Superman

60/100 Richard Donner’s Superman isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. It endures not because of flawless pacing or airtight plotting, but because it understands something modern superhero films almost universally forget: myth is more important than mechanics. This is a film that believes, without irony, without smugness, without cynicism, in the idea of a man who can fly and be good. And that belief is what gives it power even decades later. The structure is strange by today’s standards. The first 45 minutes barely involve Superman at all. We start on Krypton, glowing, cold, abstract, where Marlon Brando’s Jor-El sends his son away from a doomed planet. Then we spend a strange, quiet interlude on the Kent farm, where Pa Kent gets more time than Clark himself. But Donner uses these sections like laying stone for a foundation: we see where Clark comes from, and we feel what he’s lost. There’s a gravity to the pacing, even if it feels uneven. The film isn’t rushing to deliver spectacle. And when Pa Kent dies, suddenly, with no buildup, the film drops its most essential truth: “All these powers, and I couldn’t even save him.” That single line gives Superman more emotional weight than any amount of trauma-dumping in modern blockbusters. He’s not shaped by vengeance or ideological rebellion, he’s shaped by grief and humility. He understands that power doesn’t entitle him to control fate. It obliges him to serve others. That’s the Superman myth: not the strongest man, but the best one. By the time he dons the cape and flies to Metropolis, the film shifts tone, lighter, more romantic, even slightly goofy. Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane doesn’t fully land, and some of the humor hasn’t aged well. But Christopher Reeve’s performance elevates the whole film. His Superman is sincere without being square, idealistic without feeling naive. And his Clark Kent, awkward, bumbling, unsure, is more than a disguise. It’s a philosophical choice. He shows you the weight of pretending to be less than you are, just to fit into a world that can’t understand you. There’s no extended universe setup, no teasing of a grand franchise, no need to “deconstruct” the character. And yet the emotional climax, where Superman turns back time, not to save the world, but to save Lois, feels earned. It’s absurd. It’s melodramatic and it works. That’s why it still matters. This Superman doesn’t treat its hero as a brand or a platform. It treats him as a moral symbol. Someone who doesn’t become good through trauma or rebellion, but through legacy, love, and loss. Its flaws, odd pacing, wobbly tone, flat villains, are real. But they’re mortal flaws inside an timeless structure.