Not So Superman

I admit it: there are times I feel pop culture has left me in the dust. Am I just too old to have fun? I had heard many good things about the latest Superman film, written and directed by James Gunn, whose Guardians of the Galaxy had amused me a great deal. My tastes tend to run toward the intellectual, but—for a complete change of pace—I do enjoy extravaganzas with a side order of goofiness.

And everything I read about this particular Clark Kent/Superman combo seemed hugely appealing. I liked the fact that Gunn had apparently chosen to sidestep the angst-ridden, cynical Superman of several recent iterations and made HIS superhero a bit of a dork, or at least a gentle, upstanding guy with slightly old-fashioned tastes.

 It sounded interesting, in this day and age, that as a result of Lex Luthor’s machinations this Superman would come to be reviled by the public as an alien, a dangerous representative of another culture who has illegally invaded Earth. (The complaints in some quarters that this Superman is too “woke” don’t make much sense, in that Gunn’s superhero is far more connected with his folksy midwestern adoptive parents than with the pair who sent him to Earth as their own planet faced annihilation.) 

 I also heard many plaudits for Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane, as a worthy successor to the smart, spunky Margot Kidder back in the Christopher Reeve days. I too was impressed by Brosnahan (who, with her throaty voice, SOUNDS like Kidder, but has a contemporary sassiness all her own). The surprise in this version is that she knows full well about Clark Kent’s secret identity, and is not above questioning his values and his methods—in the name of journalistic integrity, you understand. Spoiler alert: she concludes that she’s really into him, despite it all.

 But I can’t agree with the critics and fans who have oohed and aahed over the presence of the wonder-dog Krypto. Gunn apparently got the idea for inserting Krypto into the story after he himself adopted a pandemic rescue dog with a great talent for screwing things up. Gunn’s tales about the exploits of his own computer-eating Ozu are hilarious, but I felt no particular affection for the clearly animatronic wonder-pup who nearly kills Superman while trying to come to his rescue. (Yes, this Superman needs rescuing more than once: we first see him immediately after his first-ever defeat by a superhuman bad guy, and he seems to get knocked around a lot.)

 So what’s the gist of this particular Superman film? I’ve heard critics say joyfully that this is the Superman of their comic-book-centric childhoods. For me, alas, it’s a loud, long, noisy bounce from midwestern corn (in all senses) to eerie Arctic wasteland to ravaged metropolis to a futuristic “pocket universe” gulag entered through a desert campsite where all of Lex Luthor’s minions wear cheery Aloha shirts. I couldn’t always follow it. Nor, honestly, did I want to.

 The comic-book world of superheroes has been with us since the 1930s. For young boys, in particular, characters like Superman, Batman, and Captain America have promised vicarious adventures and a well-developed sense of right vs. wrong. Hollywood in recent years has benefitted hugely from its superhero connections, and—with movie attendance now flagging—

this year’s Superman and Fantastic Four flicks are much needed. But why does it all have to seem so silly? (I’ve just learned that James Gunn began his career with Lloyd Kaufman’s Tromeo and Juliet, full of severed limbs and possibly the stupidest film I’ve ever walked out on.)  

Stan Berkowitz, Bat Scribe

I first met Stan Berkowitz in the rather grubby offices of the UCLA Daily Bruin. I was a grad student who thought it would be fun to write about movies for my fellow collegians, while continuing to crank out serious literary papers for my profs. And Stan was my oh-so-amiable editor. Decades later we re-connected, when he showed up at one of my book signings. I found out then that—like me—he’d eventually gone Hollywood. In fact, he insisted that, post-college, he was a candidate for the same Roger Corman job that ultimately changed my life. As a graduate of UCLA’s film school Stan doubtless had far better credentials than I did for making B-movies, Corman-style. After all, he was a budding filmmaker, not an English major. Still, I was female, which doubtless helped me get Roger’s nod. Stan instead found work with Russ Meyer, the auteur behind such deathless sexploitation flicks as Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!  Meyer, unlike Roger, didn’t want women doing challenging work in his offices or on his sets. He wanted them in front of the cameras, flaunting their “Guns of Navarone” bazooms, leaving his all-male crews in a permanent state of arousal.

