R.I.P., Super Man

I adored Christopher Reeve.

No, of course I did not actually know Christopher Reeve, but I adored him just the same.

In no small part because I have always loved Superman. Or at least since the days when Grandma Evelyn bought me a new Superman comic book every Saturday when we went uptown. And if we did not happen to go uptown on a particular Saturday, or if we happened not to go to her house that Saturday, then she would pick up a Superman comic book sometime during the week, and if we visited her at another time, a random Wednesday afternoon, after school, perhaps, a new comic book would be there, waiting for me to read.

Superman or Archie. Those always were my favorites. (You know, Archie: Jughead, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Mr. Weatherbee, Miss Grundy.)

And then, when I was a little bit older (but still a kid), I ran across the stash of comics that belonged to my dad. War comics and unsolved mysteries comics, and Superman.

It is hereditary, my love of Superman.

And Christopher Reeve was The Perfect Superman. And not just because he looked the part of Superman, with those high cheekbones and perfect teeth (OK, he actually could have been a tad more muscle-y), but also because, when he put on his glasses and parted his hair on the other side (how tricky!) and bumbled around, he became The Perfect Clark Kent.

Which is why Superman II is my favorite of the Superman movies: Superman chose to give up his superpowers in order to experience true love (AND have sex!) with Lois Lane. Naturally, he had to regain the powers later in the movie in order to save the world, but in-between, he got to be a regular guy (AND have sex!).

I love a good love story, and this is one of my favorites.

Another one of my faves is Somewhere in Time, partly because of its wonderful soundtrack, but mostly because of Christopher Reeve. He plays a man who basically wills himself to go back in time (a theme I keep revisiting, in my own mind, literarily, if that is a word) in order to meet a woman. And he does meet her, and they do fall in love, and everything about it is just perfect until ... well, I would not want to ruin it for anyone who has not yet seen the film, but suffice it to say that if you ever plan on taking a trip back in time (or back to the future, I suppose), then you should make sure and EMPTY YOUR POCKETS before you go!

: )

I also loved him in Deathtrap. And not just because it is one of the first shows I ever recall seeing that had gay men (eek!) in it, but because it is, to borrow a line from J. Peterman, “a ripping good yarn.”

Christopher Reeve is the perfect example of irony.

See, many people use the word “irony” when they actually mean “coincidence.” I like to think of a coincidence as basically a happy accident, when things just happen to occur ... but true irony is when almost the exact opposite of what you would expect to happen happens, and when it does, somehow, you are not exactly shocked that it happened, even though it is not what you had expected.

Christopher Reeve played Superman. The Perfect Superhero. The Man of Steel. Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap tall buildings (or, hey, just fly over them) in a single bound. Invulnerable.

And then, in an instant, Christopher Reeve became powerless ... at least in the Superman sense of powerful. Or even in the everyday human being sense of powerful. He broke his neck and injured his spinal cord, and suddenly the man who played the character with every superpower imaginable could not even breathe on his own.

But he was not really powerless, was he? No. And though he really could not move on his own, he did not exactly sit still, did he? No.

He spent the last 9 years of his life raising awareness and raising money and promoting research and working toward something better for victims of spinal cord injuries. Sensing, perhaps, that a significant breakthrough might not occur during his own lifetime; believing, though, that he would walk again one day.

If that is not optimism, I do not know what is.