Movies of steel

I was excited to see Man of Steel, the Christopher Nolan-produced, Zack Snyder-directed reboot of Superman, which made the soul-crushing act of watching the flick all the more disappointing. Here is a superhero movie devoid of coherence, warmth, joy, humor or wonder, which instead supplies a 1,000-decibel assault guaranteed to rock your cranium and leave you with lasting ear and eye pain. As with 2006’s Superman Returns, the elements for a successful movie are present but botched thanks to shoddy directorial execution. (I actually far preferred Returns, which is saying something.)

Henry Cavill stars as the titular superhero, sent to earth by his father (Russell Crowe) after the evil General Zod (Michael Shannon) stages a military coup on his home planet of Krypton right before it explodes. Young Supe grows up in Kansas as Clark Kent, the adopted son of parents (Kevin Costner and Diane Lane) who believe the world will eventually shun their special little boy. As a young man, Clark drifts between hazardous jobs (where there’s usually a possibility of him saving a few dozen lives) while trying to figure out who or what he is. He finally gets to the bottom of his origins, but not before Zod shows up on earth with an eye toward turning it into a Krypton-like planet, wiping out humanity in the process.

That would be a fine story (in fact, most of it was fine back when Richards Donner and Lester tackled it in Superman I and II in the late 1970s), but Man of Steel slices and dices its narrative, starting with a bloated, annoying Krypton prologue before jumping back and forth between Clark’s boyhood, young drifter days and finally his mature, moral crusader-in-a-cape phase all without establishing an emotional link between the character and the audience. You’re just supposed to care. Why? Because the multinational corporation responsible for bankrolling this swill demands it. Man of Steel assumes you’ll love Clark Kent because you used to love Clark Kent, and if Snyder and company just repackage him with the latest and greatest special effects (some of which are truly spectacular, some of which suck) you’ll show up. This is groupthink at its worst, and a crass attempt by Warner Bros. to cash in on the Marvel magic. It’s a super stinker, but with a sequel already green-lit, resistance may be futile …

This weekend’s real cinematic fireworks ignite in Before Midnight, the third film in director Richard Linklater’s delightful Before series, which continues the story begun by 1995’s Before Sunrise and continued in 2004’s Before Sunset. The earlier films followed French girl Celine (Julie Delpy) and American dude Jesse (Ethan Hawke) as they first fell in love in while wandering the streets of Vienna (Sunrise), then reconnected in Paris after nine years apart (Sunset). Before Midnight picks up nine years after that, with the couple now struggling as they push into middle age. And how do these characters struggle? They talk and talk and talk some more.

The Before series is what I call a “Walk and Talk Movie.” There’s little plot (in Midnight, Celine and Jesse are wrapping up a six-week Greek vacation with their adorable twin girls and are about to share a romantic night alone at a swank hotel), and the characters spend most of the time wandering around yakking about whatever deep thoughts are currently lodged in their brains. One of the great things about these movies is the way those thoughts change over time, as the young idealists age and confront life’s cold realities. Here Celine and Jesse are in full crisis mode as they grapple with issues of parenting, aging and whether or not true love is what either of them thought it to be when they were still fresh-faced.

Before Midnight climaxes in a frank, disheartening and very adult confrontation as two people who know each other well take turns verbally carving each other up, with each scapegoating the other for a decade of life’s defeats. It feels real — far more real than Man of Steel’s endless CGI fisticuffs — largely thanks to excellent writing, performances and staging. As the film reached its ambiguous conclusion I found myself fearing for these characters for the first time. Will they learn from past mistakes and find a way to make this relationship work? Hopefully we can check in with them again in 2022 and find out …

Also opening this weekend (exclusively at the Tampa Theatre) is the wonderful Sarah Polley-directed documentary Stories We Tell. Polley is an actress best known for playing Ramona Quimby on TV back when she was a kid in the 1980s, and for starring in 1999’s excellent Go. Here she uses interviews and archival footage to tell the story of her parents’ complicated relationship, all in an effort to get to the truth behind her birth. That makes the film sound dry and self-absorbed, which couldn’t be further from the truth. As Polley digs deeper into her own background, there are some shocking revelations and hurt feelings revealed, but there’s also a deep love, warmth and humor on display that speaks to the unique and amazing story behind each and every one of us. It also helps that so many of her family members are interesting characters.

As Stories We Tell progresses into its second half, the film becomes less concerned with biography and wades into questions of philosophy. What’s fact and what’s a story told only to hold together our elaborate fictions of ourselves? Can anyone really know the truth — even their own? Are all our lives just the agreed-upon conjecture of people who may not have even born witness? Polley provides no easy answers, other than an overarching feeling that the love of those closest to you is the only glue you’ll ever need to keep your life hanging together. Stories We Tell is fascinating, uplifting, smart and often very funny. Don’t miss it.

[ Subscribe to the comments on this story ]