 Following his Russ Meyer stint, Stan eventually found his way into television, He started out writing for crime dramas like T.J. Hooker, then eventually discovered his niche in the wonderful world of superheroes, crafting shows like Batman Beyond, The New Batman Adventures, Superman: The Animated Series, and Justice League Unlimited, ending up with two Emmys on his shelf. Now that he’s old enough to be considered an expert in his field, he’s decided to share his wisdom in a charming little volume called Beyond the Bat: Secrets of a Superhero Scribe.

 In thirteen lively essays, Stan bares his insights on how to succeed in Hollywood. He describes working with a closet racist, trying to create a show for Middle Eastern audiences that featured Muslim superheroes, and struggling to incorporate Old Testament stories into an animated series for the Christian market. (That chapter is titled: Written by Stan Berkowitz . . . and God.”) He dishes about what it’s like to butt up against a superstar’s vanity. (William Shatner, here’s looking at you!) In one hilarious chapter, he reveals how to get attention for your student film. This involves a curvaceous unclad lass and a whole lot of donkeys.

 Chapter 3, titled “The Green Group,” struck a chord with me by merging a story from Stan’s early life with a discussion of why some people are attracted to superhero characters. Back in the first grade, when learning to read was at the top of the agenda, Stan’s teacher automatically assigned “the little bespectacled kids” to the Blue Group, on the assumption that they would be fast learners. Stan, though, was among the “big, oafish-looking kids” stuck at the Green table, where they were clearly being identified as slow. Fortunately, he and his buddy Gregory (also a Green Group-er) fought back, via their parents, and eventually got moved up to the smart kids’ table. The episode convinced young Stan to distrust the judgment of those in power, and his anti-authoritarian streak has stayed with him from that day to this. No wonder he has gravitated toward characters like Batman and Superman who are essentially vigilantes, going over the heads of elected officials to clean up crime and save the world on their own terms.

 If you think the world of TV production is glamorous, Stan provides a healthy reality-check. And his book, amusingly illustrated by Dan Riba, is a ball to read.  

 

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane . . . It’s Clark Kent, Superstar

Larry Tye’s Superman: The High-Flying History of America’s Most Enduring Hero is not a biography in the usual sense. Most biographies are not about folks who hail from the dying planet Krypton. But there’s a good deal to say about an all-American superhero who was born in the depths of the Depression, spread his legend through the pages of comic books, graduated to movie serials and early television, then triumphed in big-screen blockbusters. Today, as a member of the Justice League (along with Batman and other larger-than-life types), he’s still going strong.

 Tye, an eminent social historian who’s written biographies of everyone from Satchel Paige to Edward L. Bernays (inventor of the field of public relations), spends a fair amount of time on the not-always-super men behind Superman. In particular, he homes in on the careers of writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Schuster, two overgrown boys from Cleveland who launched the Man of Steel, gave him his secret Jewish roots, and ultimately lost control of their creation. But although Tye takes seriously indeed those who’ve invented, published, and merchandised Superman, he devotes himself equally to exploring the cultural implications of Superman’s popularity. As he sees it, we Americans need heroes, perhaps now more than ever, and Superman continues to fill the bill. His strength but also his vulnerability, his Boy Scout code of conduct, his fundamental sadness as the last of his kind, his need to grapple with the challenges posed by a dual identity—all this has attracted legions of ordinary fans, as well as such extraordinary ones as Jerry Seinfeld and basketball superstar Shaquille O’Neal.

 Long before Christopher Reeve there was a movie serial Superman, Kirk Alyn, as well as a TV Superman, George Reeves, who played the role starting in 1951. (Reeves’ apparent suicide in 1959 sparked ironic headlines as well as suggestions of foul play.) But the 1978 film directed by Richard Donner brought Superman into a new era of dazzling special effects. For the first time on screen, a Superman really conveyed the joy of flight. He also finally gave up on the idea of changing into his superhero tights in a telephone booth. By 1978, the traditional four-sided enclosure no longer sat on most street corners, so Christopher Reeve’s Clark Kent had to make do with a revolving door for a lightning-fast change of clothes.

