What a sad weekend--Derrida, Christopher Reeve, Ken Caminiti--I have fond memories of them all...

Derrida, obviously, is the least distressing of the departures. He made it to 74, and he wrote a million awesome books. That's definitely a good enough life, right Batman?

Nearer and dearer to most readers of this (comics-related) blog, I'm sure, is Superman himself (I wonder how Christine's feeling right now? Reeve is a personal obsession of hers--along with Alan Alda and Judd Hirsch...not sure where I fit into that love-equation!) Now, the Superman movies have never been particularly dear to me. They don't come anywhere close to giving me the Superman stories I want. I'm much more interested in Weisinger/Bates/Maggin craziness/super-pet fun than I am in Siegel & Schuster's original conception of the character--Krypto! Bottled Cities! Spending Christmas in the future with the Legion! Finding the weirdest, most roundabout way of solving a problem, without actually punching anyone with your superfist! Meeting alternate versions of yourself! that's what I like...

Still, the first two Reeve Supermans are unquestionably superior members of their species--the superhero-story-as-action-film. I've often voiced my displeasure at this genre-shift, so I won't bore you with any more of that. Instead, I wanted to say a word about my favourite Reeve vehicle: Somewhere in Time.

It's a time-travel fantasy, clearly inspired by Jack Finney's books. Reeve plays a writer who wills himself into the past in order to make the acquaintance of the subject (played by Jane Seymour) of a painting that he's obsessed with. My first encounter with it was a midnight showing on the local CTV affiliate when I was eight, and it really freaked me out. The film has its flaws, but it also features a perfectly appropriate Rachmaninov score and gauzy cinematography, which entice the viewer into its ephemeral-yet-intimate embrace. I haven't seen it for years, but I seldom go very long without flashing back to an image of Reeve, sitting by himself in a retro Hotel Room, trying desperately to fool himself back out of phase with a reality he can no longer bear, after his experiences in "the past". And Teresa Wright's in it too!

As for Caminiti, well, although he was the youngest of this group (only 41), the really sad thing is that his death comes as no surprise. His problems wth cocaine and steroids have been well documented, and cardiac arrest is pretty much the only possible result of that lethal combination. Still, I hadn't heard about him in a few years, and you always hope that, somehow, people are getting their acts together behind the scenes... Anyhow, he was an important member of several of my NL rotisserie teams in the early nineties--you could always get him cheap, and he always seemed to contribute a little more than expected... By the time he entered his prime (even winning an MVP award in 1996), my interest in (real) baseball had waned, but I always kept an eye on the performance of my little "discoveries" (Edgar Martinez, who only just retired, was his American League counterpart). I have never lost my passion for Strat-O-Matic however! And if I had the game here, I would salute a 1993 Caminiti Houston Astros card! The guy basically gave his life for that MVP award! Now, that's (misguided) devotion...