Superman 1.42: Another Sunny Day in Comedy New York

In an article about the filming of Superman: The Movie published in August 1977, Time Magazine reported, “One thing Superman does not have — so far as anyone with plain old 20-20 can see, anyway — is many laughs. Director Donner, convinced that it was campiness that brought down King Kong, is avoiding even the possibility of untoward giggles.” Which just goes to show how wrong a magazine can be.

Because for the last five minutes, starting from our arrival in a Metropolis taxicab, the characters have been doing nonstop screwball comedy shtick, up to and including getting stuck in a revolving door.

Extricating themselves from the architecture, Lois and Clark emerge into a sunny musical comedy New York, where everyone is quiet and well-dressed, and the traffic noise limits itself to a couple of respectful honks when nobody has any important dialogue to say.

And then there’s the picturesque fruit vendor, who I love in a way that I will never be able to fully express. He is the movie’s sole representative of Metropolis street life, parked outside the Daily Planet building. A few minutes ago, when Clark walked into the building, the fruit vendor kept up a lively patter for a full fifteen seconds: “Fresh fruit! Hey, baby, how’s it goin’? Hey, fresh fruit and vegetables, they’re so fresh they’re gonna dance in your salad! Fresh fruit and vegetables, get ’em while they’re hot!” Now, as Lois and Clark leave the building, the vendor single-handedly apprehends a thief who’s trying to make off with an apple without paying for it.

I mean, in the next scene, Superman comes face-to-face with a guy who should be charged with aggravated assault and attempted murder, and he’s going to let the guy get away, but the fruit vendor makes a citizen’s arrest, right on the spot. Turns out there’s more than one hero in this town.

One thing that Richard Donner is good at is creating focus around the thing that he wants you to pay attention to, and dialing out other distractions. When the Kents found a baby in an extraterrestrial mystery box, it was in a field so remote that you could see clear to the horizon in every direction; when Jor-El’s magic justice wand lit up and went BLING!, everybody in the scene had to stop and look at it.

Right now, he’s presenting a Metropolis afternoon that’s appropriately bustling in the background, but nobody’s being noisy, and there isn’t any visual clutter that would pull focus from the lead characters.

Setting that tone is important, because it’s leading up to a theatrical sarcasm crime spree, and you need to be in the right mood for that kind of thing.

And all of a sudden, thanks to a well-chosen backdrop, Clark and Lois are entirely alone in the world, easy pickings for a daytime street rat with a loaded gun looking for spare change.

In the 1970s, people used to think that this kind of thing happened all the time in New York, that you couldn’t walk down the street without being trapped in a web of crime. In reality, New Yorkers are far too self-absorbed to fall into this type of situation; if someone tries to attract your attention, you just keep walking and pretend that they don’t exist, which, in a certain way of looking at things, they don’t.

It must be even harder these days for late afternoon street criminals to make a meaningful connection with their victims, because everybody’s looking at their phone all the time. They must get awfully hungry, the poor things.

Facing a lawbreaker for the first time in his career, Superman emits nothing but screwball comedy stammering. “Oh, excuse me,” he says to Lois, as he backs away from the man with the gun. “Please don’t shoot me with that, sir,” he says. “You could hurt somebody with that thing.” And then he turns and says “Sorry” to Lois for jostling her again, which is utterly adorable.

Now, my question is: Did we ever have little forty-year-old turtleneck criminals like this, making a whole production number out of stealing some lady’s purse? I feel like this guy has other options for making a dishonest living, like working for an ad agency, or something in publishing.

You can tell that the mugger is on our side, entertainment-wise, because he’s willing to stand there and wait patiently for Clark to do a little real-time character-building. Moving the gun to the side with a respectful finger — a move that the mugger quietly puts up with — Clark says, “Just a minute, mister! Now, I realize, of course, that times are tough for some these days, but this isn’t the answer. You can’t solve society’s problems with a gun.”

Meanwhile, Lois, for the fourth time today, takes a hard look at this new cryptid she’s discovered, and tries to figure out what has recently landed in her life.

And then — screw you, Time Magazine — the mugger gets a little comedy moment himself.

“You know something, buddy, you’re right,” the guy admits. “I’m going to turn over a new leaf.” And he bestows upon them a beatific smile.

Clark takes a moment to enjoy his victory, before the mugger points the gun directly in his face and says, “— right after I rip off this lady’s purse.”

