Superhero films are a dime a dozen these days as we find ourselves in the midst of Hollywood’s comic book boom. When we were kids, comics gave us heroes and gods to adore; as grown-up movie geeks, their film adaptations add another layer to our appreciation. On the eve of the release of Kick-Ass, a film I fully endorse, I thought it appropriate to examine a few of the lesser cinematic supers. These are the heroes who fell well short of clearing critics’ scorn in a single bound and proved less powerful than the locomotive to discerning audiences. Be advised, I am in no way passing judgment on the characters themselves, but rather the nightmarish box office abortions that brought them to the screen.
Don’t get me wrong, I have a major soft spot for this 1996 Billy Zane vehicle, based on the Lee Falk comic strip, but that says little about its quality. The reason this guy makes the list has less to do with his ham-fisted line delivery or dorky alter ego as it does with his lethargy. The film establishes that The Phantom lives in the jungle and had for many years after abandoning his life in America. But had some thugs not wandered into his jungle abode on that fateful day, he would have continued sitting on that marble throne in his cave forever. He is the least proactive superhero of all time who apparently is content with waiting for evil to come to him, so that he may thereby slam it. Also, that purple suit serves what purpose in a jungle setting? Wearing that, the only place he’d be camouflaged is in Prince’s bedroom.
Oh Shaq, how hath your crossover projects failed? Let me count the ways! Not only did he fail to make a name for himself as a rapper and a videogame icon, but he also subjected us to one of the worst, albeit mercifully brief, film careers on record. If Kazaam did little to satiate your appetite for the NBA all-star, you didn’t have to wait long before Shaq found his way back onto the big screen. In Steel, he plays the titular character as originally created for the comics by Louise Simonson and Jon Boganove. And by plays the part, I mean he shifts the entirety of his enormous frame from side to side and mumbles his way through bad catchphrases. This movie is astronomically bad, but hey, at least we finally got a superhero whose only measure of vulnerability was his inability to make free throws.
Have you watched Richard Donner’s Superman and thought the intellectual content of the film far too lofty for your comprehension? Fear not, because 1984’s Supergirl is like watching the absolute worst episode of Smallville ever conceived. The film rides Superman’s cape tails by casually tossing out familiar words and names (Lois Lane, Daily Planet, Phantom Zone) but understands nothing of how a superhero film succeeds. Helen Slater soars to new heights of vapidity while the story appears to be the end result of a long night of huffing paint thinners. There is nothing wrong with diverting from superhero norms and making a film a teenaged character study—Kick-Ass does exactly that—but when none of your characters are the least bit interesting, you are committing to a doomed endeavor.
First rule of bad movies: if you know you’re making a crappy film, load it to the gills with cameos and pop culture runoff. Meteor Man has more singers, rappers, and standup comedians than you can shake a stick at (if you are 80 and use expressions like that). What this film was intended to be was part urban Superman and part commentary on the unstoppable criminality of the ghetto. What we ended up with was a three-ring circus of absurdity that still manages to be bland and unenjoyable.
I have truly saved the worst for last. This is a cinematic Hindenburg and making it to the end is something of an endurance test. Frank Miller takes Will Eisner’s comic strip, shoves it in his ear, and films whatever subsequently comes out of his nose. The hero, the villain, and all background characters suffer from severe mental deficiencies and the movie is loaded down with insufferable expanses of exposition. Gabriel Macht plays the hero as if he’s a child in a mask running spastically around the city dropping his pants and blurting out schoolyard quips. Frank Miller should never write or direct a film…ever!
