A common criticism of Superman as a character is that it is impossible to tell interesting stories about him because he is so powerful. What dramatic tension is possible, critics will argue, when you have a man who can fly through the heart of the sun, or crush coal to diamonds with his bare hands?
Personally, I think that argument reveals a lack of imagination. If the only problems you can conceive are ones that can be solved with a superpowered punch, then Superman would indeed be a very dull character. That is why the best Superman stories confront the Man of Steel with problems that his extraordinary powers cannot match, forcing him to rely on his ingenuity, heart and community. He comes up against impossible odds but still finds a way to do good, and inspires others to do the same. That, more than heat vision or super strength, is what makes him a hero.
You could say the same about Christopher Reeve, the actor who most famously portrayed Superman (starting with 1978’s “Superman”). A horse riding accident in 1995 left Reeve paralyzed from the neck down, unable to breathe without the use of a ventilator. At first, in his own telling, he was tempted to despair: Our society, after all, tells us in both subtle and obvious ways that disabled lives are not worth living. But instead of surrendering, Reeve became an activist for spinal injury research and for the rights of people with disabilities until his death in 2004.
The documentary “Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story,” directed by Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui, shows us how the man beneath the cape embraced off-screen heroism by accepting his own vulnerable humanity.
Humanity was always the secret ingredient to Reeve’s Superman. Yes, he looked great in the costume, but the performance is iconic because Reeve imbued the hero with so much human warmth and integrity. “Super/Man,” likewise, is more interested in the human Reeve—with all of his virtues and flaws—than a spotless two-dimensional image.
We meet Reeve through archival footage, clips from the audiobook of his memoir and interviews with friends and family, including his children Matthew, Alexandra and Will. For those of us who may have only known him (on-screen) as the Man of Steel, the film paints a portrait of a gifted and passionate performer, with a comedian’s control of his physicality married to a movie star’s chiseled jaw.
In home videos, he is a playful father and head-over-heels in love with his wife Dana. But we also see his imperfections: the emotional scars left from a difficult childhood, the dissolution of his relationship with his older children’s mother, his frustrations as his acting career stalled post-“Superman.”
But pulling Reeve down from the pedestal just makes his heroism more relatable, and more inspiring. Interviewees in the film praise his drive and willpower, yes, but what really emerges over the course of the film is how much Reeve relied on the people around him. He credits his wife Dana with saving his life immediately after the accident, and she becomes his partner in advocacy. Friends like the late Robin Williams (Reeve’s classmate at Julliard, who describes him in a eulogy as “my brother”) were there for him for the entire journey, reminding him that his life still had value.
We also see the profound impact that forming relationships with other disabled people had on Reeve’s activism. His doctor tells a story about Reeve encouraging a young fellow patient to push through a difficult milestone that Reeve had just, with great effort, achieved himself. This experience, the doctor says, helped Reeve realize that his accident left him in a unique position to help others.
Even in this admirable mission, he was not perfect. Activists criticized Reeve’s early advocacy for focusing exclusively on finding a cure, presenting disability as a curse instead of recognizing the inherent dignity of disabled people (in response, Reeve expanded the mission of his foundation to also include improving the quality of life of people with spinal injuries). The film also does not touch on Reeve’s tensions with the Catholic Church over his advocacy for stem cell research; while the church does not oppose all stem cell research, it does oppose types that depend on the destruction of human embryos. He was not Superman; no flesh-and-blood human being could live up to that standard. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a hero.
At one point in the film, Reeve deflects a description of Superman as a Christ figure. But the comparison is not unfounded, and “Super/Man” meditates on the impact and responsibilities that come with embodying an icon. Superman, after all, represents the best of humanity: He is noble, kind, courageous and just. His body conforms to American society’s ideal: tall, strong, male, white. News coverage following Reeve’s 1995 accident painted his situation as a tragic, perverse twist of fate: Superman in a wheelchair.
But, with the help of other disabled people, Reeve realized that this image was actually a powerful witness. The film includes footage of his first public appearance after the accident, at the 1996 Oscars. We see Superman in a body, and a life, that many in society would prefer to ignore or erase. But his head is high, his eyes bright, and he immediately cracks a joke. The moment goes beyond representation: It is a declaration that Reeve’s life and the lives of others like him are full of joy, purpose and meaning.
Toward the end of the film, Reeve says: “I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” The film adds an additional layer: A hero is someone who, by doing these things, inspires others to discover their own inner strength. “Super/Man” shows us that this was Reeve’s true legacy. Following his death, Dana continued their work until her own death two years later from lung cancer. Afterward, it was their children who took up the mantle, advocating for research that led to life-changing advances in spinal injury treatment and care.
This is, perhaps, the way Reeve most resembled the fictional hero he portrayed. Superman not only embodies the best of humanity, he inspires others to be their best. There is a moment in Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s “All-Star Superman,” my favorite Superman comic, that illustrates this beautifully. In the middle of a day filled with extraordinary feats, Superman takes time to talk with a young woman experiencing a mental health crisis. “You’re much stronger than you think you are,” he tells her. Christopher Reeve discovered his own strength in his darkest moment; but the true mark of his heroism was how he inspired others to discover theirs.
“Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story” will debut on Max this fall, following a brief theatrical run.
