Is George Clooney your idea of Batman? Or Val Kilmer? Or Michael Keaton? Or for that matter, Adam West or even Robert Lowery? How far back should we pursue this casting conundrum? Do any of these Lotharios even begin to convey the aura of mystery and menace indicative of a character whose standing in the pop-culture pantheon is as assured as Tarzan and Zorro?

The short answer is that the right man for the role has never been chosen to portray ANY comic book hero. The imminent release of the financially bloated, hopelessly miscast Batman and Robin makes this painfully clear. The only legend its producers are perpetuating is that of the historically inept casting that dates back to Batman's initial screen appearance.

Lewis Wilson was the first to slip on the Caped Crusader's cowl. The fifteen-chapter Columbia serial was overtly racist and criminally dull. Wilson's Batman was a floppy-eared stumblebum in saggy flannel underthings. Tousle-haired Douglas Croft as Robin resembled nothing so much as those wild-eyed photos of Franz Kafka that pop up in history books.

The deadpan goofiness of the serial inspired the producers of the sixties TV series that starred Adam West at his moribund best. Undeniably enjoyable on a camp level, the series set a regrettably cynical precedent by laughing AT the comic book medium in general rather that WITH its adventuresome eccentricities. Though invested with an obvious visual energy, producers clearly looked down on the material, a tradition continued today by a string of high-priced stars who consider it a hoot to do a cameo in a comic book movie.

The big-budget Batman films of the past few years hardly adhere to the original spirit of the character. They're unsuccessful pop-culture concoctions combining the moddish campiness of the TV show, with the childishly gratuitous nihilism of the "Dark Knight's" recent print exploits. Under such circumstances, who would make a credible Batman? Tim Burton's casting of squirelly cynic Michael Keaton as a vengeful night-fighter was decidedly offbeat and wholly unsuccessful. Burton certainly employs an arty approach to conveying the darkly odd, but Batman and it's 1992 follow up Batman Returns are jumbled and singularly suspenseless.Val Kilmer, another eccentric choice, mumbled his way through Batman Forever, clearly demonstrating his inability to convey either mystery or heroism. Sparked by flashy set design, the film's key action scenes are rendered incoherent by inexcusably garbled editing.

Poised to swamp the 1997 summer box office, Batman and Robin" finds "ER's" George Clooney cast as, without doubt, the prettiest Caped Crusader yet. Did he have to audition? How many actors did he beat out of the role on the strength of his impeccable credentials? He's cute and appears on a TV show so he'd probably make a good Batman, right?

Proceeding with the proviso that all superhero roles are essentially uncastable, I'll submit Michael Madsen as a quirkily suitable Batman. Though notable for a string of broodingly showy roles, particularly as the razor-toting psycho in Reservoir Dogs, Madsen doesn't possess Kilmer or Keaton's marquee power, certainly the first consideration of any astute producer. But Madsen is far more imposing, both physically and vocally, than any Batman yet seen. More important, he invests his characterizations with a subtly sullen mania vital to depicting Batman's vengeful duality. In short, rub him the wrong way and this guy could hurt you.

Spider-Man, Marvel Comic's trend-setting, web-swinging success emerged from an embarrassing TV movie in the late seventies, his dignity barely intact. Why did Marvel, perpetuating their proclivity for signing away the creative control of their most important properties, allow this to happen? Cast as the wall crawler was a hapless unknown named Nicholas Hammond, a name now mired in obscurity through no fault of his own. The simple-minded, short-lived series spawned by the Spider-Man movie is surely something no self-respecting actor would want to be remembered for.

For the past several years the character has been optioned up to his webbed armpits with no less a name than James Cameron fueling the rumor mill as a potential director. What's stifling the progress of this potentially mega-lucrative project? Could be the casting. Who best to portray a nerdy, put-upon high school student suddenly imbued with the powers of an arachnid -- helping elderly Aunt May with the marketing or wisecracking his way through a back alley fist fight. There simply is no suitable Spider-Man. Therefore, a decidedly daring bit of casting is called for: Jackie Chan as Spider-Man. The notion is sure to arouse a chuckle at first blush, but he's the only actor I can think of capable of walking up walls without the aid of digital effects.

Dispensing credit where it is notably due, Christopher Reeve is the closest Hollywood has come to a suitable choice as far as casting a superhero is concerned. Big, square-jawed and exuding altruism, Reeve was nonetheless a trifle soft in his depiction of the Man of Steel. Undeniably heroic in appearance, his delivery was a tad wistful when unyielding resolve was called for. In his prime, an ideal physical choice would have been Rock Hudson. Think about it -- steely eyes, lantern chin, broad shoulders and curly, jet-black locks -- Hudson bore more than a passing resemblance to the classic comic book Superman as rendered by artist Wayne Boring for so many years. First to impersonate the Kryptonian on screen was chapterplay veteran Kirk Alyn. A likable sturdy and ingratiating B film stalwart, his Clark Kent was without peer, but Alyn lacked the superheroic physicality required of his alter ego. Likewise, to a generation of Americans, TV's George Reeves was and always will be Superman, due more to Reeves' immense likability and humanity rather than his suitability as Superman. He remains, arguably, the actor most identified with the role to this day.

But what if the part were to be cast today? Is there an actor on the scene possessed of the physical bearing required to portray Superman? Further, is any actor of our cynical age capable of assaying the role without laughing up his sleeve at the topic's science fictional or heroic excesses? Today's mega-buck flavors of the month would certainly be more inclined to regard the portrayal as a thespic lark -- a vacation from a serious acting career. The current generation of parents continues to indulge their vain inclination to force its children to endure the same cultural influences they experienced when young. How else to explain the ongoing and frightening success of conglomerate octopus Disney, or the presence of a Warner Bros. store in every mall in America. Yet strangely, this same generation has grown too sophisticated to embrace superheroic idealism, as though it's naive to think that a character's sole motivation could simply be to do the right thing. Virtue cannot survive such cynicism. In such a climate, the original and inherent goodness of the superhero is unmarketable. That's why there will never be a good superhero film.

--Marty Baumann, The Astounding B Monster






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