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Superman Still Saves Me: The Eternal Impact of Christopher Reeve
Growing up, my old man would casually warn me about the inevitably of getting older. He described the fleeting and fickle nature of time— that it seemed to go faster the older you get, and that it usually slowed down to a leisurely, agonizing pace during the worst experiences; conversely, and with seemingly cruel intent, it would accelerate to dizzying speeds, in which the increased velocity was directly proportionate to how enriching a particular experience might be. Despite the existential weight of his imparted wisdom, his reassuring tone allowed my young, frantic mind to narrowly perceive the finer points: time speeds up when you’re happy, and slows down when you’re miserable. Unsurprisingly, and in typical juvenile fashion, I dismissed his prophecy until it became impossible to avoid.
So, here I am, at nearly 40, all too aware of the passing of the ages; clinging to the comforts of remembrance, and anticipating the coming phases with something between intrigue and dread. Add to that a standard amount of uncertainty and wavering confidence, I oft find myself seeking comfort in reliable, familiar things: ideals, principals, kindness, MUSIC, memories, inspirational figures and characters, and the singularly rarest phenomenon of fiction and figure merging in synchronous resplendence.
My wife Samantha recently pointed something out to me— the occurrence of a nearly unconscious but conditioned, self-soothing technique that I seem to have been utilizing for years. She entered our living room and beheld me, in my sluggish, pajama’d splendor, sitting upright in my creaky recliner. A nightcap in my hand, fixated intently on the screen of our television, I was absorbing the concluding scene of my favorite film of all time: ‘Superman: The Movie.’ Onscreen, the Prison Warden, clasping the railing of his balcony, and observing the sudden delivery of America’s most nefarious real estate mogul, asks ‘Who is that, Superman?’ The proudly defiant Lex Luthor snatches the convincing wig off of his bald head, and proclaims ‘Lex LUTHOR! The greatest criminal mind of our time!’ At this moment, Sam smiles and asks me ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What do you mean?’ I reply, perplexed.
‘Did you watch the whole movie, or did you just put on this scene?’ She responds, with a knowing, maternal timbre. I smile.
‘Just this scene.’ She begins to nod her head.
‘You only put THIS SCENE on when something is bothering you.’ I made a feeble attempt to seem incredulous; but there was no use. As she asked me that simple question, I began to conclude and concur with her empathetic implication: in times of stress, anxiety, sadness and confusion- without fail, I put on the last scene and closing credits of ‘Superman.’ In concurrence with Sam’s suggestion, I had indeed staggered through an emotionally overwhelming day, and had arrived home feeling utterly defeated. And, true to form, in need of a most affecting and thorough rejuvenation— I put on ‘Superman,’ and skipped right to the final scene. And I did so instinctively. And what happened as a result? The same thing that happens, unfailingly, every single time: I felt a sense of true, untarnished patriotism as Superman admonished the Warden to hold captive the lawbreakers until their due process is satisfied; I grinned and chuckled as Luthor’s luckless crony, Otis, proudly echoed the proclamations of his sardonic lord and chief; I felt the pride and admiration of the Warden as he turned his glance directly to Superman, staunch and resolute. ‘This country is SAFE again, Superman. Thanks to YOU’ he proudly declared. I concur wholeheartedly. His gratitude is MY gratitude. Capping the exchange with humility, and unconditional servitude, Superman cheerfully replied ‘No, sir. Don’t thank ME, Warden. We’re all part of the same team.’ After nearly 39 years of watching this timeless epic, this particular line always lands with profound impact. And with a last ‘good night,’ the trumpet calls and reprises the eternally triumphant and invigorating fanfare, for the ascension of the most literal embodiment of the Super man. The fanfare plays, Superman descends and smiles at me, and the credits roll to the end while the music cleanses my spirit.
And with that, I am restored. Tranquil, content, and inspired. Superman has saved me once again.
I can imagine that, for those of us who behold the life and work of Christopher Reeve with reverence and gratitude, a story like this probably rings familiar. Though seemingly scattered throughout the world and with great distance between us, we have all shared the memories and moments in which Chris himself, as Superman, or the myriad of flawlessly embodied characters, has profoundly impacted our lives. Regarding Superman, some of us were children when he saw him fly for the first time, while others were well into adulthood. Yet, despite the difference in age, the collective impact appears to have been identical. For example, I vividly recall the moment in which I first saw Superman catch the falling helicopter with one hand, halting its rapid descent, and lifting it back to the rooftop. I was 8 years old, sitting on the bottom bunk in my bedroom, watching the scene unfold on a tiny screen from a VHS cassette recorded off of HBO. Having essentially watched the Superman films in reverse order, it occurred to me in this moment that I may well have saved the best for last. My jaw dropped, my eyes widened, and I remained awestruck and still until Superman’s first night had concluded. Over the years, I have communicated with like-minded fans, who described having similar or identical reactions to this particular moment. Like me, a few of them were children at the time of their viewing; however, others among us were well into their 20’s or 30’s when they first saw it; likewise, they too reported having felt overwhelmed and awestruck by this and other scenes in the film. There was great affirmation and validation in learning that so many others had been affected in the same ways I had been; but equally powerful, was the conclusion that this movie—this Superman—this MAN, transcended any possible barrier of age, station, or circumstance, in the reach and profundity of its impact.
