Goodness at the Crossroads

By RICHARD CORLISS

SUPERMAN III Directed by Richard Lester

Screenplay by David Newman and Leslie Newman

He strides through Metropolis with a heavy, sexy gait, as if John Wayne had just discovered his libido. A three-day beard prickles the lantern jaw. His hair has lost that Wildroot sheen, and the brilliant red cape has turned a dirty maroon. Even the cape's bold insignia looks tarnished: the S coils like a sinister serpent. From every corner of the Big Apricot, citizens avert their eyes, hardly daring to whisper: Can this be ... Superman?

In comic books, on TV in the '50s and in two hugely successful movies (1978 and 1981), Superman has triumphed over nearly every species of injustice. The villains of Metropolis bang their clenched fists against his chest and go away whimpering. Preternatural varmints from the planet Krypton attempt to bend his will to theirs and end up with splitting headaches. But now, perhaps, the Man of Steel has finally met his match: his own rotten self. See Good battle Evil in a schizophrenic clash that makes for the most entertaining and affecting Superman yet.

Superman's personality has been threatening to go splitsville ever since he was saddled with the alter ego of Clark Kent, ace reporter and consummate nerd of the Daily Planet. Clark is every clumsy, sweet-souled teen-age boy who ever fantasized scoring the big touchdown or scoring with the prom queen; Superman is the 6-ft. 4-in. embodiment of that dream. This man is both men, hulk and hunk, and no telephone booth is big enough to house the inherent contradictions.

In the earlier stories, the rivalry was played mostly for romantic-comedy laughs. The first two Superman movies were at their most engaging when they updated the screwball sensibility of old Hollywood, casting Super Clark (Christopher Reeve) as a gently bumbling Fred MacMurray type and his inamorata Lois Lane (Margot Kidder) as a hip career woman in the Rosalind Russell mold. Superman III expands on the humor and enriches the pathos by phasing out Lois and introducing a new love interest: Lana Lang (Annette O'Toole), the girl Clark left behind in Smallville. Lana respects Superman but carries a torch for Clark. And the man in question has trouble figuring out which one he is. Soon enough, he will have a more serious conflict to worry about: whether he is the ultimate good guy or the meanest dude in Metropolis.

This is still Superman, of course, who is no more subject to mid-life crises than he is to dandruff. If he is made to turn sour, there must be a reason. Enter a triad of villains--Megamogul Ross Webster (Robert Vaughn), his ugly, scheming sister Vera (Annie Ross) and his "psychic nutritionist," the alluring Lorelei Ambrosia (Pamela Stephenson)--and one nebbishy computer genius gone astray. His name is Gus Gorman, and since he is played by Richard Pryor, two things are certain: Gus will be on Superman's side in time for the climax, and the film will turn a healthy profit before the summer is over. Screenwriters David Newman and Leslie Newman, who have worked on all three Superman movies, are canny enough to bring Pryor on early; he runs through his engaging repertoire of whinnies and grimaces, demonstrating an unexpected mastery of computers, and, with shambling grace, falls in with the film's light-comic spirit.

Webster is the richest, greediest man in the world. How rich? He has his own MX missile; he schusses down a private ski run atop his skyscraper penthouse; he has never worn the same pair of socks twice. How greedy? He almost corners the coffee-bean market by directing one of his satellites to beam down a hurricane on Colombia (where, he notes wryly, "coffee is one of the two major crops"). Then, when Superman foils his scheme, Webster uses Gus' computer skills to discover virtually all the elements of Kryptonite. It is when Gus improvises the last unknown element--cigarette tar!--that Superman turns bad and fights the still good Clark Kent to the death and beyond.

The film is stocked with sprightly gags--from the opening credit sequence, with its Rube Goldberg series of mishaps, to the evil Superman getting a wicked charge out of setting the leaning tower of Pisa aright. Director Richard Lester (A Hard Day's Night, Petulia) paces the jokes to his trademarked sprung rhythm and sees that they are deftly executed by his engaging cast. Vaughn may lack the top-dog malevolence needed for an archvillain, but he communicates the fun he had playing the role. O'Toole, whose cheerleader beauty has too often been camouflaged on TV and in bad movies, blossoms here into that rare Hollywood star: someone who can make goodness seem sexy.

One might say the same for Christopher Reeve. Superman is a role that offers as many pitfalls as opportunities: surrender to parody and the part becomes as two-dimensional as newsprint; emphasize the stalwart heroism and the audience falls asleep. Reeve brings both a light touch and sufficient muscle to Superman. And when he goes bad, he is a sketch of vice triumphant, swaggering toward the vixen Lorelei for a sulfurous kiss. It is largely to Reeve's credit that this summer's moviegoers will look up at the screen and say, "It's a hit... It's a delight . . . It's Supersequel!"

--By Richard Corliss This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.