Messiah of Steel

When I was a little girl, God was my best friend.

Like, seriously.

I was brought up not to judge what I had not experienced. 

From my earliest memories, my mother took me to a variety of churches…sampling religion like delicacies on a smorgasbord of faith. 

There was our revival period, where we attended “church” in smoky basements where the walls were draped with paisley and doors were made of crystal beads and trippy-ass music was the conduit of a higher power.  There was the darker Catholic period where austere acceptance of a thin wafer upon my tongue made me acutely aware that, even at five, there must be something terribly wrong with me that I should need the magical tab to cleanse my elementary soul.  There was everything in between.

By the time I was nine, the idea of “God” and “Jesus” were so deeply ingrained in my psyche that they were my invisible friends—and I counted my bible among my most treasured possessions, far and above my Barbie Dream House™ or my Julian Lennon and Michael Jackson albums. 

If I had a nightmare, I could pray myself back to sleep.  If I was afraid to climb the rope in gym class, I could pray for the strength to rise above the fear.  When my mom’s marriages were falling apart, I could pray for the courage to endure the terror of watching my life dissolve before my eyes.  My childhood faith was real—and it was so beautiful, like a warm, fuzzy blanket…one that covered my eyes and blocked out everything that I did not want to see. 

Now, I won’t get into the sadness of the dissolution of that faith—insert whatever imagery you like, but the fact is, my warm and fuzzy blanket was pulled from my baby blues a very long time ago…and no matter how much I might wish I hadn’t witnessed the mall Santa take off his beard to have a cigarette break when I was eleven, that is something you just cannot unsee.

Please let it be known that I have NEVER judged others for their continued faith, no matter the religion.  I have devout Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Satanic, and Church of Bieber friends whose blind allegiance I do not criticize…in fact, I almost envy it.  Seriously.  The ability to be completely immersed in a theology that, as far as I have ever been able to see as an adult, was designed to manipulate the masses and control property and merchandising, was something to pity more than to deride.  (And damn it, they always seem so blissed out compared to godless heathens like myself.  I coveted that peace of mind.)

But every kid still needs a hero, right? 

When my teen years arrived, I noticed myself being drawn to real people—flesh and blood—who did more, dreamed bigger, gave copiously, and sacrificed self for the greater good.  In a handful of years, I developed faith in the inherent goodness within the human creature—the Martin Luther King Juniors…the Mahatma Gandhis…the Robert F. Kennedys…the Nelson Mandelas.  NOT perfect men by any means, but men who rose above their imperfections to lead lives that left the world a little better than the way they found it.

As I recently blurted on my facebook wall, I developed a fancy for mankind, for science and rationalism—for what I could experience with my senses and NOT my imagination.   

Now, I’m no fangirl or lady geek, but this was just about the time where superheroes like Ironman or the Dark Knight arrived to make me believe that despite wealth or privilege, there were still men who consciously chose to do the right or wrong thing because they thought through the variables and outcomes on either side of their actions or indecision.  They refused to acquiesce their human gifts or their human fallibilities at the feet of a petulant god.

With the exception of Christopher Reeve when I was a child, I’ve never been that much of a Superman kind of girl—the Christ-like mythology of the Man of Steel always turned me off…if just a little bit.  (Please don’t mistake my reticence for disrespect—I think Jesus Christ, the man, was a pretty cool guy.  And his messages?  Beautiful.  But the things his followers have been doing in his name for centuries?  Yeah.  Well, I’m a lot less comfortable with that.)

It was with mild reservations, and my tongue firmly planted between my teeth, that I took in the midnight showing of Man of Steel with my fanboy best friend the other night.  I committed to stowing my skepticism and sarcasm, at least for the 2+ hours. 

By its end, I must say, ***spoiler alert***: it wasn’t half bad at all.

I won’t say too much in analysis of the film, because you know my twin, The Suburban Acrobat, has his exceptional movie blog, ...On the Movie, where he will, no doubt, be infinitely superior than I in his coverage of the film's merits and deficiencies —but here is the ten minute mom take on it all:

* The first twenty minutes of the movie compose a spectacular Shakespearean tragedy that I would venture to posit could stand alone as a mini-film.  Russell Crowe and Michael Shannon clash brilliantly in a crumbling world that looks like something from a David Bowie wet dream—and it is moving and humbling, without ever being patronizing or didactic.

