Superman Returns is a film that is not about us, that doesn’t engage us, that doesn’t speak to Black America in any meaningful way. Superman Returns is a movie designed to capture our imagination and fill us with hope. It fails to do either. It’s a whole lot of bang, but at its core it is soulless and ideologically bankrupt. Worse, it impugns the uniqueness and sanctity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ by reducing it to just a bad plotline. It reinforces the notion of the great White Messiah and, sadly, denies our very existence by not having any black characters. Like President Bush’s election campaigns and the “Moral” Religious Right, Superman Returns completely writes off Black America, figuring, perhaps correctly, we wouldn’t be interested in the film in the first place.

Zero.

There is not one black person in even a single frame of this film. Not an extra, not a cameo, not anybody pushing a broom or driving a cab. This world, this antiseptic, Disneyland world, is a world of white people. A Republican fantasy where Ronald Reagan is still president and Newt Gingrich runs the House of Representatives. This is a thoroughly whitewashed universe of white people where blacks and other minorities may be a passing blur at best (and that’s giving Singer the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, I did not see any black people and, yes, I was looking for them).

Like President Bush’s election campaigns and the “Moral” Religious Right, Superman Returns completely writes off black America, figuring, perhaps correctly, we wouldn’t be interested in the film in the first place. Superman is, face it, corny. Not very popular with the brothers. The spit curl and underwear outside of his tights. Face it, we probably weren’t going in the first place. But, had Singer cast Chris Rock as Jimmy Olsen (as earlier director Tim Burton had intended), I guarantee a wider appeal for this $204 million film. Add in $60 million in preproduction on three false starts plus a rumored $100 million in worldwide promotion, and Superman Returns may very well be the most expensive film ever made, with some $363 million charged to the film. Given such astronomical numbers, I’d think any effort Singer could make to broaden the appeal of the film would be welcome. Instead, the film is a virtual slap in black America’s face. We simply do not exist at all in this world Singer has created. Superman is not here to save us or rescue us. There were no blacks rescued.

There’s a scene in Superman Returns where this bad guy/maniac is perched upon a rooftop firing a Gatling gun. It’s a great scene, like many other scenes before and after it, but the scene took me out of the picture as I stopped paying attention to the movie and instead wondered how this guy got this huge Gatling gun (about the size of a Volkswagen) up twelve flights of steps. It was precisely the same illogic, the same disconnect with reality, that made me give up on Superman comics years ago. Superman has, for decades, been in the hands of bright and creative and well-meaning fans who, nonetheless, live, literally, in Metropolis. The world Superman and, for the most part, DC Comics, lives in bears almost no resemblance to the one I live in. It is a world that exists, largely, inside their heads. The safe, colorful, absurd world of comic book geeks now grown up to run the comic book factory. A larger-than-life world where bad guys dress like penguins and drag Gatling guns up twelve flights of steps without anyone seeing them (when a good ol’ AR-15 would do the job just as well).

X-Men director Bryan Singer’s obvious love for Superman (and for the first two Superman films) propels Superman Returns. Which is a real shame because Singer has the reputation and the clout to move Superman out of his Disney-esque confines and into the real world. Or, at least closer to it.

Instead, he chose to perpetuate the silly and campy benign Disneyland Superman has always existed in. And, perhaps, that was the right thing to do. DC Comics has, after all, made only laughable attempts to make the Man of Steel relevant, choosing, with every succession of Superman editors, only geeky inbred cousin-marrying types. Superman really hasn’t had a grown-up in charge for four decades. Most people in charge of producing Superman comics and books (and, having worked in the comics industry for 28 years, these are people I know personally) have been far more Clark Kent than Tom Cruise. Thus, I have to assume this is what DC wanted: Superman trapped in Sillyville. In a land of utter irrelevance and, as a result, of almost total disinterest to kids and teens.

Marvel, conversely, has always pursued the cutting edge, preferring to set their super-heroes in what creator Stan Lee called “The World Outside Your Window.” Ironically, a trailer for Marvel’s upcoming Spider-Man 3, which features cool villain Venom (think Spider-Man in a black costume) ran just before Superman Returns, trumping SR in every conceivable way. It was like eating a huge hunk of birthday cake before dinner. The trailer was so hot, the plotline so interesting, that by the time SR started running, I was still thinking about Spider-Man—which, I’m sure, was the entire point.

