Last night I shuddered from the recognition of growing older,realizing I was nine when I saw Tim Burton's Batman at the drive-in.
It's difficult to compare it with Batman Begins, which I saw last night. The "original" is more my style—creative and full of Prince songs.
However, Batman Begins held its own in the superhero-blockbuster genre. But seeing both it and the Spiderman movies has been a little disconcerting. The leads are all around my age, which seems somehow wrong. Superheroes my age? Nah! I'm only...oh, I'm...twenty-six; I suppose that is adult age.
These films ask me to suspend my disbelief, but it inevitably sinks into my consciousness at points. Like watching fellow twenty-six year old Katie Holmes play an assistant D.A. (oh, and knowing she's shacking up with a 42-year old in real life). Shouldn't she be rowing across a lake, er, creek and talking about prom or something?
Of course, this is not the type of disbelief Hollywood expects me to suspend. It's just my Peter Pan complex flaring up. I guess I'm more comfortable with Beverly Hills 90210-style casting in which 30-year olds portray high schoolers; that gives me something legitimate to disbelieve.
I can adequately play along with the plot and action of superhero movies. I quell the feminist inside me, screaming "why does the man always have to rescue the woman?!" I concede that special humans can fly and change outfits really, really quickly. But my logical (ok, anal retentive) sensibilities creep up while watching the big, messy explosion scenes. I think "ugh, someone has to clean up all that mess!" and "what a waste of money to buy a car just to destroy it".