I Am Superman--And I...Can't do ANYTHING...

I’ve discussed before the importance of finding our cue to enter the “production” going on around us. But what if you found yourself in the same role every time?

George Reeves, the first actor to portray Superman, was doomed to wear the tights and cape for the entirety of his career.

He saw the role of the fictitious superhero as a jumping point into bigger and better things, hoping to endear himself one day to the hearts of movie goers worldwide as an A-Lister with great range and talent. Superman was a way to get their attention- a gimmick, sure, but a positive one- you’d welcome the Cryptonian into your home, Wouldn’t you?

Audiences appreciated Reeves’s Superman portrayal the way a crowd appreciates a court jester, mime or juggling clown- entertained, but not illuminated- acknowledged but not taken seriously.

Irrevocably type-cast, he couldn’t escape the identity, and what was just an icebreaker became his sole dimension. He tried to act in a few serious roles but…people just…REFUSED to see him in any other light.

His story ends quite tragically. I’ll spare revisiting that bit of Hollywood history. (For a sub-par film that kind-of explains it, watch Hollywood Land. I'm not going to force it. Understand however that you wont get those two hours back.)

I have a certain quirky way about me. Not eccentric, just a few miles both north and south of the beaten. My sense of humor shines through brighter than most traits; it’s my way of breaking the ice. I joke a lot.

I have this odd memory. I can’t remember where I put down my drink, or where I take my glasses off most days, yet I can rattle off some obscure actor’s name from a twenty-year old cult favorite, or other piece of popular culture.

(Kevin Costner’s Indian name in Dances With Wolves was Shumani Tutanka Opachi. Look it up. I didn’t have to. But I’m sure you will…)

I can impersonate. Pretty well too; there’s not a Family Guy character (outside of Meg, and honestly, who gives a rat’s ass?) whose voice I can’t nail. People love it.

I like making people laugh. I can do it fairly well.

I smile, or try to, and keep a light heart.

I show people respect; I never laud my own knowledge or opinions over theirs, no matter how much more valid and informed mine may be. I don't very much care for competing with people, and other pissing ground nonsense.

Somewhere in there, they become USED to this person, I think. Used to this patronizing comic relief.

In this way, I feel I fall into being ‘typecast’ by many people. No matter how I try and show them the other dimensions of my character, they don’t want to believe it exists.

Am I a one-liner? A novelty? A clown juggling on a unicycle? You laugh at a clown. You enjoy its presence. But you don’t take it seriously. You don’t place stock in his opinions or his own experiences. You don’t go out for drinks with him, or to parties. The myth about big feet in decline, you certainly don’t sleep with, or date him either. Instead of seeing the leading man, I fear people see only a stock character

This is an irritating, if not interesting phenomenon to me, because I’ve seen it work both ways, for the good and the bad.

Reeves was a good looking man with decent range as an actor, yet despite repeated attempts to show this, he was only allowed to be what the audience would let him be. What they PERCEIVED him to be.

There are those in Hollywood nowadays pulling the wool over our eyes with a good performance or two before disappointing in several others. Soon, they resort to any role offered to them. But they seem to set themselves in stone as talented actors and actresses because of those first few performances. People STILL put credence in them and their careers, studios STILL offer them roles, and the public flocks to theaters.

I’ve known people whom, despite their penchant for making complete asses of themselves, are secured atop a tier of coolness from which they can never fall. Why? Because all it took was a Fonze-like performance in some early social context and every stumbling drunk, word slurring, cock-blocking, disrespectful and tactless machismo exit thereafter is proceeded by a curtain call.

What if, despite the red cape, blue tights and giant red S emblazoned on his chest, the city of Metropolis perpetually referred to the Man of Steel as The Green Lantern?:

“But, look at my S…”-

“GREEN LANTERN.”

“But, I just stopped an asteroid from hitting the…”-

“Nah. Green Lantern.”

“Watch me leap over this TALL BUILDING”-

“Nope. Green Lantern. You’re not fooling me.”

“I have a deathly severe allergy to this green, glowing crystalline substance. Watch…”-

*Goes comatose from Kryptonite poisoning*

“Hm. I sure will miss that Green Arrow guy.”

Imagine the Man of Steel interrupted by some novice bodybuilder as he gives advice to someone about heavy lifting:

“Whenever I pull runaway BULLET TRAINS from the edges of cliffs, I push off with my legs. Yessir, it’s all in the”—

“YEAH, WHATEVER E.T.! Listen to ME kid—you just need to get HUGE AS FUCK, that’s all!”

I feel we all get the point by now. It’s maddening. I deal with this or some variant of it all the time. People get not me, but this projected IDEA of me custom fit to their mind’s eye, and from there, it’s almost impossible to alter.

I write. A lot. That goes without saying (or reading…). I fancy mine a creative mind--abstract, yet rooted in reality.

My tastes are eclectic.

Neil Gaiman is one of the best writers in ANY genre—Cormac McCarthy writes dialogue better than anyone I’ve ever read, and for an English Grad, that list is admittedly small—Michael Mann is fantastic, but missed the mark with Public Enemies—I can sway to indie, rock out to alternative, bang my head to metal, and get me on the right night, dance (albeit poorly) to anything else.

I’m a Zen Buddhist at heart with a bad habit of wandering from now to then to way back when—I believe in many paths to the truth, whatever candle lights the darkness for you, but no matter how far you’ve gone down the wrong path, TURN AROUND—I believe in being a newer, better, slightly different, more evolved version of you today than you were yesterday—I don’t believe in time frames; WE are in the frame and it’s reshaped and moved every day.

I’m a regular gym goer, and a martial arts enthusiast. I recently took up Yoga, and, if I can figure out how to restring my guitars without breaking them, will start teaching myself to play again.

I walk. Everywhere, especially at night. I’m perpetually on the lookout for something. Anything. That stuff we commonly shuffle right past; something opaque that clears up only when the moon is right.

I’ve been known to cook from time to time, menu not limited to tuna sandwiches, though with a bit of dill, black pepper, chopped celery and shredded cheese I don’t think you’d turn one of mine away. When we talk food, I will eat anything, and most likely love it.

No matter what you believe yourself to be, and that should always be something great, it becomes a bit moot when your audience and co-stars alike refuse to acknowledge it because of their own misconceptions and biases.

Have I sold ya yet?

NO?

...

I do my best to fill my life with different and meaningful things, and want very much to show them to certain people, to take them on the walk with me. I can only hope the ones that matter will take the time to make it past my opening soliloquy and acknowledge my stage presence and range.