I haven’t seen Man of Steel, haven’t read the script, and I’ve assiduously avoided spoilers.
But that PG-13 on Man of Steel is making me nervous. I don’t know what it means… if it’s just the cost-of-doing-business, or even if it’s an MPAA-bias against all superhero violence.
I just know that if you make a Superman movie you can’t take kids to, you’ve done something wrong.
DC Comics has handed the keys to the “Champion of the Oppressed” to a guy who has dedicated himself to oppress me, and my partner, and millions of people like us. It represents a fundamental misread of who the character is, and what he means.
It is dispiriting. It is wearying. It is also, finally, not for me.
One of the other nicknames that accrued to Superman right away – that predates “Man of Steel” by a good amount – is “The Man of Tomorrow.” And much of his early iconography bears a distinctive Socio-Realist, Diego Rivera vibe: a lot of burnished golden sunrises, eyes raised to the horizon, gazing into the future.
Because that’s where he lives, Superman. And that’s what he says to us: We can do better. We can be better, to ourselves, and to each other.
Hey, DC Comics? Be better.