I’d imagine the film will make a great deal of money, especially during this Fourth of July weekend. Parents will take their wee little ones to see this, which is a huge mistake. Superman’s brutal beating and shanking at the hands of Lex Luthor is certainly too intense for the wee little ones, who packed out the theater I was in. But, at its center, this movie has absolutely no soul. This is as cold a film as I’ve ever seen, with two leads (Brandon Routh and Kate Bosworth) who can’t act. The dialogue is bland, Central Casting stuff, lacking any real zip to it./ There are no memorable lines at all. Superman and Lois have absolutely no romantic chemistry. They are just a hole at the center of the film, which collapses under its own pomp and circumstance.

Routh, in particular, is just wrong, wrong, wrong. He doesn’t look at all like Superman. He looks like Superboy. Too young and too skinny. He seems o be imitating Christopher Reeve’s performance as Superman and Clark Kent, but he lacks Reeve’s stage presence and command of craft. Reeve was so much Superman it was a little eerie; a comic book character literally come to life. With Routh, all I saw was Routh in a costume. At no time did I stop seeing the actor.

As nate451 posted on the Internet Movie Database:

[Singer] seems entirely unaware that he has crafted an entire movie without a laugh, without a tear, without a moment of tension or suspense or compassion or fear. Such a complete failure makes all other complaints about the film no less true, but ultimately academic.

In the absence of any kind of actual content to push the movie along, Singer instead relies on an endless string of movie clichés. Lex Luthor quotes Greek myths, has a collection of ancient statues, and listens to classical music. A little boy gasps as he sees what all the adults have failed to see—that Superman is Clark Kent. Lois Lane leans over a comatose Superman and says, “I don't know if you can hear me, but…” One would be hard-pressed, in fact, to find a single cinematic moment in Superman Returns that has not been done before.

My bigger ax to grind with Director Singer is this: to my recollection (and, yes, I was looking), there was not even a single black person in a single frame of this motion picture. Not an extra, not a cameo, not anybody pushing a broom or driving a cab. This world, this antiseptic, Disneyland world, is a world of white people. A Republican fantasy where Ronald Reagan is still president and Newt Gingrich runs the House of Representatives. This was a thoroughly whitewashed universe of white people where blacks and other minorities may be a passing blur at best (and that’s giving Singer the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, I did not see any black people and, yes, I was looking for them).

Of course, the film was shot in Sydney, Australia. Not a lot of brothers over there. Singer would have had to fly black actors in, which would have been fairly expensive just to fill out some crowd scenes. But he really should have considered the casting of a major black character, the way Morgan Freeman was brilliantly cast in Batman Begins (see sidebar below) or Halle Berry in her cipher role as the X-Men's Storm. I am, frankly, aghast that no such casting was done.

Like President Bush’s election campaigns, Superman Returns completely writes off black America, figuring, perhaps correctly, we wouldn’t be interested in the film in the first place. Superman is, face it, corny. Not very popular with the brothers. The spit curl and underwear outside of his tights. Face it, we probably weren’t going in the first place. But, had Singer cast Chris Rock as Jimmy Olsen (as earlier director Tim Burton had intended), I guarantee a wider appeal for this $204 million film. Add in $60 million in preproduction on three false starts plus a rumored $100 million in worldwide promotion, and Superman Returns may very well be the most expensive film ever made, with some $363 million charged to the film. Given such astronomical numbers, I’d think any effort Singer could make to broaden the appeal of the film would be welcome. Instead, the film is a virtual slap in black America’s face. We simply do not exist at all in this world Singer has created. Superman is not here to save us or rescue us. There were no blacks rescued.

Comics have never successfully penetrated the African American market, so the numbers don't encourage the major companies to pursue what is, statistically, a dead end. There's SO MUCH MONEY out there in the minority community, but to go after it, Marvel and DC and everybody else is really going to have to reinvent themselves, change the way they do business and operate way, way outside of their traditional orbit. It would help if they'd actually hire some minorities and consultants on distribution channels for minority-focused products. It seems like the game has been to try and lure minorities into comic shops. 50 Cent and Nasir Jones are not going into your local comic shop. Many comics shop retail displays are unknowingly hostile to blacks and black culture, something I certainly could have told the industry if they'd asked me. Everything about most local comic shops fairly screams Middle Class Whites Only. There is precious little that would, at first blush, interest most urban blacks, many of whom see Superman and his ilk as icons of repression and tools for eliminating their cultural distinction. In that view, many comics shop store windows have an inadvertent effect on many black youths. It is a kind of violence, much the same way loud music from gangsta jeeps is. Putting your minority-focused retail product inside these stores— many of which present the appearance of bunkers, their windows papered over with white iconic characters leaping and jumping and zapping and Magik The Gathering— is an utter waste of time. Publishing one or two black titles amid your line of 60+ white-themed monthlies is not enough to overcome the stigma many black youths feel walking into places like that.

