Supergirl, Then And Now

Even though I'm more or less sick of the surfeit of superheroes on TV and in the movies over past years, I did watch the first two episodes of the new highly touted TV show Supergirl.

I was compelled to.  You see, I had to find out how my first female pre-adolescent crush is faring these days, and if the new show is any indication, she's faring well, and shit, she's faring quite well without me!  

In my prime comic book reading days in the late 50's and early 60's, I was always drawn to the DC Superman family of comics. While the cooler kids were reading the darker and more bad-ass Marvel Comics featuring the likes of Spider-Man and the Hulk, I was hangin' with Superman's Pal Jimmy Olson. Superman comics even featured a character named "Perry," although he was an unimaginable 45 years old or so and by far the least important character in the entire Superman legend.

Hell, Perry White didn't even have his own comic book!

Nestled within the Superman family was Supergirl, born Kara from Krypton. Although she had the same powers as Superman, the big guy chose to keep her under wraps as his Secret Emergency Weapon for several years while he wrestled with the concept of a superhero cuter than he was. But it was in those early days that Kara from Krypton, in her alter ego as Linda Lee Danvers, showed up next door to me in Merion PA.

Why someone named Linda Lee Danvers was moving into a neighborhood as Jewish as a bagel with a schmear I'll never know, but I was delighted she did. A few years older and wiser than I, she would take me flying high through the stratosphere while I popped Dramamine as fast as I could. Together we battled some of the more minor villains in the DC Universe, like Joola the Jaywalker and Matel-Ri, the Mattress Label Ripper Offer.

Supergirl spoke to me of truth and justice; I hoped she would also teach me something about the... um ... American Way, but odds are she didn't know much about that yet herself. 

As a sign of their friendship, Superman gave Jimmy Olson a special signal watch that called him whenever Jimmy was in danger. Not to be outdone, Supergirl gave me a set of maracas. They were a bit less subtle but very effective; for a dazzling year or two in the early 1960's, not a single fifth grade girl dared beat me up.

But times changed. Supergirl's existence came out to the world and she began hobnobbing with the major superheroes and even President Kennedy while I transitioned from the Girl of Steel to buns of steel --- with accompanying superboobs --- in Playboy Magazine. I doubt I was alone among early teen-aged boys in going straight from DC to sleaz-ee back in the day. 

But I never forgot Kara from Krypton. 

And so I tuned into the new Supergirl show the last two weeks, and it is slick. Supergirl is adorably played by Melissa Benoist and she is stronger, funnier, and cuter that her comic book forebear ever was. Everything about the show is first class including the acting, production values, and special effects, and I can't help but wonder how George Reeves, the screen's best ever Superman, would have felt if he could have seen the Grade A treatment given Supergirl compared to the schlock values affixed to his 50’s show. 

Who knows, he might have chosen to stick around.

But there’s no denying it:  Supergirl doesn't need me anymore. An A-Lister in every respect with a sister and two dedicated friends who know her identity, she even works for a Devil Wears Prada modeled-boss played by Calista Flockhart.  And Supergirl is also 24 years old. How did I age 55 years while she aged only 8?  I guess there's no limit to the powers of the people from Krypton.

I probably won't watch Supergirl any more, but I'm glad to know it's on TV and I'm glad to see how well Linda Lee is doing.

Up, up, and away, Kara from Krypton!  May you fly high and proud.

And maybe once in a while, could your old friend hitch a ride too?

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What Do You Give the Superhero Who Has Everything?

In Brightest Day, In Darkest Night

Scarlett Johansson is my Ex-Delight.... 

What do you give the Superhero Who Has Everything?

 In the case of Green Lantern, it’s a big budget 3D mega-movie promising to be one of this summer’s biggest blockbusters and starring Scarlett Johansson’s ex-husband,  a man whose any one orgasm with his former wife would probably serve to satisfy the sexual needs of the entire male population of a pretty good sized Midwestern city.

Talk about having everything!

But you’d also have to give the guy in the form-fitting green stretch top and black leotards a Kryptonite-like vulnerability to go along with the awesome capabilities of the power ring he wields. Because Green Lantern is the one superhero actually more powerful than Superman because with his mighty power ring, he could make a Superman!