How was/is this possible? Well, on its surface, that’s easy to answer: Christopher Reeve. But what is it about Chris’s portrayal of this hallowed character, that burrowed into our subconscious minds, and keeps us coming back to him over and over again? Why is he OUR definitive and forever Superman—and moreover, what is it that seems to make him MORE our Superman, even than the comics from which the character originated?
Before Chris was cast, the most recent onscreen portrayal of Superman came from the 1975 televised revival of 1966 Broadway musical, ‘It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman!’ Superman was played by stage and television actor, David Wilson; perhaps, due in part to the year of its inception and a certain television series based on another famous DC comics character, this show leaned heavily into the comedic and campy corners of the material. That’s not a criticism per se, but it did seem to unwittingly prepare the world for a considerably ‘hard reboot’ for Superman, in terms of the collective public perception of the character. And so, with the arrival of ‘Superman: The Movie’ in 1978, the world was introduced to the version of Superman that it may well not have known that it needed: at face value, a most perfect physical incarnation of the now 40 year old character, seemingly haven risen straight out of the pages of the comic. Revolutionary special effects produced a version of Krypton that maintained a subtle sense of late 70’s futuristic aesthetic aspirations, and wholly unique and brilliantly realized technological marvels. For the first time in the history of live action media, Superman convincingly flew. And he didn’t just float, hover, or gradually find his mark. The man bent his knees, launched himself into the sky, made sharp banks and turns, and landed gracefully with a sense of casual instinctiveness. In other words, Chris’s flight seemed as natural and authentic as a brisk stride. He performed acts of superhuman strength, from catching a bullet to lifting the San Andreas fault back into place.
These are basics. Incredible, awe-inspiring basics, to be sure. But these are just some of the boxes checked for the wide audience—children and adults who were ready to see the Man of Steel come to life, and live up to the high standards of pulp fiction that made him less than a god, but more than a man. There were, however, in the very foundation of Chris’s performance, transcendent and everlasting qualities; the essence of truest humanity that people often come to believe isn’t possible to achieve. These qualities, which seem clear and obvious to me now, weren’t so readily perceived when I first became attached to this Superman. At least, not consciously. That is to say, the most personal and authentic miracle of Christopher Reeve’s Superman was the gift of revelation— seeds planted of such pure and abiding kindness, selflessness and servitude that gradually transmogrified into bright, blooming flowers; stunning to behold, and impossible to deny. Revelation- enrichment and understanding, much like gaining the trust of one admired.
When that perfect trust is received and reciprocated, partings and reunions become congruent with the sensations of leaving and returning home. Therefore, for me, and many, many others, I suspect that returning to the Splendor of Chris’s Superman is akin to coming home. To the surrogate father who honored HIS fathers and mothers, and whose example we strive to follow. To the impartial lover of humanity, who cared as much for a little girl and her cat as he did for Lois Lane. The hard worker whose dedication to truth and justice shone radiantly and equally— as an immigrant, a citizen, a journalist, and a protector. The available friend who answered the call of world leaders, after answering the letter of a concerned and faithful child. To put it slightly more simply, Christopher Reeve elevated the strength of the PERSON of Superman, to the position of a relevant, morally steadfast role model. For all humankind. Chris’s personal values, wisdom, and example have become permanently fused with, and amplified by those of the mere CHARACTER of Superman; and because of this momentous union between a real human being and a fictional icon of virtue, Chris truly, actually became…..
Superman. The real, LITERALLY real, Superman. The real merges with the mythic to become, miraculously, mythically, real. I can think of no other instance in history, in which such a phenomenon has occurred.
With the help of dear Chris, Superman has evolved from a fictitious legend, whose values we strive to uphold, to a legendary person, who embodied and justified those values. He lived among us, walked in our shoes, and showed us all what it really means to be Super.
How blessed we all are, to have actually seen it happen.
—James Walker
(Illustration by KIBAR)