Comics shops are places where blacks are whispered about and followed not so much because they are black but because they are new, because they are not regulars, so there is this awkward tribal introduction where the retail staff tries to bridge that gap. But, to many blacks, surveillance is surveillance, and this awkwardness feels one step away from a police call, handcuffs and Rodney King. The hair on the neck going up because the comic shop, by inadvertent design, often represents white culture in an intensely megalomaniacal way. To many blacks, he is not Superman so much as he is SuperWhiteMan. There's no sign on the window that reads WHITE POWER, but the sensibility is implied: these are power fantasies for whites. white power fantasies. And, whatever the reason for the polarizing discomfort in many comic shops, the fact is the black kid looking for copies of Static Shock (which I co-created) tends to stand out because he is outside of that shop's regular customer stream, outside of their tribe. And they instantly know this kid is outside of their tribe because he's black. The retailer is damned if he does and damned if he doesn't reach out to the newbies because ignoring these kids is just as bad if not worse. The tension continues to build as the retailer chats up his regulars while giving the new black kid room to browse, an action the new black kid could take as racist as, surely the retailer knows he's a new customer. But if the retailer reaches out, that could be taken the wrong way, as a lot of retail sales help have been traditionally instructed to shadow blacks in stores. However well meaning the comics retailer, the truth is most comics stores are ill-equipped to service the very community Marvel and DC are trying to lure in.

There has not existed, to my knowledge, a marketing person at the major comics publishing houses with any real knowledge of the enormous untapped black and Latino markets. Completely untouched by Marvel or DC, and nobody has any clue how to reach them or that there's even any money there. Precious little of which will likely be spent on Superman Returns. Like the comics shops and comics industry in general, Superman Returns presents a white power fantasy in an extremely megalomaniacal way. Having long ago lost boxing and basketball to tribal drums, superman continues to uphold the standard of truth, justice and the American way; a way that apparently does not include persons of color.

I have similar problems with black people going to Disneyland. Disneyland and Disneyworld were never created with black America in mind. These places (including similar theme parks) almost universally present a sanitized version of reality that almost uniformly promotes a middle-class Reaganite fantasy of rolling lawns and blue skies. I find these places fairly threatening as they tend to, at best, compartmentalize most ethnic diversity while presenting the white, middle class fantasy as the optimized and preferred environment. Disney welcomes you into an offensively sterilized World Of No Niggers, where the “Whites Only” signs have been grudgingly removed from the water fountains. We are welcomed as guests but as guests only; visitors to this strange environment where the dreams of white America thrive and are fulfilled for $45 per day. I find these places terribly offensive and equally as passive aggressive as the brothers blasting their stereos as they drive down the street. Neither extreme is me, but Donald Duck was clearly never intended to congress with anyone who looks like me.

This is exactly how off-putting Superman is, how off-putting he’s always been. He is the ultimate white power fantasy, white America clinging to the last vestiges of a nation that once wrote off minorities as easily and effortlessly as Superman Returns does. Or, best case, treats us as exotic oddities the way Disney does. This is the subtext of every frame of Superman Returns, a classic example of creative people being culturally insensitive or culturally isolated; so much so that they can’t possibly understand a word I’m writing and so dismiss me as a nut.

DC and Warners have historically missed the point that few little black boys want to be Superman anymore because they see absolutely nothing of themselves in Superman. Worse, for many minorities, Superman represents the elimination of ethnic traits and cultural traditions. The very image of Superman, who resolves most conflicts by brute force and violence, is fairly threatening to many blacks. He has godlike powers. He is indefatigable and undefeatable. The most powerful being on the planet. And he is white. So white, in fact, that a studio can spend $363 million and not even notice there are no blacks in the film. That's how white Superman is.

I tend to doubt Superman Returns was screened for any African American focus groups or vetted through any black performing arts societies. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps somebody actually said, “Gee, Mr. Singer, there’s absolutely nothing in this film that a black audience can identify with.” And Mr, Singer just shrugged and kept going.


Roger Ebert says:

This is a glum, lackluster movie in which even the big effects sequences seem dutiful instead of exhilarating. Brandon Routh lacks charisma as Superman, and I suppose as Clark Kent, he isn't supposed to have any. It's strange how little dialogue the title character has in the movie. Clark Kent is monosyllabic, and Superman is microsyllabic. As he positions himself in flight, straining to lift an airplane or a vast chunk or rock, we reflect that these activities aren't nearly as cinematic as what Batman and Spider-Man get up to. Watching Superman straining to hold a giant airliner, I'm wondering: Why does he strain? Does he have his limits? Would that new Airbus be too much for him? What about if he could stand somewhere?

