Lois Lane makes a crummy first impression. She’s thin-lipped, strident, and self-involved; you can see how Clark Kent’s disguise of bumbling-plus-birth-control-specs could dupe her so handily (despite there never having existed such a black-haired, blue-eyed, 6?3?, 225-pound reporter-mancake—unmarried, heterosexual, or otherwise—in the history of movable type). Yet as a journalist interviewing an indestructible space alien, she devolves into a hair-flipping, loin-scrambled giggle of a girl. She’s supposed to be a watchdog, a serious reporter, but over seven decades of revamps and reboots in every medium, Lane wants the scoop way less than she wants to get scooped up. Frankly, it’s gross.

Lois Lane is an ass-ache, and she’s nuts, and yet somehow she’s absolutely long-term-relationship material. It’s how attraction works on planet Earth: Dualities and contradictions are interesting. Superman knows her secret-shame supplicant self—the eyelash-batting, Electra-complex-riddled damsel who delights in getting rescued—as well as he knows the tenacious, pugnacious, ball-busting careerist. And Superman chooses the package deal. That the godlike Kal-El wants complicated Lois Lane makes him instantly more interesting. Superman kicks it hoi polloi. Perry White? A cartoon. Jimmy Olsen? Sidekick. Lois is the litmus test for the relatability of any Superman. So one decision we can all frown-nod our approval at is the casting of Amy Adams in Zack Snyder’s upcoming Superman reboot. On this, they totally nailed it.

Of the talent that has voiced or played Lois onscreen—Anne Heche, Teri Hatcher, Dana Delany, Phyllis Coates, Noel Neill, Christina Hendricks, Kyra Sedgwick, Erica Durance—it’s Margot Kidder in her movie portrayal who is the most beloved. You could read Kidder like a book; her saucer eyes gave everything away. Her Lane was scrappy and had a chip on her shoulder because it was 1978, when ambition in the workplace meant back talk and pantsuits (even if they were pastel). She could ask Superman if he could x-ray-vision her underpants yet made the query seem innocent. It was skank-free and properly weird. (That’s why Kate Bosworth’s clenched, beautiful hauteur in Superman Returns didn’t connect—Velcro needs barbs and tangles. If director Bryan Singer had flipped Bosworth for Parker Posey’s 36 percent evil, messy zaniness in the same movie, Lois would have had the scribbly internal drama that makes her engaging.)

Judging from her early career, Adams could’ve played old-timey Lois in a heartbeat. With her lilting musical-theater voice and precise timing, she could certainly bristle and brusque on par with Coates’ smart, ladylike ’50s-television Miss Lane. But that would be too folksy for a modern Lois. For that, look to Adams in The Fighter, where her timbre registers a half octave lower and her cartoon fawn features are blurred by a beer-drinker’s bloat. She can bury her princessy prissiness under ferocity.

That’s what we—and Superman—need from a Lois. See, with Lois, Superman surrenders completely. Always. In matters of love, Superman’s something of a bottom. He constantly toys with the idea of abdicating, Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow? style, giving up his powers and living the straight life just to be with her. You know what would happen if he did? The last son of Krypton, the lonely kid from Smallville, the Daily Planet worker-bee milquetoast, and the Man of Steel would all collapse, quantumlike, into one reality. And he’d be a pill—endless issues, dozens of superpowered enemies. The woman who could handle all that would have to be a catch. And Amy Adams could hold that dude down. Easy.

Guest columnist Mary H. K. Choi ( This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it ) wrote about movie fight scenes in issue 19.03.