandably, prevent the actual death of Superman. But this doesn’t disqualify the activation of the archetype in question. For while the literal and permanent death of the Hero is one of its manifestations, so too is divine or supernatural resurrection (the third of the aforementioned “enactments”). In this case, it takes the form of Lois bestowing a “magic” kiss to the moribund Hero along with a whispered confession about young Jason’s true paternity. The actual rejuvenation occurs some time later - a nurse discovers that the hospital room (not to say “tomb”) is empty.

At her home, unaware of this miraculous recovery, a forlorn Lois attempts to write her newest article: Why The World Needs Superman. In the prior version, the title could easily be read as a resentful “why I don’t need…” Here, its opposite is literal and universal. The world does need its Heroes and Lois speaks on the world’s behalf. She now admits “the paradigm” – that Superman can only be the Hero if he exists as the mythic outsider, apart from the rest of us. And she’s willing to give up the man in exchange for the Hero. That’s the lesson learned, the sacrifice required. “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, a quaintly familiar scene unfolds: a father looks in on his sleeping son. Except, in this case, the father is Superman. In quiet soliloquy, he offers sentiments of love and counsel to Jason. Significantly, the young lad doesn’t stir. The words are not meant as revelation; they are Superman’s private promise to himself. Consequently, the iteration of “family” that the scene represents is not, we now understand, Superman’s to have – not while he retains the role of Hero. And it’s clear that Superman will not deny that duty.

Soaring into the sky, Superman leaves Jason in the care of his mother - in the home that’s theirs, but not his. The reversal of Singer’s deconstruction is, thus, complete. The Hero is returned to his (necessary) outsider status – save for one narrative conceit. “Tragedy” – as it might have been more fully realized - is forsworn in favor of a modest “happy ending” which, not incidentally, brings Superman’s quest full circle. The alien/Hero, through knowledge of his son, is no longer alienated.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Source:
www.eyesskyward.com/forum/showthread.php?1142-SR-A-Thematic-Analysis

[crazy_asian_man]

My fave superhero movies:

1.SR
2.STM
3.X2
4.SII
5.Iron Man/X-Men

There is very little that bothers me about SR and so much I enjoy. And I also like Luthor's plan. I like Luthor's characterization in this movie a lot. His plan just needed more development, but it was still interesting to me, I think it had lots of potential. I like movies Lex (the greatest criminal mind of our time!). Other prefer businessman Lex and that's ok, I think both interpretations ARE valid.

I also like Nolan's batman movies, but they don't have the heart SR has, IMO. And I'm not a fan of the way Nolan handles dialogues/speeches in his B. movies. It's a bit ridiculous at times and it takes me out of the pic. He's also nothing special for action sequences. Batman himself doesn't seem to have enough charisma in those movies to me. He's always overshadowed by the others. Bruce comes off much better. Good plotting in his movies, but overall it's not that great to me.

The Spiderman movies are ok, fun action flicks with some heart, but they seem a little dumbed down to please the lowest denominator, IMO. And they did. They just seemed geared for very young audiences. It does little for me.

So yeah, my fave superhero movies so far are the ones made by Bryan Singer (and Donner), haha! I just really like his style of telling stories I guess. And yes, he's not that great at action, but I think he learns fast. But what I like the best about him is that he handles drama and characters Very well. He SHOWS instead of tell. His superhero movies just have a lot of heart.

I haven't seen Thor, First Class or Cap. First Class is the one with the better buzz.

Star, you HAVE to see X-men: First Class. It's a great suprise---
Again, it's from Singer's camp- but, in a number of ways I like it even better than SR.... but many of the core things you mention liking about SR are there- tons of emotions and drama- and some very moving moments that may suprise you. It's definitely NOT the typical brainless summer actioner. (And hopefully THEY get a sequel)

[Deleted]

Sept 25, 2011 1:36:22 GMT -5 @stargazer01 said:

I just finished reading another insightful analysis of Superman Returns. Gah, this movie is so awesome!!




SR - A Thematic Analysis

The Hero, Alienation and Family in Superman Returns

“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” – F.Scott Fitzgerald


A narrative has its protagonist. And he (she) is often, generically, referred to as the “hero.” But in classical myth and legend (or in their modern-day equivalents) there is the true, larger-than-life hero – possessed of exceptional character, cunning, bravery or abilities (sometimes even super human ones). Not just a hero, this is a Hero.

Rarely do such individuals exist in the real world - where complicating ambiguities (not to mention physical limitations) prevail. Nevertheless, there’s something evocative and resonant about them as ideals. Thus, they find a ready home within fiction.

It is a point of some irony, however, that the fictional Hero (in one form or another) often exists apart from the normalcy that he seeks to/is sworn to restore and protect. This is more than mere convention; it looms as a structural requirement. A larger-than-life adventure is, by definition, an extraordinary sequence of events. And it only makes sense that an extraordinary individual should be called upon to confront those events. If an “everyman” could do the job, it wouldn’t be much of an adventure. No, what’s required is less an “everyman” and more a “superman.” But by that same token, this Hero has no role or function absent a worthy adventure or dramatic crisis. Likewise, there’s no role once the extant crisis has been resolved. At which point in time, the Hero figuratively (or sometimes literally, in the case of the stereotypical Western) rides off into the sunset – his narrative duty fulfilled.

