I saw Superman last night in IMAX 3-D. The ultimate viewing experience.
I didn't hate it.
But I was not swept away.
I just don't know what to say about it.
Except to say that Cyclops really needs his own girl, in his own movie.
And Brandon Routh even sounds like Christopher Reeve. Weird. Kind of off-putting too.
It either needed More romance/realtionship stuff or More action, but somehow I walked away thinking that neither element really carried the movie.
I hate the kid. I hope he grows up to be a villain and makes Lois and Clark hate themselves for forgetting the condom. All mopey and sad and pouty with his uncombed hair drooping greasily over his pale face. Blegh.
I liked the costume (Dear Butcher hates it.)
I liked Lex.
I'm sure I'll watch the inevitable sequel.
I just feel as if I should have a stronger response, good or bad, to the movie.
When we came home last night after hours of movies and a dinner that was WAY too late and even more driving, Dear Butcher discovered that I had left the dog in the back yard. Ohhh. I'm sorry. (He's following us everywhere today, making us trip on him.)
And then, just because, and maybe this is gross, but it made me laugh. And laugh. And made Dear Butcher laugh until his deep throaty guffaws turned into tinny squeaks from the back of his nose. I'm not convinced that it's all that funny on the retelling, but jeez, I think he, at least, hurt himself there.
Late last night Dear Butcher and I fooled around in the reclining chair a little. Afterwards, we're getting into bed and I say in a congratulatory manner, "Damn, man. You gave me the hiccups."
Quickly he replies, "Well, you should have swallowed."
OK, in retrospect, I'm not even sure why that was so funny, but good lord, it killed us last night.