One rainy afternoon last week, a buddy and I entered the august halls of my local AMC Loews Multiplex and sat back to enjoy Superman Returns, the first new Superman epic in nineteen years.

On television, Superman was a very important part of my childhood. In fact, turning away from a children’s program titled The Magic Cottage to watch Superman, shown at the same time on a different channel, was one of my very first steps towards joining the ranks of the "Big Boys"—or maybe I simply liked watching the guy in tights more than watching the prim young woman in a poodle skirt telling stories and drawing little pictures. So, Superman and all his cohorts, alter ego Clark Kent, editor Perry White, and of course the comely and peppy "love interest" Lois Lane, are firmly deposited in my memory bank.

I liked the idea of having a guy like Superman around, to save us poor mortals from all manner of disaster, natural or man-made. He was like a tall smiling god whom one did not have to worship. I suppose lots of people would like to worship Superman—hence the enduring popularity of the character for almost eighty years. We surely could use him today.

Throughout history, people have created immensely strong legends to protect them from their enemies. The Jews of medieval Poland had their Golem, a soulless monster made by man out of mud who slew dozens of Jew-hating peasants. But he wasn’t much fun and probably was very messy in the bargain—"Look over there, it’s a puddle, it’s a mudpie, it’s the Golem!!!"—It doesn’t really work. Superman, even in his nauseous blue tights with the red briefs worn on the outside cuts a more elegant figure than that.

Superman is such a warm, friendly figure that I have no trouble imagining him as a defender of gay men and women. His cover identity, the doltish Clark Kent, is always at a loss around the ladies—maybe this reflects Superman’s own confusion when among them. However, in the current film, directed by Bryan Singer, the wickedly handsome (even in THAT costume) Brandon Routh has fathered Lois’ son. Still, I’d love to have Mr.Routh/Superman at my side if I were walking through the East Village late at night.

Personally I have never liked Batman, His inner bitterness doesn’t suit my naturally upbeat, if not downright frivolous personality. And I won’t go near the jokes about Batman and the under-age Robin—which, kidding aside, really upset me.

Zut alors, let’s create a few superheroes from our own community. Maybe a supernaturally-powered chef, to keep us well fed—"Faster than a speeding pullet!..."

Or, perhaps Super Discoman—"Able to leap velvet ropes in a single bound!"

Or Super Show Queen—"Able to recite the lyrics for every Broadway show and road company theatre in history."

I could also nominate Billy Beane for Super Athlete. The list is endless, In fact, all gay men are super.

I do not mean to slight the ladies. Interesting news from the comic book world: DC Comics is resurrecting its Batwoman character, killed off in 1979. Batwoman’s street name is Kathy Kane, and spokespeople promise that Bat-woman will be a member of Gotham’s haute monde, will have long red hair, a past relationship with Batman, a funky attitude—and be a lesbian. I wonder if DC will give the new comic its "seal of approval." Anyway, Ms. Kane would seem to be a fine addition to the super hero family. Time will tell.

Here’s a super idea. We ought to elevate that golden couple, Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, two of the earliest lesbian literati and glitterati, to mythic heights. They were glorious, early public role models for productive, harmonious gay lives. Can you imagine, in some future Macy’s parade, balloons of Gertrude and Alice, 200 times larger than life, sailing down Fifth Avenue, arms entwined?

How could I not salute those who do a superb job of parenting, Super-Lesbian Mom? I think stage star Cherry Jones is not only a great actress, but a brave and strong woman as well. The statuesque Miss Jones might herself inspire a float or rubberized, giant icon.

And let’s not forget the super-hilarious Lily Tomlin, I’d like to see a balloon of Miss Tomlin costumed as the hapless telephoniste Ermestine at the head of any parade you want to name.

Then there are the mutants who make up the cast of characters of the three X-Men films. These weird looking and astonishingly sexy folks are held, in some quarters, as being metaphors for us gays—in the films they are persecuted and discriminated against for their bizarre supernatural powers.

I suppose the metaphor holds water, at least up to a point, but maybe we ought to postpone inviting them to roll in the mud with us until at least a couple of the characters announce that they are actually gay. As far as I am concerned, the X-Men are anti-super heroes, but super-heroes all the same and they may hang out with us as much as they want. As the playwright Pirandello said, "Right you are if you think so." In any event, these super-antiheroes are fun to watch.

Come to think of it, super-heroes, gay or straight, are all fun to watch and modern day saints. We hope they are up there watching over us, ready to step in when things go too far wrong. In a world filled with horror, it’s not a bad thing, however naively, to hold on to.

And to think, all of the above came to mind after a simple afternoon at a colorful, witty, often very exciting movie with wonderful special effects. Kate Bostwick was a complex and intriguing Lois, Kevin Spacey, played an elegant and villainous Lex Luthor, and the delightful Parker Posy charmed as Lex’s idiotic girlfriend. Hats off to Superman, but please, Supe, my lad, have Tommy Hilfiger design you some new tights and skivvies.