Consider the quasi-antihero, “Dirty Harry” Callahan. By necessity, he’s not a typical cop. He functions outside established authority because established authority, as defined, doesn’t work. In the unlikely event that San Francisco was rid of violent crime, there’d be no further purpose for the likes of Dirty Harry. The story, thus, comes to a natural conclusion and the title character, presumably, goes back to being a typical cop (at least until a sequel beckons).

Alternatively, the Hero may make the “supreme sacrifice” whereby he’s expelled from the narrative in very permanent fashion – having first, of course, accomplished the goal of restoring order and normalcy prior to his noble martyrdom.

This is the paradox. The Hero’s role is to re-establish normalcy; but he doesn’t represent it nor can he exist within it.

More prosaically, it’s familiar (if not a cliché) within fiction that the brilliant private eye, the brave fire fighter or the accomplished investigative journalist has a dysfunctional (or, at least, unconventional) home life. We seem to appreciate (even admire) that the Hero’s passionate commitment to duty precludes benefiting from the status quo that’s being preserved, protected and defended on behalf of others. (Sherlock Holmes, for example, is a colorfully eccentric misanthrope who dabbles in cocaine to alleviate the boredom between cases).

This is not to say that there’s never a happy ending for the hero/protagonist. When the detective finally nabs the long-sought serial killer or the intrepid reporter finally exposes the corruption, the narrative may (and often does) conclude with a re-establishment of (at least implied) normalcy. A new romance blossoms, a reconciliation with the spouse occurs, a reunion with “family” is enacted. (Holmes, at the end of his career, retired to bucolic Sussex where he took up beekeeping.) With the goal attained (and/or the “personal demons” vanquished), there’s now room for “home.” But at that point, to reiterate, the Hero (as so defined) ceases to be. The Hero and normalcy don’t coincide.


~


The superhero genre takes this notion to extreme lengths. Inspired by a supernatural fate or bizarre circumstance, the Hero takes to donning outlandish garb. This is not solely for disguise; it’s also used to distance the Hero from the commonplace or conventional. The expectation here is that these protagonists have so devoted their lives to their respective noble causes that they don’t even want to look like (be mistaken for) the rest of us. Their “mission” is paramount. The mission is why they exist and why we idolize them. For them to covet or be distracted by a milieu that approaches normalcy is – in some fundamental aspect – a violation of the rules (hereafter labeled “the paradigm”) that the Hero is supposed to function within. In more conventional narratives, there may be “reluctant heroes.” But seldom are there reluctant superheroes.

Arguably, there’s no greater modern incarnation of the Hero – in its purest and most idealistic terms – than Superman. He’s the Man of Steel, the Man of Tomorrow; he fights for Truth, Justice and the American Way. Occasionally and as parodic criticism, he’s also called the “boy scout in blue.” But even this epithet has been unapologetically reclaimed as a virtue. Superman, it seems, wears his simplicity and “old-fashioned values” proudly. And his tales follow (or are supposed to) an equally simple formula. When assignment calls, he springs into action. With the crisis resolved, he’s Clark Kent, watchful guardian – waiting for Superman’s next summons to duty.


~


In Superman Returns, writer-director Bryan Singer explores and deconstructs this formula (“the paradigm”) – though, ultimately and with due attention, he puts it back together. He posits the eponymous hero as the definitive outsider who imagines that he, nevertheless, can be an insider. This is not obscure subtext; it’s front and center as a theme: the alienated Hero repudiating his alienation.

The disembodied voice of his long-dead father reminds Superman: “Even though you’ve been raised as a human being, you are not one of them.” Yet, clearly, Superman wants to belong. Even his adoptive mother validates the idea of belonging. She assures him that he’s “not alone” – that there are ways for him to attain the sense of “family” and normalcy that he seeks. Thus, the rules that conventionally govern the Hero – “the paradigm” – are explicitly denied in Superman Returns.

At least initially.

At the very beginning of the film, we’re informed that Superman has “disappeared” – gone to the distant and recently discovered remains of his native world. Ostensibly, this was to seek out survivors. But even as a pilgrimage to a shrine for the dead, we recognize and appreciate the common longing that this gesture represents – the connection to “home” and to ancestors. What may strike us as odd, though, is that it’s the great hero, Superman, doing the longing. To the extent that the Hero is entitled to (or achieves) this normalcy, it typically occurs in the final act or dénouement (the “happy ending”) when abdication of hero status is permitted because it’s no longer required. But in the case of a perpetually present superhero, in on-going adventures, the abdication isn’t supposed to happen. Again, this would be a violation of “the paradigm” – the notion that the Hero and normalcy, by definition, don’t occupy the same space. As part of Singer’s deconstruction, Superman is, in effect, “doing it wrong.”