This leads to one of the great moments in Superman fiction, a perfectly-timed combination of action-adventure and romantic comedy. Clark, who’s fully committed to his new mild-mannered disguise, stammers to Lois that she should give the guy her purse.

Then Lois — a reckless screwball heroine who exists to make life interesting for the hero — pointedly drops the purse, and then tries to deliver a feisty kick to the mugger’s face when he bends down to take it.

There’s an excited dramatic sting, and the world slows down so that we can see the felon pull the trigger —

— and Superman catches the speeding bullet with his bare hand, before it strikes the cowering Lois.

You don’t get these very often, just a perfectly-constructed scene. A second of unexpected fear, resolved with a comic surprise that serves as Clark’s first act of superheroism and moves the romantic plot forward a step.

The mugger flees the scene, not sure what he’s just witnessed, and Lois is suddenly worried about the guy that she couldn’t remember the name of, just a minute ago. This is the point when John Williams uncorks the Love theme for the first time, introducing the melody on solo bassoon as Clark and Lois share their first fleeting moment of tenderness.

This is how it’s going to work, if anybody else ever figures out how to make a good superhero movie, which should kick in sometime around 2014, circa Guardians of the Galaxy. You surround the superhero action with a romantic comedy structure, with multi-layered character beats.

It is incredibly difficult to get this right, and in this case, it repays the audience for all the time that we spent watching the forty-five minute prologue. As we get further along in the superhero movie chronology, we’re going to look back at this scene, and wonder why nobody else can get it as right as this. There are some dark stretches coming up, once we get past Superman: The Movie. Enjoy this perfect moment while you can.

How does the movie transition
from screwball comedy
to a Bond film?
1.43: The Training.

Movie list

— Danny Horn

13 thoughts on “Superman 1.42: Another Sunny Day in Comedy New York

  1. Allan Heinberg and Patty Jenkins, the latter of whom is a huge fan of this movie, paid homage to this scene with one of their own in Wonder Woman 2017. It’s not as iconic, or nostalgic (yet), but it works really well. See you in the comments for that movie in 2039.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. It reminds me of the old Juvenile Delinquent films of the fifties where the Bad Boys were distinguished entirely by their lack of neckties.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. The idea of a man Clark’s age wearing a businessman’s hat in 1978 is arguably even more far-fetched than the notion of a super-powered alien dropping into a wheat field.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It’s another perfect little touch; anachronistic, but only to the point where Metropolis citizens would simply shrug it off as “he’s from Kansas, where it is permanently 1952” and dismiss Clark as a behind the times dork. The rest of his suit is cut perfectly to modern lines: without extremes like giant lapels, but not with “pants up to your nipples” the way a suit that actually matched that hat would be.

      He’s like Rembrandt that way: just show one or two parts of the disguise and people simply fill in the rest on their own. Ironically, considering his Clark persona, Superman knows not to try too hard.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. This is how widespread that concept of crime-riddled New York and casual mugging was in the 1970s: it even got to P. G. Wodehouse!

    In AUNTS AREN’T GENTLEMAN (1974, his last finished novel), Bertie Wooster tells Jeeves, “Everybody in New York is getting mugged these days or shot by youths, and being mugged and shot by youths doesn’t do a fellow any good.” (Naturally, by tale’s end, he’s in New York not being mugged or shot by youths, and concludes it’s because the metrop is free from aunts, but having Wodehouse even acknowledge the notion was an eye-popper for me).

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Well, in a fairly long life so far, all the muggings that ever happened to me or to the person I was with (five in all) did happen in the 1970s. In fairness to New York, though, only four of them happened there; one was in Washington, D.C., though maybe that one doesn’t count because it didn’t succeed. We native New Yorkers are not really self absorbed, just trained not to meet a stranger’s eye, for this and other reasons.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks for sharing your experience. People shouldn’t be glib about the crime wave that NYC experienced back then. Many people were shot, stabbed, and worse. I didn’t live in NYC in the ’70s, but I know there’s a big reason why Bernhard Goetz was found not guilty when he opened fire on four youths without clear provocation in 1984.


  4. More perfection – –
    Lois’ panic that he’s been shot, the tiny gesture of pushing his glasses back up to his eyes, then turning instantly to disappointment when he HASN’T been shot, just fainted.

    The look Clark gives after Lois walks away; he’s enjoying this game, he knows if he can fool HER, he’s going to fool everyone.

    I wonder if Reeve modeled his Clark Kent after Kermit the Frog?

    Liked by 2 people

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