touchy, steely

Awoke this morning to bucketing rain, so score one on the happiness front. Then I went to see Superman Returns, aka Boy Leaves Girl, Boy Visits Home Planet Which, For No Adequately Defined Reason, Explodes. While I enjoyed the film, I'm not entirely sure it had my wholehearted investment, although I'm also not entirely sure why. Herewith various random things which struck me.

• I am clearly hopelessly imprinted with the 80s movies. The theme tune came swelling up over the opening credits, and I dissolved shamelessly into tears. See previous wafflings about innocence, superhero, for the use of.
• This is the touchy-feely Superman. He not only suffers Emotional Angst, TM, but, my word, he gets beaten around. It feels a bit wrong, watching Superman get kicked in the stomach or plummet helplessly to earth from orbit. I like my Men of Steel steely, thankyouverymuch.
• It's somewhat piquant to watch James Marsden play Superman's rival for Lois. I am forced to conclude that he's tragically wasted as Cyclops, he has nice eyes.
• Mad Kryptonian crystal tech deals almost exclusively in phallic symbols. Giant, multiple phallic symbols. Some of them green.
• Lex Luthor's wig collection was simply horrible. On the other hand, his Evil Supervillain plot had absolutely all the correct and classic hallmarks: insane off-the-wall laterality, grandiose unlikelihood, rampant over-elaborateness, and widely catastrophic and completely unnecessary side-effects.
• If someone strung together two hours of footage featuring Superman rescuing random people from collapsing buildings, falling aircraft, fire, flood, explosions, mad dogs and football fans, I would probably cheerfully watch it even in the absence of any other plot.
• The flying sequences were really good (in fact, the flying-with-Lois bit was downright erotic), but I am tormented by the problem which confronts all Superman fans sooner or later: where the hell does the cloak go when he's wearing the suit under normal clothes?
• If hordes of infuriated comics fans have not hunted down and killed Byran Singer for systematically messing with the Superman mythos, they probably ought to, although it would also be a pity, I like Bryan Singer and am curious to see what he'd do with a sequel. This one felt a bit provisional.

I am ignoring all negative reviews and defiantly looking forward to the next Pirates of the Carribbean, although I have to report a perfectly georgeous Orli-diss from the New York Times, who seem to make a habit of it. "Mr. Bloom, as is his custom, leaps about, trying to overcome his incurable blandness, and is upstaged by special effects, musical cues, octopus tentacles and pieces of wood." Alas, poor Orli.