As it turns out, however, Superman’s interstellar voyage and five-year absence produced no personal satisfaction or epiphany. Upon his return to Earth, Clark/Superman reports that “home” was a barren “graveyard… I’m all that’s left.” But the (“disallowed”) longing for “home” still haunts Superman. And if it can’t be rediscovered or reclaimed then perhaps it can be constructed. Unfortunately, this too (as is soon revealed) is a dubious prospect. Superman’s prior relationship with his iconic paramour, Lois Lane, did not end on good terms – the duties and obligations of super heroism, apparently, being too onerous. (Indeed, there are indications that Superman’s absence was, at least in part, precipitated by a romantic falling-out.) So there’s no great optimism that a reconciliation will be easy or, for that matter, wise. But, as we learn, even a return to the less-than-satisfactory status quo is all but impossible. Lois has moved on; she’s with a new man and even has a son. In fact, she has written an award-winning article entitled Why The World Doesn’t Need Superman – signifying the clean (and very public) break she has made. And Richard (the new man, a good man) – by occupying the role of non-hero, with no extraordinary abilities or mythic responsibilities – represents everything that Superman cannot be. Richard’s function within the narrative is to call attention to the proper boundaries of “the paradigm”; Superman, at this point, is still rebelling against them.

As if by magnetic force, Superman is drawn to “home.” But, significantly, it’s not his. (Clark Kent actually has no place to live in Metropolis. At one point, Lois asks if he’s “found a place yet?” No, not yet. He’s “still looking.” Indeed.) The “home” in this case is Lois’s – the one she shares with Richard and their young son, Jason. In secret, Superman takes in the domestic normalcy. He can listen to it with inhumanly powerful hearing and see it with x-ray eyes. But he can’t have it. Moreover, eavesdropping produces its own punishment: Superman learns that Lois did not love him. However insincere that may be, it’s meant to reassure Richard – a declaration that she has, indeed, moved on. And it confronts Superman as well.

Uncertain, Superman essentially retreats to his work. Floating high above the Earth, serenely waiting for the inevitable cries for help and the call to action, Superman is in his element. Heroism is here represented as sanctuary. Indeed, the suggestion of “reluctant superheroism” is carefully navigated in the film. After his spectacular rescue of a 777 airliner, the assembled crowd cheers and celebrates. And Superman smiles at the adoration. Later, in a montage, he’s shown making news around the world, performing his expected super exploits and saves. As the narrative in Superman Returns is formulated (and owing to genre expectations), there’s no real ambivalence about the “role of hero” taken in isolation. The conflict only arises at the personal level when Superman deludes himself into thinking that he can “have it all” – be the Hero that he is and, simultaneously, have the life of a non-hero (something like Richard’s life).

With the intractability of this conflict – this paradox – fully realized, the narrative then undergoes a thematic reversal. Structurally (and appropriately), it occurs at almost precisely the halfway point – whereupon “the (deconstructed) paradigm” begins the process of repair and restoration. The pivotal scene takes place on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building where – for the first time in the film – Superman and Lois are alone and face-to-face. The scene, rather explicitly, isn’t structured as a true or total reconciliation. It can’t be for Lois, given her circumstances and the bitterness she still harbors. And it isn’t for Superman – who, by this point, simply hopes to explain the conclusions that he has come to.

“What do you hear?” Superman asks Lois as they hover over Metropolis.
“Nothing,” she responds. Indeed, the night is deathly quiet.
“I hear everything,” he says, alluding to the cries for assistance that he’s ever vigilant for.

What is familiar as one of Superman’s many extraordinary abilities is taken to its logical extension. It connotes an unending duty and commitment. This is what it is to be the Hero, to be Superman. “I hear everything” isn’t regret so much as it’s self-definition. Lois - looking down on the “quiet” city and imagining the way Superman experiences it - perceives (perhaps for the first time) the true nature of the Hero’s place. Extra-textually, she begins to understand the limits imposed by “the paradigm.”

But this understanding has to make it past one considerable hurdle: Lois and Superman are still in love with each other. As much as this scene serves as explanation and transition, it is – equally - a seduction. In preparation for their impromptu, nighttime flight over Metropolis, Lois elects to slip off her shoes – an almost submissive gesture. When she grasps Superman for security (they remain in embrace throughout), she remarks how warm his body is. In partial bravado – and with the double entendre obvious – Lois mentions that Richard, too, “takes me up all the time” (he’s a pilot). “Not like this,” Superman reminds her as they ascend – invoking the same double meaning. Indeed, Lois can’t deny what is a simple fact: among his many other virtues, Superman is also a romantic idealization. But the kiss that almost is… is resisted. Superficially, the kiss is forbidden because it represents a betrayal of Richard. Thematically, the abstinence connotes a mutual acknowledgment: the Hero, if he is to remain the Hero, can’t be tempted towards an impossible normalcy (the mistake that both Superman and Lois made before).

At their next meeting, as if to signify resolution, the circumstances are far less complicated and “controversial,” far more conventional and classically iconic. Lois is in jeopardy and Superman comes to her rescue. But, rather crucially, Lois isn’t alone. She’s with Richard and Jason aboard a rapidly sinking yacht in open ocean. Strictly speaking, she’s not a damsel-in-distress; she’s one part of a family-in-distress. And the imagery of the rescue is noteworthy. In the nick of time, Superman hoists Richard up into the air, clear of the foundering wreck while Richard (in turn) is the one who actually holds on to Lois and Jason. Thus, visually, Superman has retaken his proper place as the Hero/outsider. Within the narrative, he no longer functions as a usurping threat to this family (a rival of and replacement for Richard); he’s its savior and guardian.

