This one's got nothing to do with New York English.

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I've been inspired by Alyssa/Hapachan's video blog to give it a whirl myself. This is fitting since it was Alyssa's blog, years ago, that originally inspired me to start my own blog. (Thanks for being my accidental muse, Alys.)

Warning: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN SUPERMAN RETURNS YET! There are some major plot spoilers here. Click away, click away.

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”I have commitment issues.”

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Today’s soundtrack:
he’s leaping buildings in a single bound,
I’m reading Shakespeare at my place downtown

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Today at 1:02pm: thinking this guy has less class than the super of my building

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Every superhero movie strives to show you how “human” the heroes are, and none has done this better than Bryan Singer’s Superman Returns. Watching the film, we can observe some previously unknown, surprising and disturbing details about Superman:

Superman is a lousy boyfriend. We learn that five years ago, Superman abandoned Lois without telling her he was leaving and without saying goodbye, because it was “too difficult.” Apparently the Man of Steel has the emotional fortitude of a teenage girl at sleepaway camp.

Superman is a stalker. After performing the titular action, Superman uses his super-hearing to eavesdrop on his ex at the office while disguised as Clark Kent. Then he eavesdrops again to get her address when she enters a taxi--then he flies to her house, uninvited. Using his x-ray (or should that be “ex-ray”) vision, he scopes out her pad, staring first at her kid, then checks out Lois in the kitchen, using his super-hearing to listen in on a private conversation between her and her new man.

Now look. If I told you that your ex-boyfriend was wearing disguises, eavesdropping on you, secretly following you to your house and then looking through walls at your kid, come on, you’d get a restraining order faster than a speeding bullet.

Superman is unsafe. So we find out Lois’ five-year-old kid, yeah, it’s Superman’s. Meaning Superman doesn’t use protection. Or maybe his super-sperm just busted through the Trojan, I don’t really know.

Superman is a deadbeat. Now that we know it’s his kid, we know that five years ago he basically knocked Lois up, then blew town. Wait, not just town, he left the planet. What kind of animal impregnates a woman, then moves to another solar system? What kind of shit is that? I guess he knew Child Services wouldn’t be able to locate him on the other side of Alpha Centauri.

Superman expects to be comped. After a stay in the hospital, he skips out without paying the bill! Just flies right out the window without even saying “thank you” or “goodbye” to any of the nurses, and it goes without saying he doesn’t leave his insurance info.

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Other observations:

Lois Lane might have won a Pulitzer, but she ain’t winning any “Mother of the Year” awards. After picking her kid up from school, she decides to bring him with her while she goes to interview a convicted felon. Then she leaves her cell phone in the car while she and the little tyke climb onto a mysterious yacht.

Here’s my impression of Lois Lane as a mother: “Jason, take these scissors upstairs--quickly! RUN!”

The people of Metropolis are still visually-challenged idiots. Superman is on the front page of every paper, but once he puts a pair of glasses on--no one can recognize him! Not even the entire team of investigative reporters he works with. In this world you could rob a bank, shoot a cop or commit treason, then put a pair of Bausch & Lomb’s on and you’d be fine.

Director Bryan Singer is not from New York. Despite the fact that all the epic city shots of “Metropolis” are clearly of Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs, the movie lacks the geographical continuity you would find in a Spike Lee flick. Lois says she lives on Riverside Drive--an actual street on the west side of upper Manhattan--yet her house, as indicated by Superman’s stalking flight, is clearly on the promenade in Brooklyn Heights, in the opposite direction.

We all know Metropolis, like Gotham City, is supposed to be New York; all good superhero stories are set here. (No offense if you’re from this country’s other two cities, but no one wants to watch L.A. Man clearing up traffic on the 405, just as no one will pay to see Chicago Man making deep-dish pizzas.) But the details are all wrong! For example, why are New York cab drivers still depicted as gruff, middle-aged, cigar-smoking, fluent-English-speaking white guys with news-boy caps? The day you come to New York and find a cab driver who isn’t South Asian or Russian is the day you should go out and buy a lotto ticket.

As for buying a ticket to Superman Returns, well...I wish he’d return my ten bucks.

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