Superheroes are as omnipresent these days as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s progeny. The array of mythic men and women who’ve been portrayed on stage, screen, and all but enacted live in your living room include Superman, Batman, Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Green Hornet, the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, the Watchmen, Catwoman --- draw deep breath! --- Supergirl, Captain America, the Phantom, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, the Spirit, the Crow, and Spin Cycle, whose superpower is the uncanny ability to locate missing socks from the dryer. (OK, so I made up Spin Cycle!)

What a far cry from the way it was when I was a super-starved superhero-loving small fry in the Fifties!

Back then superheroes were thought of as strictly kid’s stuff, something you’d magically grow out of as soon as you hit puberty and began to think of Lois Lane not as Superman’s wise-cracking girl friend but as the secluded narrow country road to which you fantasized you’d one day squire off Nicole Halaylos!

The only contact an adult was supposed to have with a superhero flick was the flickering cognizance that he was sitting through one when his 11 year old woke him up to go get the popcorn.

If a superhero movie or TV show got made at all back in that day, the best level star it could muster would be some blandly handsome actor whose greatest claim to fame was having been briefly elevated to the rank of playing Ronald Reagan’s rubbed-out-in-the-first-reel best buddy, the dialogue would have all the depth and conviction of a phone number written on the back of a match book cover, and it would have all been shot on a budget equal to or less than Beaver Cleaver’s annual allowance.

Mostly we kids had to content ourselves with the Adventures of Superman. But although the show did feature George Reeves, the best actor ever to play the Man of Steel, the Adventures of Superman in truth was about as exciting as a Vice-President Richard M. Nixon pin-up calendar.

Week after week, the most malevolent villain Adventures of Superman presented was a bald, weasily, Damon Runyoneque actor named Ben Weldon whose plans for world domination didn’t extend much beyond knocking over the corner Fanny Farmer outlet and making off with the nonpareils. Aside from its passable main effect of Superman flying, other special effects were largely limited to the Man of Steel showing off his super speed by standing in place and saying to the bad guys “want to see it again?”

And that’s why, Gen X and Y’ers, you never see a big budget A-movie superhero flick any earlier than the late 70’s. Why do you think Humphrey Bogart, the greatest tough guy of all time, never played Batman? “You know, Robin, this could be the shtart of a beautiful friendship” does have a certain ring to it, but not to mainstream movie audiences of the 1940’s and 50’s.

Jimmy Stewart would have made a wonderful “aw shucks, turning that lump ‘a coal into a diamond weren’t nuthin'” kind of Superman, but then every Christmas we’d have all been forced to endure:

“Clarence, I don’t know how you know these things.  But tell me, what became of Lois?”

“You're not going to like it, Clark!”

“It’s all right, Clarence.  Just as long as she isn’t an old maid who never married who’s about to close up the library.  Anything but that!”

“What the hell would be wrong with that, you 1940’s superhero chauvinist pig!  No, Clark, she’s Lex Luther’s mistress, she’s about to close up his zipper!”

Would Katherine Hepburn have made a great Wonder Woman? Actually it’s a better question if Wonder Woman, invisible plane and all, would have been up to playing Kate!

But all these attitudes, all these inhibitions, all these limitations --- everything --- changed when the kids of the fifties and sixties grew up and somehow didn’t grow out of superheroes. And now we once super-starved superhero-loving small fry are superhero-saturated!

Even so, I think I might yet check out the Superhero That Has Everything when he opens this summer. Even now, I get a small thrill every time I realize that what would have been so untenable and unthinkable to movie moguls and audiences not so long ago is daily happenstance today.

And as for Green Lantern’s vulnerability? For those of you amongst the great unwashed who know not, it’s the color “yellow.” That’s right; the greatest power in the universe can’t handle the color of bananas.

Hey, even I’m not afraid of bananas!

Scarlett, call me!!!

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Farewell to the Fifties

The Evolution of Annette

I owe it all, I’m afraid, to Jack Benny.

It was in discussion with a 30-something  that I learned that the 1950’s had officially died.

We were talking about comedy, and I mentioned my hero, the great skinflint, the perennial 39 year old, the “Oh, fella?” ~ “Yes-s-s-s-s-s” American institution and legend, Mr. Jack Benny. I expected smiles and nods and gushes of recognition, if not a personal homage in the form of her crossing arms, turning her head slowly aside, and exclaiming “W-e-e-l-l-l-!-!-!”

But what I got was “Yeah, I know who he is! That British comedian who was always doing those goofy chases!”

