Christopher Reeve and 1998's 'Rear Window'

Didn't know there was a 'Rear Window' remake starring Christopher Reeve after he was disabled? There's a reason for that.

In honor of the 70th anniversary of Rear Window happening this week, taking this one off the paywall for everyone to read.

Up until recently, actor Christopher Reeve was the most famous disabled person. And yet, like most actors who became disabled later in life, he didn’t make many features after the 1995 horseback riding accident that left him a quadriplegic. I didn’t know of any films (though I was aware he’d appeared on an episode of the CW series Smallville), until I discovered he appeared in a made-for-TV remake of the 1954 Alfred Hitchcock film Rear Window.

There’s not a lot of info out there on the movie, and it’s odd that considering the snazzy (and VERY ‘90s) neo-noir trailer with Artisan Entertainment’s logo preceding it, that this aired in the States on ABC. But it was an event, marking the first time Reeve had been on-screen, in a narrative feature, in two years. As far as Rear Window remakes goes it’s not great. It’s cheesy and dated, with so much fascination about this burgeoning thing called the Internet and a lot of recorded voyeurism that plays very skeevy in the era of revenge porn.

I’m more fascinated to look at Reeve’s performance as Jason Kemp because Rear Window is less a remake of Hitchcock’s feature and more an advertisement for why Hollywood, at the time, should continue working with Reeve. Make no mistake, this is Reeve’s attempt to remind Hollywood that though he may be disabled that’s no reason to avoid casting him in features.

The basic tenets that we now see as stereotypes of disabled cinema are on full display: Jason is a white male, disabled late in life (practically a PSA for the hazards of cell phones while driving), and is insanely wealthy. He has 24/7 care and a voice-activated housing system that would make Alexa blush. It’s fairly comical when Jason says “Do you know how expensive it is to be disabled in America?” Yes, says the man with the ability to enter his expensive loft, pay bills, and order a pizza with just a voice request….in 1998!

But we also get SEVERAL reminders from, mostly from Reeve himself, that his disability is “temporary.” Much of this is wishful thinking—before his passing in 2004, Reeve still required round-the-clock care and was a full-time wheelchair user despite his claims that he did regain movement in certain parts of his body—and is hard to reconcile for disabled watchers.

The concept of a miracle cure is often used in ableist fashion, and while it’s doubtful Reeve didn’t know about his own internalized ableism, it exists in his own treatment of the roll which, weirdly, has moments of progressivism, especially in Jason’s relationship with Claudia (Darryl Hannah in the Grace Kelly part), which has genuine moments of tenderness and sexuality—the film ends on a sexual allusion, of all things.

But, really, the biggest takeaway I got from Rear Window 1998 was how little has changed in regards to disabled representation in film. This movie, whether intentionally or not, played as a reminder to audiences (and, no doubt, execs) that Reeve was still a good actor and should be hired. Part of why the movie focuses heavily on his rehabilitation plays as a reminder that he’s still powerful and hasn’t, presumably, lost anything. Remember, according to him this is temporary. And yet the film’s lack of success—however one would have judged that—acted as proof that audiences didn’t want to see Superman disabled.

I watched this thinking of William Wyler’s conversation with Harold Russell, the two-time Oscar winner and disabled performer in 1946’s Best Years of Our Lives. Russell was interested in giving acting a go (he’d just won the award that proved he was good at it, after all) but Wyler told him there wasn’t going to be an increase in roles for disabled performers, and I’m sure people are still told that now.

On the one hand, Rear Window shows how disability can be utilized in a feature film, and it shows why disability is far easier to write into films than we’re currently seeing. But, it also shows the limits of the types of disabled performers we want to see, ones free of the aesthetic reminders of disability. It’s just sad all around .