PARK CITY, Utah—There have been many Men of Steel and yet there’s only one true Superman: Christopher Reeve, whose turn in Richard Donner’s 1978’s blockbuster simultaneously established the template for big-screen superheroes and its charismatic leading man as the epitome of all-American gallantry and virtue. Thus, when Reeve was left paralyzed and unable to breathe on his own by a catastrophic 1995 horse-riding accident, it resounded as not just a tragedy but as a grave injustice that this larger-than-life icon of invincibility and good had been brought so low. Such reactions were, in a sense, silly, since everyone knew that Reeve wasn’t actually Superman. Still, his misfortune nonetheless felt fundamentally, cruelly wrong—a testament to the power of the movies and, also, to his charisma, talent and character.
Reeve would demonstrate those qualities for many amazing years following his accident, becoming an advocate for spinal cord research and, more broadly still, for the disabled community. Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui’s heartfelt bio-doc Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story—which premiered at this year’s Sundance Film Festival—captures both sides of the late artist, who passed away in 2006. It’s rare that any figure inspires the public in the way that Reeve did as DC Comics’ legendary Kryptonian, such that even today, there’s no serious debate about the finest actor to ever don the blue-and-red cape and tights. That he arguably made a greater impact on the globe in the aftermath of his calamity, however, marks him as truly unique and admirable, and is stirringly lionized by this tribute to his life and legacy.
A conventional, well-assembled compendium of film and media clips, home movies, and talking-head remembrances, Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story recounts the before and after portions of Reeve’s tale at the same time, flip-flopping between his ascension to the top of the superhero mountain with his struggle to survive, and cope with, the severe injuries suffered in his fateful equestrian fall. That dual-chronological structure allows the directors to find harmonious parallels between then and now, as well as to highlight the differences between the matinee idol everyone saw and adored on the screen (at least when he was saving the day) and the more complicated, thoughtful, and ambitious partner, father, and husband that he was off-camera. The documentary isn’t formally flashy, and given the subject at hand, even a clumsier affair would have likely had no trouble moving audiences to tears. Yet with grace and accuracy, it hit its waterworks-inducing marks.
