...for a six year old.  And my six year old loves it.  Which is the point, as it were.  Superman is the kind of hero you wanted to be when playing games as a kid. 

"Bang! Bang! You’re dead!"

"NO! I’m bullet proof, and anyways I’m faster than a speeding bullet!"

"AhhhHA! I’ve caught you!"

"NO! I flew away! And I have XRAY vision and laser eyes and I can hear everything."

"Well, I’m really strong and I just threw a car at you!"

"...but I’m stronger than steel!"

With all of that, you have the problem with Superman.  He’s nigh invincible.  Sure there’s the iconic kryptonite, but how many times can you dip into that well? Everytime? Doesn’t that get a little dull?  Well, it does, in my opinion. 

Superman is the greatest of all superheroes and thus the least interesting.  He’s a super strong boy-scout without all the interest in guns and killing things, ie the kind of boy-scout who actually DOES help little old ladies across the street and save helpless kittens. 

I must say, Kudos to Bryan Singer for making a Superman movie that is flat out entertaining out of this; finding conflict and drama where there really isn’t much.  The only real drama possible with superman is the danger to those around him.  Kryptonite is what makes him weak, but his inability to save everyone is what hurts him.  That is where the drama lies, not in the danger to superman but in his inability to save everyone (except Lois Lane, I mean, he can turn back time for her...)

Back to my six-year-old.  He was astounded. I didn’t take him to it in the theaters because I thought it might be too long and talky for him, but I forgot what makes Superman special… he’s Superman.  My son kept interrupting, incredulously at every new feat: 

"Superman can fly?"

"Yes..."

"Superman is bulletproof?!?"

"Yes..."

"He has laser eyes? He can see through walls? The green stuff is the only thing that can hurt him!?!"

"Yes, yes and that’s all that can hurt him!"

"Whoa… Superman is the BEST!"

There you have it.  Superman is the best, especially if you’re six.  I didn’t really think so going in to see it, but after it was over, my inner six-year-old tied a sheet to his back and started jumping off couches and flying down stairs.  Since I’m officially an adult now, my outer twenty-seven year old simply drove a bit too fast in his car, changed lanes dramatically and pretended he was flying low rather than driving fast.  Somehow, I avoided a speeding ticket, I think it would have been difficult to explain my reasoning: 

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Umm… yeah."

"Any special reason you were going 95 miles per hour?"

"Yes… I’m SUPERMAN!"