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Misspent Youth: Superman III
Looking back at the pop culture mainstays of this Gen-Xer's gloriously misspent youth.
Superman III hit theaters June 17, 1983. Because I was a rabid eight year old fan of the first two movies in the franchise—both of which remain all-time favorites as well as two of the best superhero movies ever made—I walked into this one expecting more of the same brilliance. Instead, what I got was something else entirely. With a game Richard Pryor nobly bumbling his way through this mess (all along likely plotting to fire his agent), the brilliance of the first two movies was nowhere to be found. Remember, Lois Lane (my girl Margot Kidder) appears only briefly, as the film's action quickly moves from Metropolis to Smallville for Clark Kent's high school reunion, thus breaking the heart of this young Lois/Margot admirer. It was mostly downhill from there for that eight year old kid.
Margot had to know this was a turkey, and got out while the getting was good.
I won't rehash the plot except to say Clark/Superman (Christopher Reeve) reunites with his first love, the lovely Lana Lang (Annette O'Toole) while home for the class reunion. At the same time a nefarious millionaire (Robert Vaughn), disgruntled over Superman stopping his plot to take over the world's coffee supply (you can't make this shit up), devises a plan to destroy the Man of Steel. Soon enough, Superman (Christopher Reeve) is transformed into a Bizarro-ish mean version of himself, thanks to being exposed to some seriously flawed Kryptonite.
You wouldn't like him when he's angry.
Reeve spends a chunk of the film acting like a boorish, petulant petty criminal (in other words, a teenager), even downing shots of whiskey at a bar, all while wearing a costume that with hindsight looks like a precursor to the depressing, washed out, dulled colors of what passes for superhero costumes today. Simply put, it's a weird movie, a hodgepodge of disparate elements that when slammed together make very little sense. Yet that also makes it, at times, a riot. I couldn't appreciate the B-movie level badness of it as a kid, but I certainly do now.
At least the film exposed a large number of kids to the brilliance of Richard Pryor for the first time.
Oh, have I mention Pamela Stephenson yet? Because I really should mention her. Frequently. Like, all the time. Let's just talk about her, okay?
The 1980s just exploded all over Pamela Stephenson.
She's one of the more memorable villainous vixens in cinematic superhero history and in many ways a 1980s cousin to the funny and flirtatious gun molls that appeared with regularity in the 1960s Batman television series. Stephenson plays Lorelei, Vaughn's character's assistant and girlfriend (Vaughn, you devil). Lorelei acts the part of the dumb blonde sexpot when in reality she's a genius-level nerd who reads about Kantian philosophy, because, why the hell not? To say that Ms. Stephenson briefly helped me forget about the disappearance of Margot Kidder from the film would be accurate. Whenever Stephenson vamped on screen, the temperature in the theater spiked considerably. Yikes.
Pamela Stephenson was a vision in this film, son, and don't you forget it.
Even if I'd gotten my hands on this promo poster in 1983 there's no way my mother would've allowed it on my wall. Boo.
Don't let the big hair and big...um...necklace fool you. Lorelei's a real-deal smarty.
Seriously, though. Metaphysical philosophy. For real.
Just the usual shenanigans at the villains' lair.
One scene in particular has always stood out as emblematic of the WTF nature of the film. Featuring a lascivious Superman and the nuclear sex bomb Lorelei talking dirty to each other on top of the Statue of Liberty, it's clear the innuendo-laden scene went right over the heads of most little kiddies.
The way it's filmed only enhances the kink factor. One shot is framed so that Supes' well-endowed, um, Super Package looms suggestively near Lorelei's face, just...waiting. It gets better, by the way. Superman then asks, pointedly, "What did you have in mind?" To which Lorelei responds in her best, most breathless Marilyn Monroe voice, "Lots of things." Oof. Even though nothing happens (yet!), it still feels like a scene ripped from a softcore porn flick. In other words, it's hilariously sexy and still shocking to see it in a film ostensibly aimed at children. I couldn't believe my eight year old eyes—was Superman about to get busy on top of a national monument? My little mind was blown.
Is it hot in here, or is it just Pamela Stephenson?
Here's the clip, in full. Watch 'til the end or you'll miss the Lorelei-Supes consummation scene. Yep, that's a thing that happens. Off camera, but it totally happens.
Superman III was one of my first times I remember being disappointed in a movie (the following year Supergirl would equally confound and disappoint younger me). I was only eight, remember, and not yet sophisticated enough in the wily ways of wine, women, and song to grasp the purposely raunchy humor in the Statue of Liberty scene. Now, I think it's genius!
Now that I know this exists, I'll be hunting all day on eBay for a copy. Thanks, Internet!
Superman III, then, has become a much more enjoyable film for me now than it was in 1983. Sure, the movie's a mess, as if they took parts of several different scripts and just threw them together, not caring to make them cohere in any way. These days, that messiness is part of the charm. After all, it's the only instance I can recall where Superman makes the horizontal mambo with a blonde bombshell next to a roaring fire in a remote snow-capped chalet. That's something, right?
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