Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story

Subtitled as The Christopher Reeve Story, Super/Man seems likely to vex editors and typographers more than it will illuminate any texts. As with any biography made with the co-operation of surviving family and friends it's possible that a gentle line was taken, but it's disappointing that the film cleaves so closely to a sine-wave structure. Sad then happy, sad then happy, sad then happy, a switch that's far less satisfying than any transition from Clark Kent to Kal-El.

Reeve had far more going on in his life than the Man of Steel, but that's lost in something that's far less substantial. There's a nice touch in a recurring partially animated segment, a virtual camera moving around a simulated statue in a similarly artificial space. That's later undercut by symbolism that'd make the average comics reader wince, when it rises with something like a cape, when it falls into darkness, when it grows crystals that feels less of Krypton than chronic underestimation of its audience.

It's one of several places where Super/Man leans too heavily on something that might have worked in moderation, not so much failing to leap tall buildings in a single bound as counting every step and landing on the way. Perhaps not entirely circular, but a spiral starts to feel repetitive whatever direction it's travelling in. It's a structure that invites tangents too, but we don't follow those. Is it forelock tugging or just trying to avoid fringes? There's not really the depth to find out.

There are some things that were a revelation to me, and that's as someone who has seen enough comic book movies and movies based on comic books to offer distinctions between them. I didn't know that when Reeve was cast as the defender of Metropolis he was in a play somewhere off off-Broadway with Jeff Daniels and William Hurt. Their judgements about being type-cast are interesting when one considers that between them the pair are a Cusack from A History of Violence and (a) Thaddeus Ross from the MCU. Elsewhere history feels more intrusive, and while a family legend about confusion between the works of Siegel, Schuster, and Shaw is amusing it's also uncommonly sad.

Produced by an alphabet soup of DC, HBO, and CNN, it doesn't feel out of order as much as without justification. Reeve wasn't the first or last actor to play Superman but these and that role's 'curse' aren't mentioned. There's mention of Reeve's projects away from the red cape but his struggles for commercial or critical success outwith the safety blanket of a breakout role aren't unique. Names like Hamill, Pattinson, Radcliffe have charted similar paths, taking artistic risks in part because they're insulated from financial ones.

Risk is an inevitable element though, as Reeve's off-camera activities carried a few. He's lucky that his relationships produced outcomes as positive as his three children, a former partner whose fondness is still as easily felt. The fall that broke his neck, severing his spine, was even more a matter of probability. A fraction in this direction, a haunting embarassment. A fracture in that direction, a hangman's execution. Between the two a break, as in the title, that was transitional.

When Reeves was at Juilliard his room-mate was Robin Williams, and their friendship was evidently a massive support to both of them. When Christopher made his appearance in his wheelchair at the Oscars there are all sorts of stories among the shots of the crowd. There's never-quite Superman Nicolas Cage, though that's one of those industry things that's Flash in the pan. There's Williams, like Reeves much missed. There's Glenn Close and Whoopi Goldberg and Susan Sarandon, who are among those interviewed, and while these segments are well shot the adjective I find myself reaching for is 'nice'.

Not insightful. Not, most of the time, that interesting either. A question I found myself asking that remained unanswered was 'why now?'. The US release date aligns with Reeve's birthday, what would have been his 72nd. That's not true in the UK, where it's a little after 20 years and 20 days after his death. The closest I can guess is that with another US election cycle and reproduction rights as closely watched as they are, getting the stem-cell advocacy of a generational embodiment of Truth, Justice, and the American Way back on screens has some utility.

That's for the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation, a charitable trust with his three children, including their son together, on the board. Their co-operation is vital to the stories told but as stated I'm not sure if that affects the gloss put on an icon, something close to a hagiography. Co-directors Ian Bonhote and Peter Ettedgui collaborated on another biographical slice, 2018's McQueen, Otto Burnham worked with them as an editor on that and other titles and now also co-writes. They all have extensive documentary experience, and that is present in Super/Man because it is capably constructed.

It's just not very captivating. The best documentaries tell interesting stories in an interesting way. For Superman they said "You will believe a man can fly," but Super/man doesn't soar. Indeed it's close to a stroll. Musical cues and that digital statue are enough to keep one on track for any emotional beats that a distracted audience might have missed. Superfans are likely to find something here, but for the rest it's for the birds, it's plain.