“Umm, Cheryl,” I choked, “that was …. Benny Hill. Comparing Benny Hill to Jack Benny is sort of like comparing Paris Hilton to Paris France!”

Though Jack Benny was active in show business for much of the 20th Century, on TV his heyday was the 1950’s. In that moment, I learned that Benny’s heyday had become a nayday. As a child of the 50’s, references and allusions from that period have tripped off my tongue “faster than a speeding bullet” and “like a fiery horse at the speed of light.”

But no more. As a source of reference, comparison, or commentary, I come to bury the 50’s…. and to praise them:

Taking leave, Leave it to Beaver! Growing up 50’s, Beaver, I measured my life against yours and consistently found it wanting. You got in and out of trouble in 30 minutes, learned well your parental lessons, and made life within the confines of a picket fence look copacetic and cool. But as I leave, Beav, please do me one favor: tell Ward and June to stop dressing for dinner,  for Pete's sake,  as if they’re headed out for a job interview with Halliburton!

Au revoir, Annette! As the Mickey Mousketeer with the prematurely developing bust line, Annette Funicello, you morphed into the most seismic force for male sexual awakening since the invention of masturbation. Though a millennial hearing your name would most likely presume you an Italian desert, I’ll always think of you as the main course to a fantasy that had me glued to a show which was supposed to be about a mouse.

Hasta la vista, Howdy! Though your creators should have learned the meaning of the term “no strings attached,” Howdy Doody, you introduced us to an endearing ensemble that foreshadowed the generations-later Sesame Street. Buffalo Bob, Mayor Bluster, the Flub-a-Dub, Princess Winterfall Summerspring, Clarabell, Chief Thunderthud, Heidi Doody, and more …. Hey, thank you, guys! The Peanut Gallery is closed.

Happy Trails, Roy! Happy trails to you, Roy Rogers, until we meet again.  Happy Trails to you, which will be never, my friend!

Our paths diverge, Davy! You may have been King of the Wild Frontier, Davy Crockett, but on the Web Frontier, you’re not even a pawn. With coonskin cap aloft and “Born on a Mountaintop” playing in the breeze, it’s time for you to once again go down swinging --- this time not by the hands of Santa Anna’s men but by the Santa Anna winds of time.

Adios, Adlai! You, Adlai Stevenson, were my first political memory. Going with my father to vote for you for President in 1956, we knew you had as much chance to win as to set off a national craze of male babies named “Adlai.” You were beloved by liberals and everyone we knew, but the country liked Ike. Would I get a quick resonating response to your name in 2010? Sadly, think I’d have to wait until hell freezes over. 

Gotta roam, Lone Ranger! With a "hearty hi-ho, Silver!" and Tonto by your side, you, Lone Ranger, were the oddest of heroes. You started off with a handicap of your own making. You had no secret identity, you needed no mask, and everywhere you went the greeting was the same: "Look, it's an outlaw, kill him!" Your mask was on the side of the law, but it didn't need to be on your face at all!

Ciao, Raleigh Coupons! In the 1950’s Cigarette commercials on the air were as prevalent as cigarette smoke in the office. But amongst them all, Raleigh Cigarettes, you puffed supreme. Why? Because of the golf clubs, toasters, and manifold marvels one could obtain “Free for Raleigh Coupons!” The trick, of course, was to stay alive long enough to collect the coupons to get any of them.

Cheerio, Cherrios Kid! Along with Annette, my Cheerios Kid, you fueled a childhood fantasy. When you’d eat those “O’s,” you'd acquire a bulging bicep, powered by a colossal Cheerio! I ate your wares diligently, eagerly awaiting the muscle and the mighty “O.” Finally one night in a dream, there emblazoned upon my still spindly arm was a Cheerio indeed --- actual size and soggy from milk.

Sayonara, Superman! Many others have played the role, George Reeves, but nobody else ever inhabited it as fully as every 50’s kid once inhabited your cape. The stories were stupid, the production values atrocious, but when you flew, we did too. Greasy hair notwithstanding, you were the Man of Steel. If only Kryptonite had been all that could harm you ….

So fare thee well, Fifties!  You shall live on in memory and history, if not in my metaphor and simile.

Now, I’m off to drop in on the Sixties.

There's a 32 year old I know who thinks The Monkees --- OMG! --- are in the Philadelphia Zoo ....

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I'm a bit nostalgic yet; it's the plight of the Boomer, I think.  So for one more time, here's  A Further Farewell to the Fifties.