The speculative investigation into the death of Superman -- i.e., the man who played him on television, George Reeves -- by gunshot on June 16, 1959, divides itself into the present-tense, but in no other sense tense, nosing-around of a shady private eye (Adrien Brody) and a past-tense review of the third-tier career of the deceased actor (Ben Affleck, a stiff even prior to death, several degrees colder and less supple than the real Reeves). An on-the-set vignette of Fifties grade-Z special effects is amusing in an Ed Wood sort of way; and the digital insertion of Affleck alongside Burt Lancaster in footage from From Here to Eternity, although not quite an exact match, is amusing in a different sort of way, a Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid way. And the vintage clothes and cars are nice. However, the parallel plotlines take a long time to shed any light on each other, and never very much light even by the end; and the present-tense one, padded out with the case of an extraneous jealous husband, doesn't hold up its end of things, is more of a rude interrupter, despite the anecdotal interest of the impact of the reported suicide on the detective's young son. None of the three possible scenarios restaged for the cameras alters the essential facts of the matter: Rashomon this is not. Suicide, for an actor imprisoned in a single role, made sense at the time. Suicide still makes sense. The further speculation never seems more than idle. First-time filmmaker Allen Coulter (a TV veteran, albeit "quality" TV, The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Sex and the City, etc.) keeps trying and trying to make it more of a story. And failing, failing. With Diane Lane, Bob Hoskins, Robin Tunney, Molly Parker. (2006) — Duncan Shepherd
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