Superman Returns - About 75% of Him

Seeing a movie lately has turned into an opportunity for a trip into the Twilight Zone for me. You may recall my previous adventure at The DaVinci Code, where I apparently aged 20 to 30 years while watching the movie.

This week, after a viewing of Superman Returns, I realized that I am now establishing a pattern. The warning alarms should have gone off before we even purchased the tickets. The young woman held the tickets back, and pointed to a sign taped to the window. "Did you read the notice?" she announced, pointing.

The paper stated that due to a projection malfunction, "one quarter of the right side" of the screen would not be visible. Refunds would not be given once the movie had been playing for 15 minutes. "Isn't a quarter of the right side of the screen, like, an eighth of the total screen?" I asked my companion. He nodded, and figuring that the missing strip of movie would probably amount to what was chopped off to put the movie on DVD anyway, we purchased the tickets anyway.

Well, aside from the fact that we couldn't read the long, explanatory paragraphs at the beginning of the movie that told us exactly why Superman had been gone, and why he was coming back, we really didn't notice the missing section. Sure, on occasion, Lex Luthor only had half a face, but he was the bad guy anyway.

Besides, we were much too distracted by the stunning special effects in the theatre. At first, we were amazed that this ancient movie house in Cape May, New Jersey, could even handle such electronic wonders. For example, in the movie, there are massive power failures, flickering lights, and electronic noises. At that exact time, the lights in the theater began flickering, buzzing, and a strange squealing noise seemed to come directly out of the ceiling. We realized that perhaps this WASN'T a special effect only when the flickering continued long after the lights and the computers at the Daily Planet had returned to normal.

While my companion went out to the lobby for a minute, bright lights came on in the projection booth, practically blinding those of us left in the theater. I began to think that perhaps Lex Luthor was up there. I turned to my companion as he returned to his seat, ready to tell him what additional electronic mayhem he had just missed, but I noticed that he was holding a handkerchief over his nose, and that he seemed to bring with him a strange odor I couldn't identify.

"The lobby is full of smoke," he reported, and then pointed to the exits. "I think it’s just the popcorn machine, but just in case." Several minutes later the entire theater was filled with the unmistakable odor of burned popcorn. This was about the time we were learning a very important piece of information about Superman (I don't want to spoil it for you, although, it may not be so shocking to you if you see the scene without the aroma of popcorn flambé in your nostrils.)

By the time the movie was over, the air had cleared, but the lights never came back on in the theater. We tiptoed out through a strangely deserted but very tidy lobby out into the cool sea air. At least I think it was sea air. My clothes reeked of burning popcorn. Now those are special effects.