Warning: This is a very bad review of the movie Superman Returns. It might also contain a few spoilers. The author does not remember.
Superman is back in the building. The fact is that he has been loitering the corridors for some time now and his perambulations have been received with the customary fanfare and swooning. This is my out-of-date, irrelevant and inconsequential review of the cinematic abomination.
The astute reader, after a cursory glance at the title will have discerned that I am have not exactly relished the cinematic endeavour under consideration. Also, after seeing the title, I can envisage the more sensitive section of my readership ejaculating an orotund accusation of me being yet another Beer Drinking Pseudo-Macho Boor. I am an honest man and shall not shy away from the description. I would however urge the perturbed reader to consider the fact that the Beer Drinking Pseudo-Macho Boor(BDPMB) too deserves his abominable place under the sun as much as the fashion designers and the celebrity hair stylists do. The BDPMB is a species of animal which has been much harassed and spurned in recent times. During the golden era for the BDPMB, he was tolerated. His grubby nails and even grubbier jeans were looked upon with slight, sympathetic disapproval. His grunts of pleasure upon the arrival of his favourite lager at the table were looked upon with a variety of mild, condescending disgust. His bad jokes were never laughed at, but never scoffed at too. Times since then have changed. The advent of the metrosexual has thrown into sharp relief the ugly, redundant excrescence that the BDPMB is. Wine is the new beer and the BDPMB is no longer welcome at parties. His sense of fashion too is no longer acceptable. There was a time when movies were made to cater for his tastes -- Movies in which the trigger happy Dirty Harrys would rule the roost and Superman would kick alien posterior with wanton ease. Not anymore. These days, Dirty Harry is happily mentoring empowered female pugilists and Superman has gone all droopy and forlorn. These are trying times and I am a stricken man. I however, shall have my say.
The truth however unsavoury, has to be told and I shall not shy away from it. I have watched many an Ally McBeal episode with more testosterone than this new Superman movie, and that is the truth. One watches a Superman odyssey to watch Superman and another uber-alien/super-villain kicking each other into hyperspace. I am sorry to report that nothing of that variety happens in this particular caper. I was waiting, even while the closing credits were doing their rolling bit, for some sharp image of an oddly shaped villain to spring out from the soft-focus and finally indulge in some serious damage. No such luck. When the whole attempted sensitive love story was over, the caped-romantic-in-tights gently wobbled off into the sunset and I would not be lying if I said that I was left flabbergasted, and with a rather profound question to pose to the person who thought up this tripe ridden drama -- What the hell were you thinking man ? What ?
Continuing in this investigative vein, I also have another very pertinent question to pose -- What was with all that moping dude ? Superman returned to earth after a prolonged five year jaunt in the woods to find the love of his life, Lois Lane happily betrothed to another man. I admit that it indeed is an extremely trying scenario, but there certainly were a number of options that Superman could have explored at that juncture:
(a) He could wallop the living daylights out of the new kid on the block. That would teach the pesky busybody not to mess with the alpha-male that Superman is.
(b) He could royally ignore the old flame, disappear for two scenes, and triumphantly emerge with Carmen Electra as the new girlfriend. That would teach Lois Lane not to mess with the alpha-male that Superman is.
(c) If nothing else, he could have hit the local bar with unprecedented gusto, got suitably sozzled, and then could have made a call on Lois Lane's mobile phone at two in the morning, accusing her of ruining his life. That would at least make Superman feel like the alpha-male that he is, before the alcohol wore off.
Superman however utterly fails to employ any of the above mentioned methods. Instead, the man mopes. He pulls long faces. I would be putting it rather mildly if I said that I am not in complete agreement with such spineless tish-tosh on the part of Superman. Whereas he should have been using his super powers to wallop the rival, (see point (a)) the man ends up super-stalking his lost love. He uses his x-ray vision to peek into Lois Lane's house and uses his super-hearing to eavesdrop on private conversations between Lois and her fiance. I am rather appalled I must admit.
To add vagueness to injury, the plot also introduces the biological son of Superman in the fray. That asinine angle to the story is left unexplored and inadequately explained. I however have heard from very reliable sources that there indeed is method behind this moronity. Having successfully imparted a Notting Hill hue to this edition of the Superman movie, the next edition will sport a Kramer vs Kramer flavour. All I can say is "Pah !". (Am I even allowed to say that these days ?)
Tags: SupermanReturns