 Reeve is the heart and soul of Donner’s production. Frankly, I find the somber opening scenes on Krypton, which feature a silver-haired and silver-tongued Marlon Brando as baby Superman’s father, Jor-el, confusing and dull. The Kansas section of the film, in which the young child adopted by the Kents grows to be a sad and lonely young man, is sweet but by no means inspiring. But then we’re in Metropolis (aka New York City) where dweebish reporter Clark Kent metamorphoses into a swashbuckling superhero. When cast, Reeve was known as an actor, not a body-builder. He was 6’4” and handsome, but needed to add 30 pounds of muscle to fill out his spandex suit. As a trained stage performer he brought screwball comedy chops both to his portrait of the bumbling Clark and of the honest, bashful Superman. In courting Margot Kidder’s plucky Lois Lane, he is charmingly boyish, as when he admits that his super-sight tells him that her undies are pink. Then, deliberately emulating a young Cary Grant type, he slumps his shoulders, compresses his spine, raises his vocal pitch, and changes the part in his hair to become a Clark Kent whom even a smart gal like Lois wouldn’t recognize as her own personal superstar. 

 This post is, in part, a tribute to the late Richard Donner, who left us on July 5. May he rest in peace. 

 

 

The Tooth of the Matter: Dentists to the Stars

I just returned from a long session in the dental chair (don’t ask!). As always I was fascinated by the intrusion of Hollywood into dentistry, SoCal-style. I don’t know whether theatre programs in other cities contain glossy ads for dental specialists. In front of me right now lies a dramatic full-color ad from Performances Magazine, which is handed out as you take your seat at the Los Angeles Music Center. It shows a lovely lady in an evening gown emerging from behind a red theatre curtain, her pearly whites gleaming. The caption shouts, “GET NOTICED FOR A SMILE THAT PERFORMS,” and there follows the promise that a certain Beverly Hills cosmetic dentist “will take your smile from average to spectacular. Come see us for an award-winning smile that always gets a standing ovation!” Then, of course, there’s a web address.

My own dentists have never advertised in theatre programs, so far as I know. But I’ve long been amused by the signed celebrity photos on their walls. My kids’ orthodontist had a full array: I best remember the shot of Margot Kidder, in character as Superman’s Lois Lane.  Most of Dr. Abel’s photos were of famous adults, whom I assume had brought their children in for braces. That’s how I met Graham Nash of Crosby, Stills & Nash fame: he was pecking out song lyrics on his laptop as we both waited for our metal-mouthed offspring.

In my own dentist’s Beverly Hills office, two framed photos occupy a place of honor. One is a dapper shot of Gregory Peck, and the other is of Paul Newman, grinning as he leans against a race car. Obviously, these photos are decades old: they were prized possessions of the late Dr. Leslie Levine, the founder of the practice, who practiced dentistry until his late 80s. A man with impressive credentials, he attracted quite a range of stars. After all, even the rich and famous can suffer, as they age, from receding gums. My mother still remembers back twenty years, when she and my dad encountered yesteryear’s tap-dance sensation, Ann Miller, queening it in the waiting room.

When Dr. Levine passed on, his practice fell into the capable hands of Dr. Hessam Nowzari, former head of USC’s dental school. I like Dr. Nowzari (and he has a great smile), but I was unprepared when he asked me if I’d seen his movie yet. I went home with a DVD labeled with an image of a pharaoh and the caption “What Killed the Smile of Hatshepsut?” When I played the disk, it turned out that the real title is “The AA Bacterium: A Worldwide Epidemic.” The 30-minute film makes a strong point about the persistence, from before the time of the pyramids, of a supermicrobe that has disfigured the front teeth of countless unfortunates all over the globe. It makes for sober viewing (while conveying the upbeat message that a saltwater rinse of the gums can help today’s babies fight off AA’s future ravages).  But I was most struck by the film’s attempts at Hollywood drama. The narrator’s spiels, backed by ominous music, treat the microbe as an assassin, who has caused “tens of millions of people [to] bid farewell to their smiles.”

Not only is this happening in backward countries. Over gorgeous postcard-shots of a gleaming Los Angeles skyline, the narrator intones, “The capital of glamour, beauty, and stars. Who could believe that a hidden enemy is lurking behind the scenes?” Who indeed? Thanks, Dr. Nowzari, for teaching me something important. Next time, though, please get your screenwriter to tone down the Hollywood-inspired kitsch.