You knew this was coming, Pete. I’ve seen Man of Steel twice already. I will see it at least one more time before I’m done. It’s that awesome. So this is my super-spoiler-y review, not of the movie (but no promises), but of the character himself. And if you haven’t seen the movie yet, get off my blog and run to your nearest theater. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Now if you’ve read this blog before, and we both know you have, you know I’m not a DC fan—I can’t do Kangaroo Boy or Scissor Lad or Rhamphorhynchus Girl (+10 points if you know what a rhamphorhynchus is). And come on, we all know Aquaman is just a telepathic Sea World trainer with an orange shirt. For me, the names were just too wacky, the continuity too fluid, and everybody was so damn good! I like my characters with a little bit of flaw and internal conflict. The only one I really dug was Batman’s crazy ass and that’s cuz he had real problems.

But truth be told, I always dug Superman.

Yes, he’s the bright blue boy scout. Yes, he got a bit overpowered and could do every damn thing. Yes, his entire story hits us over the head with its Jesus Christ allegory—we get it: a father’s only son, sent to Earth with untold powers, destined to save humanity from itself. That little fact is so ingrained in the Superman mythos that the S on his chest is the world’s second most recognizable symbol. Number one is the Christian cross.

But at the end of the day, I ran around with a towel for a cape and imagined the strength and heard the John Williams score in my head, heralding my arrival. I always wanted to be super. Which is why I was so excited to see Man of Steel. It looked like we finally got to see Superman be Superman.

And the movie delivered! This Superman hit so hard he needs Rick James’ publicist (I’m Rick James bitch!). Does it cover the basics? Let’s see, faster than a speeding bullet? Check—the trailers show airplanes laying down heavy fire and my man cuts to the side in a flash. Is he stronger than a locomotive? They hit him with whole train! Did you hear me? Picked up a train and threw it at Superman! But he walked away so I guess that’s a yes. Can he leap tall buildings in a single bound? Well, Superman wouldn’t be Supe if he couldn’t fly, right?

But this wasn’t your everyday-let-me-swoop-in-and-save-the-day Superman.  This is “what if Superman showed up today, doing what he can do, and then somebody like him came to get him?” That’s what this movie is. Critics complain that the movie was too somber, too weighty, that it eschewed the heart and folksiness of the original flicks with Christopher Reeve. Whatever. I say if you want Christopher Reeve, I can point you to a lovely boxed set. I might even suggest you pick up a copy of Somewhere In Time for an extra helping of Reeve. This ain’t that. This ain’t your daddy’s Superman.

It’s not that it lacks heart; it’s that making it easy you to relate to Supe ain’t the focus of this movie. It’s about Superman being able to relate to us. See, here’s the thing: no one ever really addresses that it might be hard to be Superman. What? Yea I know, me too. Dude, you can fly, are bulletproof, shoot lasers out your eyes, kiss someone’s memories away and, no matter what happens, your hair is ALWAYS magnificent! What’s tough about being Superman?

Not being human. Not knowing who you are. Not knowing what you are. Not knowing how the world will perceive you once they find out who you are and what you can do. Not knowing how to draw the line between savior and citizen. Being scared of yourself. Being alone.

Superman Returns tried to touch on it, tried to show that being Superman is hard. In one of only 3 parts of that movie that I enjoyed, Superman told Lois that he can hear everything, that she said humanity doesn’t need a savior but that everyday he can hear them crying for one. It was an interesting, and underdeveloped, take on the character. Man of Steel takes it a bit further and let’s us know there is a toll taken on the individual. It’s not just capes and tights; it’s choices and the consequences of those choices.

And that is what the movie, and the character, are all about. Choices. He can’t stop being Kal-El, the last son of Krypton anymore than he can stop being Clark Kent, the farmboy son of Jonathan and Martha Kent. That’s who he is. The choice, though, is to be Superman. To choose to take on the role of savior, to choose the obligation and the solitude such a role requires. What Man of Steel shows us is that choice is hard.

And that is the internal conflict I was hoping for.

I’m gonna close it out with a couple things:

1. My girl, ED Martin, is a mad DC fan. I’d love her to weigh on my stuff here
2. Sub-commander Faora Ul is the BUSINESS! Your girl is nasty! As much as I love Superman, Faora put his ass in check while eating waffles at an IHOP! Alright film executives—first, thanks for reading my blog! I have a couple ideas to pitch you! Second, the last couple years have given us Katniss, Merida, Hermoine, and the Black Widow—it’s high time for Wonder Woman. Enough of this “female superheroes carry a film” bullshit.
3. Whatever you do, DO NOT fuck with Superman’s mama

Tell me what you think below! And if you haven’t seen the movie, here’s a little something to wet your whistle:

I’m going to Hell. I already know it.

