Impersonating a superhero for a living is a tough gig. Sure, you are idolised and in demand when you capture the imagination. But in Hollywood, a dream role can become a poisoned chalice in the flash of a cape. You become typecast and the inevitable descent begins. What then? Where to, next? How do waning attention and the whims of showbusiness impact how you see yourself – as an actor and a human being?
This was the tangent of Christopher Reeve’s remarkable story that I was most interested in. “There is something about America that is short on heroes,” he concedes in the opening few minutes. “We need as many as we can.” In the next breath, he insists, “I am not a hero. Never have been, never will be,” drawing a clear line between himself and the Man of Steel.
A vivacious, active guy who loved to ride horses, ski and play football among other things, he “went from participant to observer at 42” after a horrific fall in 1995 left him paralysed from the neck down. He flatlined twice and could not breathe on his own. His mother wanted to turn off life support.
The documentary segues between his rise to stardom from the world of theatre (a “natural territory that become home”) and his recovery from the accident with the unwavering support of his wife Dana – who saved his life with “you’re still you and I love you” – and his children.
Friends too, of course, not least old schoolmate Robin Williams. The first time he visited Reeve in the hospital, the comedian came as a Russian proctologist. Williams took one look at the dreaded tracheostomy tube around his neck and said, “Nice tie,” to which Reeve could only smile. Perhaps laughter is the best medicine.
It’s impossible to overestimate the trauma that an event like this has on a person. He feared for his life, of course, and lamented that he would never again be able to pick up his youngest son Will. Nor make love to Dana or feel her touch.
Touch is important here. Reeve was a Juilliard-trained pianist who loved tinkling the ivories and starting a singalong. In a diary entry about her privately endured grief, which Will reads out in the documentary, Dana says she misses her husband’s hands most of all. Their “expressive grace and heft”.
Bedridden, Reeve was in despair. He would ruminate on his life and this cruel twist of fate. It was “like a slideshow but the pictures were out of sequence” he remembers. I was so swept up in the narrative that it took a moment to realise that Reeve was not part of this production (he passed away in 2004). The latter-day voiceovers we hear are from his audiobooks Still Me and Nothing is Impossible. But you can feel his presence throughout. It’s almost eternal.
Super/Man is subtle and expedient in how the story is presented. It’s made by McQueen collaborators Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui who have worked wonders before with archive material and without access to their subject, as I wrote about here. With the help of editor Otto Burnham, they integrate callbacks between the two main timelines, which helps us to appreciate Reeve’s qualities, both deep-set and nascent.
The dedication to his craft, for instance, which he carried over from the stage to a blockbuster studio production. Training his body so he could train his mind, determined to make the audience believe. “Flying happens in the eyes,” he said. There is freedom to drift laterally in theme to other manifesting like getting back on his feet as Burnham explains here.
We see the long tail of his struggles as well, like seeking the approval of his father Franklin. The writer and academic was sparing in his love and Reeve never felt good enough in his eyes. So the actor sought relief from uncertainty by playing different characters, and vowed to show more affection to his kids. But it turns out there was more of Franklin in him than he first realised.
Reeve was also sceptical about marriage, his parents divorcing when he was four. A long-term relationship with Gae Exton, the mother of his first two children, was loving but strained, ending when Matthew was seven and Alexandra was three. Then Dana came along. They tied the knot five years later.
Back to the aftermath, he rallies and begins to find purpose. Reeve teaches Will to ride a bike just by talking to him. A long-time advocate of human rights and environmental issues – and at one point a staunch opponent of Chilean dictator Pinochet – he starts a foundation to champion spinal cord injury research.
Then it merges with the American Paralysis Foundation and, with Reeve as a tenacious figurehead, begins to put its weight behind stem cell research. When slowly adjusting patients begin to take offence at his dogged pursuit of a cure, the mission broadens to helping improve care and support for families, with Dana officially coming on board.
