Courtesy of Warner Bros.
There is a conventional wisdom among comic aficionados that Superman is one of the true challenges for ambitious writers in the cape-and-tights subgenre. As an essentially omnipotent being, the Man of Steel is... well, a bit boring. It's tricky to create compelling conflict around a hero who is flawless, at least without resorting to endless science-fiction contrivances in order to (temporarily) render him vulnerable. One of the more appealing aspects of the latest Superman feature, Man of Steel, is that it confronts this dilemma head-on with a sinewy story that packs a remarkably effective psychological and sociological punch. Writers David S. Goyer and Chistopher Nolan, who also penned the Dark Knight trilogy, weave two parallel tales, one about Clark Kent's wary evolution into an iconic American hero, and one about humankind's uneasy reaction to an alien godling in its midst. These stories are then wrapped in the essential science-fiction excess and uncluttered idealism that are the contradictory hallmarks of a fine Superman story.
Excess is the watchword for director Zack Snyder, whose career is typified by gorgeous, erratic, and morally troubling sci-fi and fantasy works where moderation is for wusses. In Man of Steel, Snyder finds a fitting stage to indulge the most adolescent of urges: the wish to see entire cities leveled by the fisticuffs of atomic-powered god-men. Accordingly, the film's most conspicuous struggle is between the noble adopted Earthling Clark Kent (a.k.a. Kal-El) (Henry Cavill) and the fascist Kyptonian General Zod (Michael Shannon). The pair spend a healthy portion of the film beating the holy hell out of each other and demolishing both quaint Smallville and bustling Metropolis in the process. (Don't worry: No one holds it against Supes.) This is only the most obvious aspect of Man of Steel's gloriously over-the-top story, which is packed with Silver Age inter-galactic and other-dimensional nuttiness and then slathered in 21st-century gloss and grime.
Despite its affection for silly sci-fi gobbledygook and almost orgasmic delight at the sight of toppling skyscrapers, Man of Steel has an elegant and appropriately hopeful story at its heart, centered by a plethora of memorable characterizations. Cavill finds the right mix of sweetness, callowness, and angst for a twenty-something Clark, and while he lacks Chistopher Reeve's towering presence, it helps that he's surrounded by talented performers who play their roles completely straight. (There's not a trace of Superman or Superman II's campiness.) Shannon's Zod is no cackling megalomaniac, but a passionate and anguished nativist. Amy Adams is appropriately wholesome and spirited as Lois Lane, while the likes of Laurence Fishburne, Kevin Costner, Diane Lane, Chistopher Meloni, and Russell Crowe provide a deep bench of human stability for the film's whirling, thunderous style. (Crowe in particular gives a marvelously po-faced and charismatic turn as Superman's father, Jor-El.)
The film is certainly not flawless, or even entirely successful, as superhero features go. The dialogue is occasionally ludicrous, the story at times nonsensical, and the drama remarkably shallow in a few scenes. The relentlessness of the showy product placement is grating, and the whole thing runs a tad too long for its own good. In the main, however, the filmmakers have created a remarkably adroit blend of popcorn spectacle and earnest pathos in Man of Steel, which ultimately proves to be one of sturdiest and most fully realized cinematic superhero tales of the past decade.
