Spider-Man (2002)

Sam Raimi

USA

121 min, color, English

There are three things that I will never understand about America: baseball, Elizabeth Taylor and the love for comic books. Of these three, the last one is particularly stupefying; the first being just stupid and the second plainly grotesque. Why would otherwise rational and basically good human beings thumb through pages upon pages of rather poorly drawn pictures accompanied by stories that, well, could barely challenge the wits of a five-year old?

Having at one time decided that there must be something that had managed to elude me, I took a comic book with me on a plane. It was not Spider-man but then who cares? It was something equally preposterous, and just as colorful. Being on a plane had its advantages: I could peruse the graphic violence without being afraid that someone who knew me would recognize me, and I could always pretend that the copy belonged to that pimpled kid sweating right next to me. On the flip side, I was not able to tell whether the nausea and general malaise that overwhelmed me were due to the reading material or the particularly punishing turbulence. At any rate, I appropriately bookmarked the comic book with the barf bag before getting off.

Given my openly professed deep love for comic books, one might be surprised that I went to see several of the mind-numbing adaptations that came out recently. After suffering the indignity of being seen in the audience for Blade II, I just had to go and perform le coup de grace with Spider-man. Man's capacity for self-inflicted pain knows no bounds.

I never thought I would hate a Sam Raimi film. Ever. And yet it happened. From the very first notes of Danny Elfman's usually bombastic score (I really like his stuff, but man, this is not style, it's just repetitive), I sensed that Sam was out to cater to the film-going public's lowest common denominator, several representatives of which muched on what appeared to be 200 pounds of heavily buttered popcorn and slurped what I can only surmise was a diet drink. The only fate worse than sitting through an eternity of bad cinema in the company of idiots who relish every second of it, is going to IMDB and seeing that there are about 10,000 of these idiots dispersed among the unaware citizens.

For the one reader from Zimbabwe who has not heard of Spider-man, the epic story is as follows. A high school loser likes a girl, who has a basically good soul but bad conventional taste in men: She goes out with local bully and, I am sure, captain of the football team. It is immediately clear that, against the laws of nature but in accordance with the bylaws of the Writers Guild of America, the moronic kid will inevitably end up with the pretty girl. Slurp, slurp, goes another ounce of heavily-sugared drink.

Rather than impress her with his brains (which would be the usual trick, ranking up there with the "sensitive guy" scam), Peter (played by the dorky Tobey Maguire) gets bit by a genetically enhanced spider. Now, this sort of thing is generally regarded as a bad dating move (see The Fly), but in this case, it only results in him acquiring some muscle without losing the dorky looks. Having no brains with which to impress Mary Jane (Kristen Dunst, who should fire her agent), Peter resorts to brawn and kicks the bad dude across the hall after performing a couple of frightfully inept wire-fu jumps. Then he, or rather, an inexpensive digital copy of him, goes prancing around on the roofs of New York. The CGI was worse than a 1950s Soviet cartoon.

Anyway, Peter decides to use his new skills to make some money, a believable move. However, his uncle dies at a very inopportune time, forcing Peter to reflect on the meaning of life and two-day old refritos. Meanwhile that slut Mary Jane is dating Peter's best friend Harry (James Franco) who manages to conceal the relationship even though the two share an apartment. Now Harry's dad Norman (Willem Dafoe) is a bit strange, having gone mad and stuff, and has the deicidedly unfriendly tendency to kill people around him while wearing a green costume and calling himself "The Green Goblin." This affront to good taste in clothes cannot go unchallenged and Peter/Spiderman goes after him. Then a bunch of innocent bystanders almost die, and a couple of not-so-innocent extras die for real. Then Peter kills Green Goblin by forcing him to wear red. Then Mary Jane realizes she loves Peter but he splits because "with great power comes great responsibility" or some crap. Oh, and Harry vows revenge, setting the hook for Spider-man 2, Spider-man 3, Spider-man: The New Sequel, Spider-man: The Early Years, Spider-man: Reunion, Spider-man: Yellow Goblin, Brother of Green Goblin, and Spider-man: The Fashion Show.

It's pathetic. I already mentioned the laughable special effects, but they have to be seen to be believed. However, this was not what caused me to retch. It was the high-sounding bland and entirely stupid dialogue. From the heavy-handed "power-responsibility" BS (does anyone believe this?) to the implausible love story. Get this: the guy Peter, whose raging hormones can barely keep from pimpling his dorky face, finally gets the girl after spending 2 hours in exruciatingly bad directing and acting, she delivers herself into his arms, and he walks away!!!! NO WAY IN HELL! I do not believe it. Is it really so hard to balance power and responsibility while sharing a bed with the girl of your dreams? I think not (although I would not know, since I have neither power nor am I responsible). And this ridiculous piece of clean family fun is served right after the aforementioned Peter had disgraced the entire male part of the human race by spouting what only Britney Spears fans might construe as a love confession. How embarrassing.

There are other annoyances as well. Bruce Campbell, perhaps the quintessential B-actor, shows up as a rather unconvincing ring announcer. Only my general regard for him causes me to spare an insult. Ted Raimi also pops up as a snivelling newspaper underling. Ted, for God's sake, get a role that does not require you to make a fool of yourself at least once!

So, if you are not a fan of the comic book genre, you will most likely walk out of the theater scratching your head in puzzled silence. And if you are a fan of the genre, I warn you: I have exploding nails I can shoot at supersonic speeds, my pants double as a multipurpose flying/diving device, I can imbue you with fear of Nabisco saltines, and I can use carrots in hand combat (don't ask). So, as you see, there's no use threatening ME! Mu-hahahahahahaha!

P.S. I cannot resist mentioning the chillingly bad scene with the Green Goblin dangling Peter's girl in one hand and a wagon full of boy scouts in the other, heckling Spider-man to make a choice whose life to save. This was a no-brainer! Who cares about a bunch of boy scouts? We can always make some more. Now, good-looking women ready to bed pimpled dorks, that's a rarity that must be preserved, treated with care, and exhibited in museums.

October 25, 2002