If Iron Man makes $100 million by late tonight, fine. Obviously good news all around, particularly for Jon Favreau (who will now be offered the grade-A material along with the other cream-of-the-croppers), Robert Downey, Jr. (whose career was on the ropes ten years ago) and the Marvel guys, who were probably driving around town last night in ostentatious babe-magnet cars and lighting their cigars with $100 bills.
And I’m not going to rain on everyone’s mood parade this morning by repeating the old maxim about the success of superhero movies being a direct reflection of feelings of impotency (or a sense of being overwhelmed or crushed by tumbling tides) among 45-and-under males. Because it’s not true!
Except it kind of is. Around the fringes, sorta kinda. I know that real men have their own inner and outer power, whatever that may amount to or however they may define it, and that every day them wake up, grim up and live with that thing.
I liked Iron Man — it gave me no pain and only a little remorse — but let’s have no illusions about what’s really going on here. Apart from the pure enjoyment of Downey’s hipster attitude, some excellent dialogue, high-quality CG, the joy of killing Middle Eastern terrorists and all that.