Superman lives forever.
Feb. 19th, 2007 09:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladymirthEverytime somebody mentions Christopher Reeve, I have to choke back tears.
Is that normal?
I suppose, to me, he's the symbol for all that is perfect, strong, bright, beautiful, flawless and ultimately....ephemeral.
Well, I guess on the face of it, it is rather superficial a sentiment, considering that I'v never known him as a person. I'm sure he was as flawed as the next human being. I suspect I chiefly mourn the idea of him. He was without doubt, the single most magnificent specimen of masculinity I've ever seen. I'm not talking about his Superman movies. Aside from filling out the suit to legendary comic-book perfection, his role never really appealed to me.
Believe it or not, I discovered the perfection that was Christopher Reeve, while watching a trailer for "Remains of the Day". I was watching it with half a bored eye, when Chris Reeve came on screen for about five seconds. He was dressed in black tuxedo and making some sort of a political speech.
Some people fall in love within the space of a moment. I fell in adoration within the space of five seconds. And a rewind.
Beauty alone couldn't have made me idolize him. I devoured his interviews, his biographies and accounts of him from his friends. He appeared to have been in every way, a deeply intelligent and sensitive man, full of zest and verve and a fire not even being strapped to a wheelchair could quell. And the bond between him and his wife Dana was the stuff of fantasy and legend.
So, yes, I placed him on a pedestal. Diefied him, even, as the one unwavering ideal in a jaded world. Proof that near perfection was not, in fact, an idle dream and relic left over from the days of the mythical dragon slayers.
I'm not so out of touch with reality that I don't recognize all this as having been a teenage fantasy phase.
But then, when he died, so young and never having been able to achieve his goal of walking again, it was like the devil had scored a victory. A dream that had burned so brightly had been extinguished, and a destiny thwarted. The fact that he had once played the ultimate superhero made the devil's mocking cackle so much more obvious. It's otherwise known as the irony of fate. That the last unfulfilled goal of the man who had made the world believe a man could fly, was to walk again.
It was as though he suffered a retribution for daring to flout the limitations of mankind in portraying such a omnipotent, all-powerful being.
My reaction to the fact that, after all those years of unwavering devotion, Dana died sixteen months afterher husband's death, was ambivalent at best. Was it cruel that her life had been cut so short or was it her reward, that she didn't have to be parted from her soul mate for many more long years? Was she glad to go or did she want to move on?
Was it really so different from Johnny and June Carter Cash?
I don't love the whole Superman franchise. I'm a Lois and Clark fan, which was a show that embodied the fantasy of the ideal love story, one that remains unaltered and constant in life through every seemingy insurmountable obstacle, reaches beyond the bounadaries of time, space and death, and inspires all who are touched by it.
It's almost ironic that it was the world's most well-known Clark Kent who actually found that kind of love in real life.
Chris and Dana will never die, because love and dreams are immortal. Their deaths simply exchanged their flesh and blood reality for en existence of memory and legend, and will live longer in the hearts and minds of this world than any person who enjoyed life to the ripest of ages.
May they always be deathless.
Is that normal?
I suppose, to me, he's the symbol for all that is perfect, strong, bright, beautiful, flawless and ultimately....ephemeral.
Well, I guess on the face of it, it is rather superficial a sentiment, considering that I'v never known him as a person. I'm sure he was as flawed as the next human being. I suspect I chiefly mourn the idea of him. He was without doubt, the single most magnificent specimen of masculinity I've ever seen. I'm not talking about his Superman movies. Aside from filling out the suit to legendary comic-book perfection, his role never really appealed to me.
Believe it or not, I discovered the perfection that was Christopher Reeve, while watching a trailer for "Remains of the Day". I was watching it with half a bored eye, when Chris Reeve came on screen for about five seconds. He was dressed in black tuxedo and making some sort of a political speech.
Some people fall in love within the space of a moment. I fell in adoration within the space of five seconds. And a rewind.
Beauty alone couldn't have made me idolize him. I devoured his interviews, his biographies and accounts of him from his friends. He appeared to have been in every way, a deeply intelligent and sensitive man, full of zest and verve and a fire not even being strapped to a wheelchair could quell. And the bond between him and his wife Dana was the stuff of fantasy and legend.
So, yes, I placed him on a pedestal. Diefied him, even, as the one unwavering ideal in a jaded world. Proof that near perfection was not, in fact, an idle dream and relic left over from the days of the mythical dragon slayers.
I'm not so out of touch with reality that I don't recognize all this as having been a teenage fantasy phase.
But then, when he died, so young and never having been able to achieve his goal of walking again, it was like the devil had scored a victory. A dream that had burned so brightly had been extinguished, and a destiny thwarted. The fact that he had once played the ultimate superhero made the devil's mocking cackle so much more obvious. It's otherwise known as the irony of fate. That the last unfulfilled goal of the man who had made the world believe a man could fly, was to walk again.
It was as though he suffered a retribution for daring to flout the limitations of mankind in portraying such a omnipotent, all-powerful being.
My reaction to the fact that, after all those years of unwavering devotion, Dana died sixteen months afterher husband's death, was ambivalent at best. Was it cruel that her life had been cut so short or was it her reward, that she didn't have to be parted from her soul mate for many more long years? Was she glad to go or did she want to move on?
Was it really so different from Johnny and June Carter Cash?
I don't love the whole Superman franchise. I'm a Lois and Clark fan, which was a show that embodied the fantasy of the ideal love story, one that remains unaltered and constant in life through every seemingy insurmountable obstacle, reaches beyond the bounadaries of time, space and death, and inspires all who are touched by it.
It's almost ironic that it was the world's most well-known Clark Kent who actually found that kind of love in real life.
Chris and Dana will never die, because love and dreams are immortal. Their deaths simply exchanged their flesh and blood reality for en existence of memory and legend, and will live longer in the hearts and minds of this world than any person who enjoyed life to the ripest of ages.
May they always be deathless.
