Suffering through a dark American comedy focused on superhero vigilantes just to see Rainn Wilson and Kevin Bacon share the screen was, in hindsight, not a valuable use of my time. Expecting something in the vein of Kick-Ass, I most certainly got what I asked for. But then, I remembered I’m not keen on Kick-Ass, with its watered-down nit-picking of superhero fanfare and what it takes for a good origin story. Frankly, it repulsed me, but it had become a niche genre of its own, spawning a sequel, and somehow releasing the same year as a film in a similar vein to it, Super. A miserable, weak attempt at bringing a bit of dark comedy and gory exposure into a genre filled with teenage boy wonders, masked villains and box-office robbery.
When his wife falls under the influence of drug kingpin Jacques (Kevin Bacon), a generic loser, middle-aged husk finds himself dabbling in comic books, looking for inspiration on how to save his beloved wife. Frank Darbo (Rainn Wilson) is a tailor-made role for Wilson, one that he certainly fills the spandex suit and boots of. His style of comedy and delivery works well, it’s just a shame that he’s not given anything of real use or humour to say. Written by James Gunn, this blow to the comedy is a surprising one, and it’s odd to think that the man can write actual superhero films rather well, but falls at the first hurdle when it comes to making fun of them in even the most primitive and basic of ways.
Darbo’s catchphrase, for instance, (it’s “Shut up, crime”, for those out of the loop) is overused, not that funny to begin with, and highlights just how bleak and uneventful the film can be. Perhaps the best plot point of all is the sub-plot of a police detective wondering whether or not a loser as big as Darbo could actually be behind the vigilante justice being dished out on his streets. Nothing really comes of that plot, it just sort of fizzles out before the climax of the film, replaced instead by Libby (Ellen Page), in a vacuous role filled in by someone who has considerably solid comedic chops. Again, the same problems Wilson runs into appear here, with a tailor-made role fitting the neuroses of the performer, but with the writing not being able to back that up beyond its water-tight premise.
Kevin Bacon is probably the best off out of all the cast members, and even he struggles under the pressure of a script that flounders around in a generic portrayal of a superhero origin story. There has to be at least some tinge of irony to the film falling for the same robust pitfalls as the genre it looks to mock, but I don’t think that was the intention whatsoever. Gunn’s direction and Wilson’s leading performance are a relatively suitable match, but they fail to do anything of note or interest for the entire running time. There’s just not a lot to show for the amount of toil and effort that went into making Wilson dress up like a Power Rangers cosplayer.
Good intentions at its heart, I’m sure of that, Super just doesn’t have the competence to make its premise stick. Without the humour necessary to carry such an idea, lacking characters that are interesting beyond being caricatures of more famous, interesting personalities from the comic book world, and an ultimately flat direction that calls out for the iconography of the American comedy films of the time, a layer of homeliness and amateurish filmmaking laced on top of a film that, at heart, could have been so much better. It feels like Juno in that slightly disconnected yet still charming style, but Super doesn’t have babies, it has wrenches and poor taglines instead.
Discover more from Cult Following
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
