Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Finally. They got it right.
It took five movies prior to this one dating back to 1978, but they finally got the point when it came to making a really good Superman movie.
This is Superman, not Bozo, so quit clowning around.
I'll say here and now, Man of Steel is the best super-hero movie ever made, and I loved the Avengers, Iron Man and Dark Knight Rises. Man of Steel ranks head and shoulders above anything else out there.
You figure you have the Avengers and Dark Knight here – around shoulder height let's say. To show where Man of Steel ranks I'd have to climb a stepladder.
It's not just a great Superman movie, it's a great movie, period.
I truly believe now a man can fly.
For almost two years I have devoured every teaser, trailer and still photograph the studios released. I'd play the trailers over and over again, breaking into sobs at the sound of the first drumbeat.
Remember, Superman is one of the four things that make me unconditionally cry, along with weddings, ceremonial sports moments and bagpipes.
I have been fascinated with Superman ever since I was in second grade and we gathered at my best friend Rick's house to watch a new TV show one afternoon. It was called “The Adventures of Superman” and was originally a Saturday afternoon movie serial run in theaters. This show happened to be about some attacking mole men.
I remember not being very impressed over the first 20 minutes of the show, and looking around at the rest of the neighborhood gang, Tommy, Jeff, Rick, Greg, Skeeter and Moose; they weren't very impressed either.
Still, I felt something coming.
I remember the moment, Clark realizes Lois is in trouble and calls out, “Great Scott! Lois is in trouble!” and takes off down a deserted corridor for the storeroom.
He pauses at the door, looks around, snatches off his glasses and jerks at his tie knot.
And then the music starts.
Moments later Superman emerges from the storeroom and jumps out the window.
I sat up and felt the air leave the room, realizing my life was forever changed at that moment.
When the show was over I raced home and snatched a bath towel and a safety pin out of the linen closet, found an old T-shirt, and grabbed a magic marker.
I paused at my bedroom door and said, “Great Scott! Lois is in trouble!”
And disappeared inside.
About an hour and a half later I emerged wearing a T-shirt with a crude “S” scrawled across the front in magic marker, a bath towel safety-pinned around my neck, and here's the fun part, my underwear now worn outside my blue jeans with the pants-cuffs stuffed into my socks.
Then I flew outside, racing through the family room, arms outstretched in proper flying position, whistling the flying sound Superman made, and Dut-Dah-Dah-ing the Superman theme song.
I ran right past my parents, who didn't understand I was Superman; just that I ran outside wearing my undershorts on the outside of my pants.
My dad said, “I'm going to have a long talk with that boy.”
You should have seen what I did to Mom's best bath towel when I became Batman for the first time. That involved a pair of scissors.
I will say this about Superman, if it were socially acceptable I'd wear a cape, even today, and last, it's a good thing Underoos don't come in XXXL.
It would not be pretty.
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