The Superman Who Fell to Earth: Christopher Reeves
If it walked into a lawyer’s office and said, “that’s it, I’ve had enough!” I wouldn’t blame it. I mean, have you seen how people are defining heroism these days?
Let’s start with ESPN, for example. A trash-mouthed idiot whose fame and skill in selling overpriced sneakers are the only things keeping him out of jail will be called a “hero” for scoring the winning touchdown. A has-been ex-actor selling his new sitcom will blubber to Oprah about his “heroism” in surviving three bad marriages, a drug overdose and a night spent in jail. Hell, eat a bowl of bugs on Fear Factor and your mother will call you “heroic”.
With so much slander going on is it any wonder people are confused? It’s a good thing there were people like Christopher Reeve to show us what real heroes are supposed to be. Or used to be, anyway. Damn.
An enemy more ruthless than Lex Luthor and deadlier than Kryptonite killed Christopher Reeve, an ex-actor who played Superman. He died of a heart attack at the age of 52, his wheelchair-bound body finally surrendering after years of pain and struggle. And although I didn’t know the man, I feel the loss because he was one of the good guys. In an era full of counterfeit icons, he was a real hero.
It certainly didn’t start out that way, though. Despite being a Julliard graduate, his acting career was pretty ordinary. A big part of the problem Reeve had throughout his years working in Hollywood was that, oddly enough, people never took him seriously because he was so handsome. While moviegoers would accept, let’s say, a Steve Buscemi as a junkie, ex-con or a car mechanic, Reeve just wouldn’t be believable. His matinee-idol good looks took those roles away from him. Other than his wonderful performance in the film Somewhere In Time, Reeve was seen more as a stage prop than an actor.
Is it any wonder that he said, “The hell with it,” and accepted the lucrative but career-killing role as Superman? So, in four bad movies, he put on the red and blue pajamas and played the heroic Man of Steel in the mythical city of Metropolis.
Now, Reeve might have been able to reinvent himself, as a “serious” actor when he became older, the way Sean Connery was able to escape James Bond. But then, the awful horse-riding accident in 1995 that paralyzed him from the neck down happened. Surprisingly, this is the chapter in Reeve’s story that takes a turn not even an Oscar-winning screenwriter could have thought up. Nobody would have blamed Reeve if he chose to become a gin-soaked, embittered recluse lost in self-pity. F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “There are no second acts” in people’s lives. Reeve proved him wrong.
“I have not been able to eat, wash, go to the bathroom or get dressed by myself,” Reeve said. “While some disabled people resign themselves to such a life, I am not one of them.” And he backed up his words with hard work.
He created the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation, an organization that raised $40 million. He made speeches, spoke to politicians, visited patients in hospitals and appeared at fund-raisers. And when tribes of evangelical Neanderthals shook their bibles and muttered lies about the evils of embryonic-stem-cell research, Reeve was the calm voice of reason, gently telling them why they were wrong. Whenever Reeve rolled into a room, he was the 800-pound gorilla in a wheelchair that spoke in a ragged whisper everybody listened to.
And that’s what heroism is. In this celebrity-obsessed culture, singers, athletes and movie stars are elevated to the status of heroes for simply doing their jobs. But entertaining us doesn’t mean they’re making a difference in our lives. All they’re doing is taking our minds away from the problems that are still there after the song or game or movie is over.
Reeve was a hero because he tried to make things better. Whether it was persuading a bunch of rich guys to write a check supporting spinal-cord research or, maybe, getting able-bodied people to think twice about parking in a handicapped space.
What he showed us was that you don’t have to be a Superman to do heroic deeds. Sometimes, just being a regular guy like Clark Kent is more than enough.Thank you, Mr. Reeve. We’re going to miss you.
Damn.