As the paradigmatic reconstruction progresses, two (of three) key enactments happen in close succession: the “wounded hero” and the “martyred hero.” And as formulated in Superman Returns, a personal redemption occurs between them. Importantly, both enactments are classic archetypes of the monomyth – straight out of Jung and Joseph Campbell. Thus, their invocation signifies a reconnection to narrative conventionalities and expectation. The subversive deconstruction of the Hero that the film began with is now repudiated in favor of classically familiar narrative formulae.

Within the first archetype, Superman suffers a debilitating kryptonite attack from his nemesis, Lex Luthor, and from which he’s saved by Lois. Beyond, the classic “wounded hero” touchstones (the manner of the attack, the type and location of the injury and the ministration of the injury), this episode precipitates a reckoning between Lois and Superman which, in turn, sets up the second archetype: the “martyred hero.”

In order to thwart Luthor’s scheme (calculated to take billions of lives – including, of course, Lois, her family and most everyone else that Superman knows), Superman realizes that he must sacrifice his own life. Just before embarking on this mission-of-no-return, Superman offers a somber and simple “good-bye” to Lois. It’s what he failed to do before; it’s what Lois specifically admonished him for not doing (“What’s so hard about saying good-bye?”). But the distinction is stark. In the prior instance, the words would have been little more than hollow etiquette. Here, they’re used to denote a true finality – an acknowledgment of the archetypal martyrdom that’s about to be enacted.

And (again) the usage of both archetypes recommits the viewer to familiar territory - conceptualization of the Hero in terms of iconic paradigms rather than subversive deconstructions.

Superman’s mission is, of course, successful – though, as anticipated, at the cost of his life. (Technically, Superman may only be comatose. But medical instruments can’t make sense of his vital signs nor can medical interventions assist. The worst is feared and the Daily Planet editors prepare their headlines for the grim news.)

However… pragmatic constraints, necessarily and understandably, prevent the actual death of Superman. But this doesn’t disqualify the activation of the archetype in question. For while the literal and permanent death of the Hero is one of its manifestations, so too is divine or supernatural resurrection (the third of the aforementioned “enactments”). In this case, it takes the form of Lois bestowing a “magic” kiss to the moribund Hero along with a whispered confession about young Jason’s true paternity. The actual rejuvenation occurs some time later - a nurse discovers that the hospital room (not to say “tomb”) is empty.

At her home, unaware of this miraculous recovery, a forlorn Lois attempts to write her newest article: Why The World Needs Superman. In the prior version, the title could easily be read as a resentful “why I don’t need…” Here, its opposite is literal and universal. The world does need its Heroes and Lois speaks on the world’s behalf. She now admits “the paradigm” – that Superman can only be the Hero if he exists as the mythic outsider, apart from the rest of us. And she’s willing to give up the man in exchange for the Hero. That’s the lesson learned, the sacrifice required. “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, a quaintly familiar scene unfolds: a father looks in on his sleeping son. Except, in this case, the father is Superman. In quiet soliloquy, he offers sentiments of love and counsel to Jason. Significantly, the young lad doesn’t stir. The words are not meant as revelation; they are Superman’s private promise to himself. Consequently, the iteration of “family” that the scene represents is not, we now understand, Superman’s to have – not while he retains the role of Hero. And it’s clear that Superman will not deny that duty.

Soaring into the sky, Superman leaves Jason in the care of his mother - in the home that’s theirs, but not his. The reversal of Singer’s deconstruction is, thus, complete. The Hero is returned to his (necessary) outsider status – save for one narrative conceit. “Tragedy” – as it might have been more fully realized - is forsworn in favor of a modest “happy ending” which, not incidentally, brings Superman’s quest full circle. The alien/Hero, through knowledge of his son, is no longer alienated.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Source:
www.eyesskyward.com/forum/showthread.php?1142-SR-A-Thematic-Analysis

[MAVERICK]

Ah, but you took the time to post & that's enough to let us know how much it bothers you that some people love the film

[Deleted]

Sept 25, 2011 11:14:39 GMT -5 MAVERICK said:

Ah, but you took the time to post & that's enough to let us know how much it bothers you that some people love the film

Dahaha. thats fucking brilliant MAV. i'll be saving that one thanks

It doesnt really bother me, I just strongly disagree with some opinions on the film. I wont lie though, the fact one or two are outright disregarding Zack Snyders film simply because Routh got the boot increases my urge to argue

[eccentricbeing]

Kris...you should've used the "cool story, bro" meme. ;D

[Deleted]

Sept 25, 2011 12:48:50 GMT -5 eccentricbeing said:

Kris...you should've used the "cool story, bro" meme. ;D

or since it was SR

[MAVERICK]

Sept 25, 2011 12:14:01 GMT -5 @kris said:

Dahaha. thats fucking brilliant MAV. i'll be saving that one thanks
It doesnt really bother me, I just strongly disagree with some opinions on the film. I wont lie though, the fact one or two are outright discarding Zack Snyders film simply because Routh got the boot increases my urge to argue

[crazy_asian_man]

SR - A Thematic Analysis

The Hero, Alienation and Family in Superman Returns

“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” – F.Scott Fitzgerald


A narrative has its protagonist. And he (she) is often, generically, referred to as the “hero.” But in classical myth and legend (or in their modern-day equivalents) there is the true, larger-than-life hero – possessed of exceptional character, cunning, bravery or abilities (sometimes even super human ones). Not just a hero, this is a Hero.

