A fond, frustrated farewell to Henry Cavill's Superman
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The colors won in the end. The first time Henry Cavill played Superman, in 2013's Man of Steel, grim grayscale turned his red cape a faded shade of burgundy. Kal-El died in his next movie, then came back twice. The theatrical release of Justice League in 2017 resaturated before Zack Snyder's Justice League desaturated in 2021. They have identical shots with irreconcilable differences. Clark Kent pulls open his shirt to reveal a bright red "S" with yellow filling against a blue background — or he opens the same shirt to show a different silver "S" on black.
Both endings promise adventures that won't happen. This week Cavill posted on Instagram that he will "not be returning as Superman," a couple months after announcing the opposite. New bosses James Gunn and Peter Safran are taking DC Studios in a different direction, with Gunn scripting a film based around "an earlier part of Superman's life." Multiverse plus nostalgia ensures Cavill's return someday — maybe aging Earth-2 Superman, certainly a cartoon voice. But Cavill's older than Christopher Reeve was after his four Superfilms. The window to play Classic Supermanity is closing.
Clay Enos/Warner Bros Henry Cavill as Superman in 'Man of Steel'
Which means Cavill's proper ending as this character was one last tease. In the mid-credits scene of Black Adam, Dwayne Johnson's 5000-year-old lightning guy welcomes a surprise cameo. "It's been awhile since anyone made the world this nervous," says a voice in the darkness. Out steps Superman — and he shines. The yellow is mustard yellow. The "S" looks foil-embossed. In Zack Snyder's brightest day the costume looked dusty. Now, in this darkest night, the cape is red as movie blood. "Black Adam," says the last son of Krypton, "we should talk." They won't.
The color contrast tells a tale of many conflicts. Debate raged behind the scenes, while war raged through fandoms: How should a Superman be super? Snyder made the Boy Scout a neck-snapper. America's Dad was out, replaced by Christ imagery and ripped abs. He suffered, he screamed! Joss Whedon reshot Justice League in a different direction. His Superman took questions from kiddies ("Did you ever fight a hippo?") and raced Flash for brunch. Every decision angered somebody. Now the new regime is scorching the earth. The logic is creative and financial, I think. Executives in boardrooms are worried that Earth's most famous superhero is losing box office ground to, like, Dr. Strange.
Director Jaume Collet-Serra isn't as distinct as a Whedon or a Snyder. He's a vulgarian professional, though, someone you trust with Liam Neeson on a murder plane. So Black Adam looks like a toy aisle after an earthquake, all garish Justice Society golden-green. I'm curious to know what authorship he had with Cavill's cameo. Superman walks on with John Williams' famous score. But this is a movie that uses "Paint it Black" (because the main guy is Black Adam) and "Power" (because every superhero needs his theme music). Was there some obvious needle-drop Collet-Serra would have preferred? "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down? "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas?
I'm having fun, because this Superman mostly didn't. There are people who think Cavill starred in the three best Superman movies — or the three best movies, period. Let's declare a truce and meet in no man's land for a moment of shared grief. I didn't care for the movies around him, but I liked Cavill, and wanted him to get one more shot. I love the silly iPhone scene from the theatrical League, non-mustache and all. One kid asks, "What's the best thing about Planet Earth?" The actor's reaction is marvelously theatrical. He blinks seven times, lifts his chin into a propaganda-poster pose, stares at a horizon, and smiles a toothy grin.
HBO Max
The Brit's American voice is soft and deep — a whisper through a bass drum — and he has made his body into an unbelievable Rob Liefeld drawing of what strength looks like. There are obvious things an actor like that can do with Superman. Every Clark Kent scene could be a goofy, a human anvil in nerdface. Cavill's journalist just looked, well, hot: A hipster newscaster, maybe a start-up CFO. Usually there's the You've Got Mail dynamic with Lois Lane, who loves glossy Supes and ignores boring old Clark. But Amy Adams' reporter always knew her hero's secret identity, and their plot-stuffed films left no time for sparks to fly. Meanwhile, one expects a certain lightness from the hero in costume — a regal self-awareness, like he's trying to deflate how awesome everyone thinks he is. Snyder, let's agree, is heavy. So Cavill lost dads and died hard.
In other movies, the actor has played up his levity, and showed how his size could be funny on purpose. In 2015's The Man from U.N.C.L.E., his secret agent pours chianti and nibbles a sandwich to watch a bullet-y boat battle. He doesn't change his expression when he drives a truck through a boat into the water — a deadpan you expect from, well, Superman. Meanwhile, 2018's Mission Impossible — Fallout turned Cavill into a bad attitude on legs. He does a different kind of fighting there, dependent on gravity, limited CGI, and the weird humor of a brawl that lasts too long.
Because I liked him so much in those films, I waited patiently for the mythic Man of Steel 2. A direct sequel promised cruising altitude: No origins, no deaths, no superteam. The fact that Cavill never got to do that — never got to just be Superman — is a disgrace of our blockbuster era. It's Amazing Spider-Man and X-Men Origins: Wolverine all over again, huge money and long years spent producing commercials for future endeavors.
It's notable, I think, that Cavill has a couple more spy movies lined up. The classic Superman story is a secret espionage tale about a man with two identities — or three, if you believe in a private Kal-El cosplaying dorkiness behind glasses and grandeur in a cape. It's also notable, I worry, that two-ish cameos post-Justice League utilized Williams' 1978 theme. All the exertion of Cavill's three proper movies, it seems, could not out-icon a forty-year-old film with zero digital effects and zero Batman.
The Williams score was in Black Adam but also 2019's Shazam, which contains the single most charming Superman moment in the whole DC Extended Universe. It's also — bummer paradox! — a scene Cavill skipped. I get it. You spend years on a moody trilogy about a space-god's journey beyond death, so maybe it just seems wrong to show up in a grade school cafeteria for a credits stinger. Instead, a stunt double rocks the "S" and carries a lunch tray to surprise a super-fanboy. Freddy (Jack Dylan Grazer) gasps, so shocked he's actually scared.
The cut to black is funny, but still disappointing. Don't you want to know what Superman talks about at lunchtime? Too much of Cavill's tenure depended on the broken promises of future fun: a Darkseid showdown, a solo sequel, some grand Dwayne Johnson plan to build a cinematic universe out of Dwayne Johnson. I'll treasure the little moments where Cavill showed us his graceful and funny sides, and leave him in my own personal deleted scene. See the hero moments before that Shazam appearance, arriving at the cafeteria, grabbing a tray. He is Superman, and he waits in line like everybody else.
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