Superman is vulnerable to one, and only one, substance: kryptonite. He knows this. We know this. Lex Luthor knows this. Yet he has been disabled by kryptonite in every one of the movies. Does he think Lex Luthor would pull another stunt without a supply on hand? Why doesn't he take the most elementary precautions? How can a middle-aged bald man stab the Man of Steel with kryptonite?

There is I suppose a certain bottom line of competence in "Superman Returns,” and superhero fans will want to see the movie just for its effects, its plot outrages and its moments of humor. But when the hero, his alter ego, his girlfriend and the villain all seem to lack any joy in being themselves, why should we feel joy at watching them?



Finally, and stop reading here if you don’t want the ending spoiled, I became uncomfortable and then irritated by the ubiquitous messianic iconography so blatantly employed in Superman Returns. In journalism school, I was once taught that, if you’re going to plagiarize something, the Bible is the best source for free material. Singer’s ham-fisted attempts to fit Routh with a crown of thorns made me uncomfortable as I thought it was, first and foremost, bad writing, but also a long and clumsy way to go to hammer us with an awkward and somewhat offensive cliché. My mind started wandering out of the plot as, instead, I began debating with myself whether or not I should be offended by the cheap-shot messianic imagery heavily borrowed from The Passion of The Christ.

Superman Returns has the Man of Steel referred to as a “savior” in several places, and the late Marlon Brando’s Jor-El (Superman’s father) remarking about how he’s sent humanity, “…my only son.” In literal terms, it’s a shameless rip-off. But Superman’s third act Via Dolorosa, where a weakened Superman is brutally flogged by Luthor’s henchmen (complete with angles stolen clearly from The Passion of The Christ), only to be pierced in the side by Luthor and ultimately die saving us all, plummeting from space in a crucifixion-like pose—and rise again several days later—well, I found myself shaking my head, irritated and offended by Singer’s cheapening of the Gospel in an attempt to score emotional points. And all of that for naught because—and this is the film’s fatal flaw—Routh’s Superman was so uninteresting to me, I didn’t care whether he lived or died. That’s a huge problem for a $363 million movie.

I’ll be curious to see whether the evangelical double-chins are cheering or protesting Superman Returns. My guess is they'll be cheering. The world of Superman Returns is, after all, a Doublechin World. A Jerry Falwell fantasy. All of which is ironic considering Singer (who is gay) is the least likely person to embrace a world like that. I’m afraid many church folks will applaud the Christ symbolism while missing the point this is, best face, poor taste and, worst case, blasphemous satire of our most precious religious tenets. It says that Superman is, somehow, the equal of Jesus. It says we need Superman, as prayer and God don’t play any role here, whatsoever.

For the black church, Superman Returns is doubly offensive. First and foremost, it impugns the uniqueness and sanctity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ by reducing it to just a bad plotline. It reinforces the notion of the great White Messiah (which is my chief objection to the otherwise magnificent The Passion of The Christ). And, sadly, it denies our very existence by not having any major black characters, any minor black characters, and no black characters with speaking roles (although, now that I think of it, we might have seen a black reporter on TV as one of the characters was channel surfing).

Superman Returns is a film that is not about us, that doesn’t engage us, that doesn’t speak to black America in any meaningful way. It insults my intelligence to suggest Director Singer or Warner Bros. executives didn’t notice there were no blacks in the film, therefore I assume they did, in fact, notice, and decided it made no difference since we were likely not going to see it anyway. On many levels it deeply offends me as a Christian, as a black Christian, and as a comic book writer, one of less than five black writers who have ever had the opportunity to write Superman in the 68 years of Superman’s existence. The plot is bland and the acting is bad. The special effects are, indeed, a sight to see, but all that meant to me was I kept getting lost in the story because I was sitting there wishing Christopher Reeve had had those effects in 1978.

Superman Returns is a movie designed to capture our imagination and fill us with hope. It fails to do either. It’s a whole lot of bang, a whole lot of noise and things whizzing by the screen, but at its core it is soulless and ideologically bankrupt. The fact nobody at Warner Bros. (or DC Comics, where I’ve worked for 16 years) apparently noticed this film might be offensive, most especially to black Christians, should surprise me, but it doesn’t. These are white men in air conditioned offices forty stories above the world we actually live in.

And this is their idea of a good time.

Christopher J. Priest
2 July 2006
editor@praisenet.org
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