Rarely do such individuals exist in the real world - where complicating ambiguities (not to mention physical limitations) prevail. Nevertheless, there’s something evocative and resonant about them as ideals. Thus, they find a ready home within fiction.

It is a point of some irony, however, that the fictional Hero (in one form or another) often exists apart from the normalcy that he seeks to/is sworn to restore and protect. This is more than mere convention; it looms as a structural requirement. A larger-than-life adventure is, by definition, an extraordinary sequence of events. And it only makes sense that an extraordinary individual should be called upon to confront those events. If an “everyman” could do the job, it wouldn’t be much of an adventure. No, what’s required is less an “everyman” and more a “superman.” But by that same token, this Hero has no role or function absent a worthy adventure or dramatic crisis. Likewise, there’s no role once the extant crisis has been resolved. At which point in time, the Hero figuratively (or sometimes literally, in the case of the stereotypical Western) rides off into the sunset – his narrative duty fulfilled.

Consider the quasi-antihero, “Dirty Harry” Callahan. By necessity, he’s not a typical cop. He functions outside established authority because established authority, as defined, doesn’t work. In the unlikely event that San Francisco was rid of violent crime, there’d be no further purpose for the likes of Dirty Harry. The story, thus, comes to a natural conclusion and the title character, presumably, goes back to being a typical cop (at least until a sequel beckons).

Alternatively, the Hero may make the “supreme sacrifice” whereby he’s expelled from the narrative in very permanent fashion – having first, of course, accomplished the goal of restoring order and normalcy prior to his noble martyrdom.

This is the paradox. The Hero’s role is to re-establish normalcy; but he doesn’t represent it nor can he exist within it.

More prosaically, it’s familiar (if not a cliché) within fiction that the brilliant private eye, the brave fire fighter or the accomplished investigative journalist has a dysfunctional (or, at least, unconventional) home life. We seem to appreciate (even admire) that the Hero’s passionate commitment to duty precludes benefiting from the status quo that’s being preserved, protected and defended on behalf of others. (Sherlock Holmes, for example, is a colorfully eccentric misanthrope who dabbles in cocaine to alleviate the boredom between cases).

This is not to say that there’s never a happy ending for the hero/protagonist. When the detective finally nabs the long-sought serial killer or the intrepid reporter finally exposes the corruption, the narrative may (and often does) conclude with a re-establishment of (at least implied) normalcy. A new romance blossoms, a reconciliation with the spouse occurs, a reunion with “family” is enacted. (Holmes, at the end of his career, retired to bucolic Sussex where he took up beekeeping.) With the goal attained (and/or the “personal demons” vanquished), there’s now room for “home.” But at that point, to reiterate, the Hero (as so defined) ceases to be. The Hero and normalcy don’t coincide.


~


The superhero genre takes this notion to extreme lengths. Inspired by a supernatural fate or bizarre circumstance, the Hero takes to donning outlandish garb. This is not solely for disguise; it’s also used to distance the Hero from the commonplace or conventional. The expectation here is that these protagonists have so devoted their lives to their respective noble causes that they don’t even want to look like (be mistaken for) the rest of us. Their “mission” is paramount. The mission is why they exist and why we idolize them. For them to covet or be distracted by a milieu that approaches normalcy is – in some fundamental aspect – a violation of the rules (hereafter labeled “the paradigm”) that the Hero is supposed to function within. In more conventional narratives, there may be “reluctant heroes.” But seldom are there reluctant superheroes.

Arguably, there’s no greater modern incarnation of the Hero – in its purest and most idealistic terms – than Superman. He’s the Man of Steel, the Man of Tomorrow; he fights for Truth, Justice and the American Way. Occasionally and as parodic criticism, he’s also called the “boy scout in blue.” But even this epithet has been unapologetically reclaimed as a virtue. Superman, it seems, wears his simplicity and “old-fashioned values” proudly. And his tales follow (or are supposed to) an equally simple formula. When assignment calls, he springs into action. With the crisis resolved, he’s Clark Kent, watchful guardian – waiting for Superman’s next summons to duty.


~


In Superman Returns, writer-director Bryan Singer explores and deconstructs this formula (“the paradigm”) – though, ultimately and with due attention, he puts it back together. He posits the eponymous hero as the definitive outsider who imagines that he, nevertheless, can be an insider. This is not obscure subtext; it’s front and center as a theme: the alienated Hero repudiating his alienation.

