Waiting for Superman. . . For Real

For the past few days, I’ve been bombarding myself with superhero soundtracks in attempt to study a reaction. I find there aren’t a lot of memorable superhero scores.

There’s Danny Elfman’s Batman theme, which inexplicably makes me want to skate roller derby. Then there’s Elfman’s Spider-Man theme, which makes me do sciencey stuff with a blowtorch. Then there’s Hans Zimmer’s and James Newton Howard’s Batman score that makes me want to do angry yoga.

Then there’s John Williams’ Superman score that makes me hope for someone to save us. And it makes me tear up every bloody time.

I’ve never really had a time without Superman. We had Superman movies with some regularity when I was a kid. Then, a few years after The Quest for Peace, we had The Adventures of Lois and Clark. Then a few years after that ended, we had Smallville. That’s ending tonight and there’s already more Superman stuff in the pipeline.

But, I need to see Tom Welling in that supersuit.

It’s not even like I’ve been following Smallville religiously for the past ten years. I didn’t actually start watching it on a regular basis until “Absolute Justice” aired last season.

It’s not like I don’t know what Superman looks like in his supersuit. He looks pretty much the same no matter who is playing him:

Or who is drawing him:

No matter the angles of the face above it, no matter the country it stands for, I see the suit and know it’s a force of good. It has to be because it’s effing Superman.

But, I need to see Tom Welling in that supersuit.

And it’s all John Williams’ fault.

It’s the music, you see. Anyone could dress up in blue tights and a cape and call themselves Superman, but it’s Superman’s music that makes me believe what he believes: that we are good enough as a species. That there is something truly remarkable about humanity, about Earth. That there are people who do the right thing. That there can be heroes, even if not Kryptonian ones.

I need to see Tom Welling in that supersuit because every time a new Clark Kent puts it on, becomes Superman, and flies out to the strains of his fanfare, I’m filled with hope that we can be better, that we can be our own heroes. That we don’t need a Kryptonian to save us because we can save ourselves.

Then the neighbors start screaming and beating the crap out of each other, a 14 year old shoots up the pub on the corner, and that creepy ice cream truck drives by at 1AM and my delusions of humanity being better crumble. Then I hear the score and it takes on a different meaning.

Oh, well. At least I’ll always have Superman.

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