One opinion is that Superman and his ilk are “hope-inspiring figures who can save us all from dark and difficult times.” And these definitely are dark and difficult times, as anyone who has been following the presidential debates already knows. Another explanation is that the superhero resurrection “speaks to a common desire people have to see everyday people make a difference.” Which only makes sense if your idea of an everyday person is someone who landed in Kansas in a rocket ship as a baby.
My good friend, Marc, who is several decades past the age of 12, says he likes the superhero movies because they are reminders of the times in which we grew up. And there is that, I suppose.
When I was 12, I enjoyed watching the Superman series on black-and-white television. It starred George Reeves, who appeared to be about 73 years old. Of course, when I was a kid, all adults appeared to be 73 years old, with the possible exception of Dick Clark. My favorite scenes were the ones in which Reeves stood with his fists on his hips, smiling while bad guys fired bullets that bounced harmlessly off his steely chest. When they had run out of ammunition, they threw their guns at him and … HE DUCKED. It took me years to appreciate the humor in that. (In a grim irony, Reeves died at the age of 45 from a gunshot wound.)
With the exception of Superman, none of the other superheroes interested me much, although I did have adolescent fantasies concerning Wonder Woman; in my defense, there were no Victoria’s Secret catalogues back then.
But while my buddies continued to follow the exploits of Superman, Batman, Plasticman and other cartoon superheroes, my interest turned to comical comics. Mickey Mouse was way too squeaky clean for my taste, but I admired Bugs Bunny’s chutzpah and identified with Donald Duck’s frustrations.
“Bugs Bunny vs. Donald Duck.” Now THAT’S a movie I’d pay to see.
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