The disembodied voice of his long-dead father reminds Superman: “Even though you’ve been raised as a human being, you are not one of them.” Yet, clearly, Superman wants to belong. Even his adoptive mother validates the idea of belonging. She assures him that he’s “not alone” – that there are ways for him to attain the sense of “family” and normalcy that he seeks. Thus, the rules that conventionally govern the Hero – “the paradigm” – are explicitly denied in Superman Returns.

At least initially.

At the very beginning of the film, we’re informed that Superman has “disappeared” – gone to the distant and recently discovered remains of his native world. Ostensibly, this was to seek out survivors. But even as a pilgrimage to a shrine for the dead, we recognize and appreciate the common longing that this gesture represents – the connection to “home” and to ancestors. What may strike us as odd, though, is that it’s the great hero, Superman, doing the longing. To the extent that the Hero is entitled to (or achieves) this normalcy, it typically occurs in the final act or dénouement (the “happy ending”) when abdication of hero status is permitted because it’s no longer required. But in the case of a perpetually present superhero, in on-going adventures, the abdication isn’t supposed to happen. Again, this would be a violation of “the paradigm” – the notion that the Hero and normalcy, by definition, don’t occupy the same space. As part of Singer’s deconstruction, Superman is, in effect, “doing it wrong.”

As it turns out, however, Superman’s interstellar voyage and five-year absence produced no personal satisfaction or epiphany. Upon his return to Earth, Clark/Superman reports that “home” was a barren “graveyard… I’m all that’s left.” But the (“disallowed”) longing for “home” still haunts Superman. And if it can’t be rediscovered or reclaimed then perhaps it can be constructed. Unfortunately, this too (as is soon revealed) is a dubious prospect. Superman’s prior relationship with his iconic paramour, Lois Lane, did not end on good terms – the duties and obligations of super heroism, apparently, being too onerous. (Indeed, there are indications that Superman’s absence was, at least in part, precipitated by a romantic falling-out.) So there’s no great optimism that a reconciliation will be easy or, for that matter, wise. But, as we learn, even a return to the less-than-satisfactory status quo is all but impossible. Lois has moved on; she’s with a new man and even has a son. In fact, she has written an award-winning article entitled Why The World Doesn’t Need Superman – signifying the clean (and very public) break she has made. And Richard (the new man, a good man) – by occupying the role of non-hero, with no extraordinary abilities or mythic responsibilities – represents everything that Superman cannot be. Richard’s function within the narrative is to call attention to the proper boundaries of “the paradigm”; Superman, at this point, is still rebelling against them.

As if by magnetic force, Superman is drawn to “home.” But, significantly, it’s not his. (Clark Kent actually has no place to live in Metropolis. At one point, Lois asks if he’s “found a place yet?” No, not yet. He’s “still looking.” Indeed.) The “home” in this case is Lois’s – the one she shares with Richard and their young son, Jason. In secret, Superman takes in the domestic normalcy. He can listen to it with inhumanly powerful hearing and see it with x-ray eyes. But he can’t have it. Moreover, eavesdropping produces its own punishment: Superman learns that Lois did not love him. However insincere that may be, it’s meant to reassure Richard – a declaration that she has, indeed, moved on. And it confronts Superman as well.

Uncertain, Superman essentially retreats to his work. Floating high above the Earth, serenely waiting for the inevitable cries for help and the call to action, Superman is in his element. Heroism is here represented as sanctuary. Indeed, the suggestion of “reluctant superheroism” is carefully navigated in the film. After his spectacular rescue of a 777 airliner, the assembled crowd cheers and celebrates. And Superman smiles at the adoration. Later, in a montage, he’s shown making news around the world, performing his expected super exploits and saves. As the narrative in Superman Returns is formulated (and owing to genre expectations), there’s no real ambivalence about the “role of hero” taken in isolation. The conflict only arises at the personal level when Superman deludes himself into thinking that he can “have it all” – be the Hero that he is and, simultaneously, have the life of a non-hero (something like Richard’s life).

With the intractability of this conflict – this paradox – fully realized, the narrative then undergoes a thematic reversal. Structurally (and appropriately), it occurs at almost precisely the halfway point – whereupon “the (deconstructed) paradigm” begins the process of repair and restoration. The pivotal scene takes place on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building where – for the first time in the film – Superman and Lois are alone and face-to-face. The scene, rather explicitly, isn’t structured as a true or total reconciliation. It can’t be for Lois, given her circumstances and the bitterness she still harbors. And it isn’t for Superman – who, by this point, simply hopes to explain the conclusions that he has come to.

“What do you hear?” Superman asks Lois as they hover over Metropolis.
“Nothing,” she responds. Indeed, the night is deathly quiet.
“I hear everything,” he says, alluding to the cries for assistance that he’s ever vigilant for.

What is familiar as one of Superman’s many extraordinary abilities is taken to its logical extension. It connotes an unending duty and commitment. This is what it is to be the Hero, to be Superman. “I hear everything” isn’t regret so much as it’s self-definition. Lois - looking down on the “quiet” city and imagining the way Superman experiences it - perceives (perhaps for the first time) the true nature of the Hero’s place. Extra-textually, she begins to understand the limits imposed by “the paradigm.”