Reeve visits a young boy who is struggling and inspires him to wean himself off the ventilator, which spurs him on in his own recovery. He also gets back to work, directing In the Gloaming (starring friends Glenn Close and Whoopi Goldberg) and starring in Rear Window, a film about a housebound quadriplegic and voyeur who may have witnessed a murder. Scenes from the latter are cleverly repurposed to bring Reeve’s trauma into sharper focus.
Of course, the timeline is contracted. It’s a documentary, after all. But you get the sense he did not wallow for too long. And he did not hide. It seems as though the cameras never stopped rolling, from hospital to home. There are so many interviews with Reeve but no public appearance is more astounding than his first engagement since the accident at the 1996 Oscars. With the eyes of the world fixed on him – the stage a lonelier place than ever – he shows his class, dignity and undying passion for film.
Those that know Reeve’s final chapter into the 2000s, will be aware of the up-and-down nature of his health and how pursuing a cause bigger than himself could both galvanise and drain him. There were brief moments of great optimism, like the faint movement of a finger or a successful fundraising campaign, followed by big setbacks including renewed dependency on the ventilator or a gut-punch block on policy reform.
The filmmakers use a sculpted Superman-like form of Reeve adrift in space as a recurring visual motif, on which Kryptonite forms whenever his physical and mental condition dips. Reminiscent of when someone is cast out to the Phantom Zone. It’s quite affecting on the big screen. An interstellar window for reflection as Ilan Eshkeri’s score vamps on the familiar 70’s/80’s theme, taking us into deeper contemplation.
Through the ups and downs, Reeve never gave up, convinced that nerves could find new pathways and that one day he might walk again. Hope for him, was a lighthouse as he explained in Nothing is Impossible, distinct from optimism or wishful thinking.
“When we have hope, we discover powers in ourselves we may never have known. The power to make sacrifices, to endure, heal and love. Once we choose hope, everything’s possible.”
You will marvel at his resilience and the grace with which he accepted his misfortune. “Sometimes, things happen for a reason,” he tells us. “Your job is to discover the reason.” But equally, the strength and love that his family gave to him is cathartic. Collectively, they resolved that life would go on.
Anyone who has lost a loved one, especially in tragic and unforeseen circumstances, will know how debilitating the experience is. You have to try to come to terms with bereavement while somehow being able to function from day to day with your senses deranged.
In that regard, I feel for Reeve’s children Matt, Alexandra and Will, who have had to endure so much at a young age and for so long. Particularly Will, who lost his mother to stage 4 lung cancer and a grandmother he was close to – all within a year of his father’s death. How they have managed to move forward in honour of Chris and Dana, joining forces to drive the foundation to greater heights, is a testament to the human spirit.
As for my place in all this, Reeve was iconic to me. The archetype superhero against whom all others were judged. I was born in 1979 and fascinated by superhuman abilities from a young age. Aren’t we all? (I still have this book from prep school.) Here was someone onto whom we could project our eternal fantasy to be something more than we are. Someone extraordinary.
And Reeve was, though not in the way I could appreciate as a kid. He was the consummate actor, in movement, gesture and delivery. He could embody strength, charm, nobility, courage, vulnerability, even menace, all in one role. Or two, to be precise.
Who else could make you believe that Clark Kent is not Superman with just one awkward tilt of his glasses? Or reveal that he is with a subtle shift in posture. Or turn a Mr Nice Guy into a nasty bully? This guy even made me return to Superman IV, which should be filed under disaster movie. Like I said – powers.
A silver lining to this emotionally draining documentary is that you will (re)discover lots of films from Reeve’s career. I am starting with Sidney Lumet's Deathtrap, followed by Above Suspicion, Rear Window and In The Gloaming.
What’s on your list?
Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story is showing in selected UK cinemas. You can also stream it on Apple TV and HBO Max from early December.
In so many ways after his accident a real life super hero.