A couple times on this very blog I’ve mentioned what I think is the funniest thing I have ever seen: a handicapped hockey game. I know it’s wholly inappropriate. I know it sets a horrible example for my kids. I know I’m going to have to do a PSA on tolerance or some shit at my daughter’s school. Whatever. I’ve actually been pretty good about keeping this twisted sense of humor in check, like I’m at AA or something, until the temptation arises. Today, temptation reared her beautiful, hilarious head and I found something else to laugh at. I called my sponsor but she was giggling to. So, before I go down that road, let me tell about this hockey game so you can understand why what I saw today is so damn funny.

So gather round boys and girls, let me tell you about the hockey game that I saw that earned me a first class ticket to the gates of Hell. And by the way, some 20 years later, it is still as funny to me now as it was then.

It was a cold winter day in the frozen tundra that is the Twin Cities. I was in college but was home flipping channels on Cox cable (Minnesotans—remember that?). I came across a cable access channel and what I saw on screen made me pause. Now, you have to know that cable access back then was like free-for-all—so long as no one was naked, you could pretty much put whatever you wanted on TV for, like $99.  It was worth the pause.

The scene is the inside of a high school gym, all brown and cinderblock-y and we’re looking at the gym from the side, from the bleachers. And there is a crowd of like 14 people and there are announcers but I can’t hear what they’re saying because I see this hockey puck fly across the screen, like a good 8, 10 feet above the gym floor. What the hell? Then the camera focuses tight on the kid that hit the puck. He comes onto the screen and he plants his right foot, then his left and I see that one of his feet has a REAL THICK SOLE on the shoe. But only one! One leg is shorter than the other. Uh oh…I feel that grin start ease across my face and I settle back.

I’m riveted.

Camera widens and we pan to the left and I get the first real look at what I’m watching: of the 10 people on the floor, most of them are running around, a handful of them are in wheelchairs. Oh God…I instantly start looking for a videotape because I am confident no one is going to believe me. My roommate, Darryl, is home but he’s in his room and I’m calling for him. You have to know that when things get funny, my voice gets higher. So we’re on the left hand side of the gym and somebody hits the puck to the goalie WHO IS IN A WHEELCHAIR! Now, I don’t give a shit if you’re able or disabled, handicapped or handicapable—that’s not what’s funny. What’s funny is floor hockey is a fast paced game. It’s a fast, rough and tumble game. I’m struggling with anybody’s thought that the kid in the wheelchair makes the best goalie—THAT’S what makes this funny. But he’s wheeling back and forth, slapping the puck and hitting sticks (pack pack!).

“Darryl!” I am tearing up my living room digging for a tape and squealing. “Darryl!”

He finally comes out, sees what’s on the screen, rolls his eyes at me and says, “You’re going to Hell!”

“I need a tape! Give me a tape!” The only thing I can find is a copy of a bunch of Michael Jackson videos taped from Video Vibrations and Darryl is a HUGE Michael Jackson fan (read Michael Jackson impersonator—long jheri curl and everything) and he won’t let me tape over them. And he’s bigger than me. A lot bigger. Fine. Whatever.

Camera pans to the right to follow the action and on this side, while the goalie is standing up, both of his wingmen are in wheelchairs. And of them is electric. This dude is for real scooting around, swiping at the puck like sskazzz pack! Sskazz pack! This is REAL! I am crying at this point, starting to have an asthma attack because I’m laughing so hard. Darryl is in full disgust mode—he secretly wants to laugh but I’m being so ridiculous and he can’t descend to my level.

Until they showed the ref.

This cat is in a wheelchair too, pulling himself around the gym with one foot with a sock on it. The other leg stops at the knee. And then I see that the short leg has a full size shoe on the end of it. Do you hear me? He has a size 9 sticking up from the end of his half-a-leg. When is that shoe EVER gonna touch the ground? I was done. Darryl made me turn it off. Then went into his room to laugh.

Truth be told, I’m laughing about it now. And perfectly fine with my eternal lodging in the underworld.

But I was good. I only tell that story at parties, relive it every so often.  Then today, I open up my Yahoo browser and I see trending in the news this two-word headline: “Amputee Brawl.”  I HAVE to click it. I have to. And this is what I see:

OK, two things: first, number 10 is FAST! I had no idea he would be that fast! Second, “that’s what I call a hit and run.”

I say all that I’ve said to say this: Welcome Back! Yes, life got tricky. Yes, we had some losses (Rocky) and some wins (a new puppy who doesn’t believe in sleep). But now I’m back and you’re back–we’re back! We got heroes and villains, DMFRHs and random jackasses–and we have a posting schedule.If you ever wondered what you might find here at Crooked Letterz, now you know. And knowing’s half the battle!

Catch ya on Friday!