But this understanding has to make it past one considerable hurdle: Lois and Superman are still in love with each other. As much as this scene serves as explanation and transition, it is – equally - a seduction. In preparation for their impromptu, nighttime flight over Metropolis, Lois elects to slip off her shoes – an almost submissive gesture. When she grasps Superman for security (they remain in embrace throughout), she remarks how warm his body is. In partial bravado – and with the double entendre obvious – Lois mentions that Richard, too, “takes me up all the time” (he’s a pilot). “Not like this,” Superman reminds her as they ascend – invoking the same double meaning. Indeed, Lois can’t deny what is a simple fact: among his many other virtues, Superman is also a romantic idealization. But the kiss that almost is… is resisted. Superficially, the kiss is forbidden because it represents a betrayal of Richard. Thematically, the abstinence connotes a mutual acknowledgment: the Hero, if he is to remain the Hero, can’t be tempted towards an impossible normalcy (the mistake that both Superman and Lois made before).

At their next meeting, as if to signify resolution, the circumstances are far less complicated and “controversial,” far more conventional and classically iconic. Lois is in jeopardy and Superman comes to her rescue. But, rather crucially, Lois isn’t alone. She’s with Richard and Jason aboard a rapidly sinking yacht in open ocean. Strictly speaking, she’s not a damsel-in-distress; she’s one part of a family-in-distress. And the imagery of the rescue is noteworthy. In the nick of time, Superman hoists Richard up into the air, clear of the foundering wreck while Richard (in turn) is the one who actually holds on to Lois and Jason. Thus, visually, Superman has retaken his proper place as the Hero/outsider. Within the narrative, he no longer functions as a usurping threat to this family (a rival of and replacement for Richard); he’s its savior and guardian.

As the paradigmatic reconstruction progresses, two (of three) key enactments happen in close succession: the “wounded hero” and the “martyred hero.” And as formulated in Superman Returns, a personal redemption occurs between them. Importantly, both enactments are classic archetypes of the monomyth – straight out of Jung and Joseph Campbell. Thus, their invocation signifies a reconnection to narrative conventionalities and expectation. The subversive deconstruction of the Hero that the film began with is now repudiated in favor of classically familiar narrative formulae.

Within the first archetype, Superman suffers a debilitating kryptonite attack from his nemesis, Lex Luthor, and from which he’s saved by Lois. Beyond, the classic “wounded hero” touchstones (the manner of the attack, the type and location of the injury and the ministration of the injury), this episode precipitates a reckoning between Lois and Superman which, in turn, sets up the second archetype: the “martyred hero.”

In order to thwart Luthor’s scheme (calculated to take billions of lives – including, of course, Lois, her family and most everyone else that Superman knows), Superman realizes that he must sacrifice his own life. Just before embarking on this mission-of-no-return, Superman offers a somber and simple “good-bye” to Lois. It’s what he failed to do before; it’s what Lois specifically admonished him for not doing (“What’s so hard about saying good-bye?”). But the distinction is stark. In the prior instance, the words would have been little more than hollow etiquette. Here, they’re used to denote a true finality – an acknowledgment of the archetypal martyrdom that’s about to be enacted.

And (again) the usage of both archetypes recommits the viewer to familiar territory - conceptualization of the Hero in terms of iconic paradigms rather than subversive deconstructions.

Superman’s mission is, of course, successful – though, as anticipated, at the cost of his life. (Technically, Superman may only be comatose. But medical instruments can’t make sense of his vital signs nor can medical interventions assist. The worst is feared and the Daily Planet editors prepare their headlines for the grim news.)

However… pragmatic constraints, necessarily and understandably, prevent the actual death of Superman. But this doesn’t disqualify the activation of the archetype in question. For while the literal and permanent death of the Hero is one of its manifestations, so too is divine or supernatural resurrection (the third of the aforementioned “enactments”). In this case, it takes the form of Lois bestowing a “magic” kiss to the moribund Hero along with a whispered confession about young Jason’s true paternity. The actual rejuvenation occurs some time later - a nurse discovers that the hospital room (not to say “tomb”) is empty.

At her home, unaware of this miraculous recovery, a forlorn Lois attempts to write her newest article: Why The World Needs Superman. In the prior version, the title could easily be read as a resentful “why I don’t need…” Here, its opposite is literal and universal. The world does need its Heroes and Lois speaks on the world’s behalf. She now admits “the paradigm” – that Superman can only be the Hero if he exists as the mythic outsider, apart from the rest of us. And she’s willing to give up the man in exchange for the Hero. That’s the lesson learned, the sacrifice required. “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, a quaintly familiar scene unfolds: a father looks in on his sleeping son. Except, in this case, the father is Superman. In quiet soliloquy, he offers sentiments of love and counsel to Jason. Significantly, the young lad doesn’t stir. The words are not meant as revelation; they are Superman’s private promise to himself. Consequently, the iteration of “family” that the scene represents is not, we now understand, Superman’s to have – not while he retains the role of Hero. And it’s clear that Superman will not deny that duty.