* Henry Cavill kills it as Superman—I mean fucking kills it.  His performance of pacifistic goodness is palpable (yeah, I came up with that line while watching it…jealous?)  Forget the fact that he looks like he’s cut from Italian marble or that he works a thermal shirt like nothing I’ve ever seen before…it’s his struggle with reconciling where he comes from and where his loyalties should lie that is mesmerizing.  His eyes bear witness to the anguish of a lifetime crisis of identity…and his inherent goodness is never without a challenge within his (adoptive) human nature. And, *spoiler*, when he is forced to kill for the very first time…his torment tears through the screen.  (And, Lord Jesus Christ…did I mention the thermals?)

* Speaking of Jesus Christ, please do not enter this film thinking that it will delicately address Superman’s Christ-like parallels in any way.  This film lacks any finesse or subtlety as it shoves Superman’s origins in the roots of Christian ideology directly down your throat.  Two scenes that were almost laughable—

-Superman’s confessional moment with a minister as he ponders General Zod’s threats.  The camera actually shoots upward into Cavill’s beautiful face—which just so happens to be juxtaposed in front of a stained glass window depicting Jesus upon his knees in prayer.

-When Superman finally acknowledges his origins and accepts the destiny that was set in the code of his DNA (<-you’ll see what I did there when you see the movie), he free falls from a ship in orbit above the earth, arms spread wide in full crucifixion posture.  I fucking kid you not.  I actually laughed out loud.  (But then again, I’m an asshole.)

My best summative bits, for your consideration? 

-This film is riDICulously too loud—like, jet-engine-in-your-brain objectionably loud.

- There are about four battle scenes too many.  I mean, the exact same shit.  I had to stop and check if Michael Bay directed this at one point.

-Michael Shannon’s affected speech as General Zod is occasionally questionable.  But he still kicks ass so hard as one of the most driven, nihilistic anti-heroes…ever…that he gets a pass.

-Laurence Fishburne is completely wasted in his role.  An utter disappointment.  Morpheus ALWAYS deserves better.

-Amy Adams does not sparkle (though she does land a great line about “comparing dicks” with the head of military intelligence) as Lois Lane.  I’m sorry.  She just washes away and, short of her “spunky tenacity” (picture me sarcastically air-quoting there), I found myself struggling to understand Clark’s magnetic attraction to her.

-Kevin Costner is subtly stunning, like a character from a lost Faulkner story, in his role as the senior Kent.  Absolutely one of his quietest, best performances I’ve ever seen.

-Diane Lane is the most breathtaking actress of our time, but is given little to do in this film other than to moon beatifically at her magnificent son.  So…yeah.  There’s your Mary.  Real subtle, people. 

What I liked best about this film?  It’s a father’s film—there are two stories of a parent’s love for their child, biological or alien, and both are beautiful.  Man of Steel answers every question a viewer could have within minutes of our inquiry—it rewards a close viewing with an unambiguous tale of human salvation…

Which brings me to my favorite part of the movie:

This time, unlike in the case of the historical Jesus Christ, the humans aren’t the bad guys.  (Win!) The villains are simply alien creatures who identify compassion and mercy as evolutionary disadvantages and destroy accordingly.

This time, we accept our Messiah and use his example by reinforcing his goodness with our own.  The film is filled with moments where we stand, docile as lambs, watching the destruction rain down upon us but do not take up the fight.  There is a scene that takes great time to articulate the heart of altruism where two humans put aside all instincts for self-preservation or personal advancement to save one of their own.

If Christ’s greatest message was to delineate a map of peace and if this has inspired billions of people to follow in his footsteps, history has shown that we have stumbled far more than we’ve advanced. 

During Superman’s thirty-some-odd-year tenure on our planet  (right about Christ's age, too...hmmm...) he was able to bring out more of the best within people than organized religion has done in millennia.

Oops.

George Carlin famously ranted that he believed religion to be the greatest bullshit story ever told.  “Think about it,” he wrote, “religion has actually convinced people that there's an INVISIBLE MAN...LIVING IN THE SKY...who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten special things that he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish where he will send to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry for ever and ever 'til the end of time...but he loves you.”

Inherently holy, otherworldly god or not, Superman made a conscious decision to love us for all our human fragility and frailties and to take up the fight in our name. 

Yeah, I think I can add him to my list of heroes now.

Overall, I give Man of Steel three crucifixes and a half a thorny crown out of five.

(If there’s a hell, I’ve got a suite reserved in my name, don’t I?)