"Truth, Justice, and the American Way" is all well and good, but as far as comic-book heroes go, there's always been something rather musty about Superman. Ever since the character's inception in 1938, various talents have labored mightily to bust him out of his mild manners and Boy Scout–ish values, to little avail. (The interpretation to beat would probably be comic writer Grant Morrison's, whose mid-'90s JLA series featured a Supes who, between pushing the moon back into orbit or punching a hole through time, kvetched endearingly about the impossibility of living up to the public's expectations.) Despite the best of efforts and intentions, the character's personal kryptonite seems to be the very thing that makes him, well, super. The trappings can change, but the character's essential invulnerability and uprightness remain a dramatic stumbling block. How do you identify with a guy, after all, who can literally move mountains without breaking a sweat?

Superman Returns, this summer's designated blockbuster, aims to revitalize the character for a new generation after over a decade of false starts and discarded storylines. (Talents as varied as Tim Burton, Kevin Smith, Brett Ratner, and, god help us, Michael Bay have all taken swings at the material in the past.) In terms of merchandising, this new film may very well inspire a new generation of kids to adopt spit curls and drape towels over their shoulders in lieu of capes. But something feels fundamentally awry. Whereas the similar-in-intent Batman Begins relished the chance to dispense of its existing franchise's woeful neon missteps and start over fresh, director Bryan Singer clearly worships the efforts of his cinematic forefathers (most notably Richard Donner's 1978 Superman: The Movie) and seems reluctant to alter a frame of the existing mythos. It's reverent to the point of stasis.

Singer's premise, concocted with the aid of his X-Men 2 writers Dan Harris and Michael Dougherty, shoehorns its way between installments 2 and 3. After a five-year stint spent amid the shards of his native Krypton, the Man of Steel (Brandon Routh) returns to earth to discover that the world has moved on in his absence. Even his former squeeze Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) is saddled with a Dudley Do-Right boyfriend (X-refugee James Marsden) and a suspiciously puny kid. Fortunately for the plot, chrome-domed supergenius Lex Luthor (Kevin Spacey) soon hatches a scheme for world domination, this time involving magic continent-altering crystals owned by Superman's father, Jor-El. (Even in a miniscule, CGI-assisted cameo, Marlon Brando seems to still be chortling about his record salary from the original.) Although the resulting chaos is occasionally eye-popping, personal relationships take the forefront, to the film's decided detriment. While Singer's approach to the X-Men series—downscaling the heroics and playing up the outsider status of the mopey leather-wearing protagonists—felt like a masterstroke, with these characters it simply seems misguided. More than any other comic-book hero, Superman needs to be big, gargantuan, iconic—not grounded by angst. The performers all seem to share the director's love for the material (with the exception of a woefully miscast Bosworth, who retains not a whit of Margot Kidder's sass) but they remain stuck on the level of talented impersonation.

What everyone forgets is that Donner himself affectionately tweaked and updated the mythos. Despite Superman Returns' $250 million reported budget, there's nothing here that comes even close to Christopher Reeve's inability to find a full-size phone booth in '70s Metropolis. Singer's squarely square homage makes for mostly painless, occasionally rousing viewing—it's difficult to bite back a nerdy, expectant cheer when the John Williams score blares and the opening credits launch into the swooshy font from Donner's original—but the fun remains mainly nostalgic in nature. For a movie featuring a hero who can conceivably give God a wedgie, there's precious little zowie to be found.