Soaring into the sky, Superman leaves Jason in the care of his mother - in the home that’s theirs, but not his. The reversal of Singer’s deconstruction is, thus, complete. The Hero is returned to his (necessary) outsider status – save for one narrative conceit. “Tragedy” – as it might have been more fully realized - is forsworn in favor of a modest “happy ending” which, not incidentally, brings Superman’s quest full circle. The alien/Hero, through knowledge of his son, is no longer alienated.

Thanks for posting Star, if you find that 20-page Tarantino document (Though there was an article recently I think that mentioned Tarantino showing Singer his review, so I guess he finished it, but it never was meant to be posted on-line) please share it. I definitely will.

I really like parts of this- but there IS a good section of this that I feel that the writer was WAY too long-winded on. The writer I think really gets the film, but it felt like a lot of padding.

Explaining why something is considered great may reach those who have open minds, for discussion, but not to anyone who takes pride in not reading them.

That, I don't get, unless taking pride in not reading it is just trying to be hurtful to the person posting it.

[stargazer01]

Sept 25, 2011 8:47:17 GMT -5 @kris said:

who cares



And yes you did.

[Metallo]

Sept 25, 2011 2:21:37 GMT -5 crazy_asian_man said:

My fave superhero movies:

1.SR
2.STM
3.X2
4.SII
5.Iron Man/X-Men

There is very little that bothers me about SR and so much I enjoy. And I also like Luthor's plan. I like Luthor's characterization in this movie a lot. His plan just needed more development, but it was still interesting to me, I think it had lots of potential. I like movies Lex (the greatest criminal mind of our time!). Other prefer businessman Lex and that's ok, I think both interpretations ARE valid.

I also like Nolan's batman movies, but they don't have the heart SR has, IMO. And I'm not a fan of the way Nolan handles dialogues/speeches in his B. movies. It's a bit ridiculous at times and it takes me out of the pic. He's also nothing special for action sequences. Batman himself doesn't seem to have enough charisma in those movies to me. He's always overshadowed by the others. Bruce comes off much better. Good plotting in his movies, but overall it's not that great to me.

The Spiderman movies are ok, fun action flicks with some heart, but they seem a little dumbed down to please the lowest denominator, IMO. And they did. They just seemed geared for very young audiences. It does little for me.

So yeah, my fave superhero movies so far are the ones made by Bryan Singer (and Donner), haha! I just really like his style of telling stories I guess. And yes, he's not that great at action, but I think he learns fast. But what I like the best about him is that he handles drama and characters Very well. He SHOWS instead of tell. His superhero movies just have a lot of heart.

I haven't seen Thor, First Class or Cap. First Class is the one with the better buzz.

Star, you HAVE to see X-men: First Class. It's a great suprise---
Again, it's from Singer's camp- but, in a number of ways I like it even better than SR.... but many of the core things you mention liking about SR are there- tons of emotions and drama- and some very moving moments that may suprise you. It's definitely NOT the typical brainless summer actioner. (And hopefully THEY get a sequel)

First Class was fantastic. Arguably better than the first X-men for me. Maybe even as good as the second.

I really want to read this piece that Tarantino wrote on SR. He should put it out there for everyone to read it. Some people might find it interesting.

[MAVERICK]

I'd LOVE to read that fucking thing.

Then I'd shove it up Kevin Smith's ass. ;D

[Metallo]

Sept 25, 2011 23:25:57 GMT -5 MAVERICK said:

I'd LOVE to read that fucking thing.

Then I'd shove it up Kevin Smith's ass. ;D

It wouldn't fit. His heads already up there.

[stargazer01]

Well, if poor Supes can't be with Lois.. there is always Diana!

[crazy_asian_man]

I'd LOVE to read that fucking thing.

Me too. I don't know why Tarantino (or his aides) haven't put it online somewhere. I'm sure that there would be a lot of people who wouldn't mind reading it.

Then I'd shove it up Kevin Smith's ass.

Did Smith criticize SR? I know his script came out before Burton (or Singer) came along....

[Deleted]

Given the time constraints placed upon individual members of society by the rigors of existence within the modern world, it is understandable that many would choose to forgo the full assimilation of such a verbose document.

Out of fairness, I did read it. That writeup uses far too many words to explain easy to understand concepts and themes. Take out the big words, take out the over-analysis of individual scenes, and it amounts to "Superman wants to learn about his heritage and be normal, but he can't be normal. He tries to be normal, at least for a while. Richard has the life he wants, but he has to be a hero instead. So he eventually chooses to let go of his romantic relationship with Lois and just be Superman." All ideas which are there on the surface for all to see. There's no need for a Harvard thesis.

Frankly, having those themes so close to the surface is part of the reason why I never connected with Superman Returns. The hero desiring a life of normalcy should be subtext in a Superman film, not the main story. It's a mainstream blockbuster, not The Last Temptation of Christ. I don't want a dumb Superman movie, necessarily (my hesitant anticipation of Snyderman notwithstanding), but a fun and exciting one would be nice. And Superman Returns is, for the most part, neither one of those things.

[ye5man]

Great post