SPIDER-MAN review: power, responsibility, spandex

2002 was something of a big year for high-concept fantasy blockbusters. Spider-Man debuted strongly even against the inevitable power of the second Star Wars prequel, Attack Of The Clones, and then later in the year the second Harry Potter flick duked it out against the middle Lord Of The Rings. Those of us lucky enough to be that perfect target-demographic age of 12 that year found ourselves going to the cinema a lot, and often. The kind of escapism afforded by these flashy tales of noble heroes was perfect for us, and it was a golden age for the wish-fulfilment hero fantasy niche.

But let me finally take off my rose-tinted nostalgia-goggles and watch Spider-Man with older, sharper, more cynical eyes. Let’s see if it holds up to memory, and, more importantly, let’s see if it holds up favourably against the many, many movies that have come before and since. The short answer is ‘yes’ — Spider-Man is actually one of the proverbial good comic book adaptations, and despite a bevy of flaws, it manages to whisk us away and engross us in the sometimes tedious world of teenaged geek Peter Parker for the entire two hours at its disposal.

The movie starts off with somewhat of a whimper. About twenty minutes in, I began to feel that sinking disappointment you feel when you realise something you cherished as a child actually sucks (what’s that feeling called? Inverse nostalgia? Nostalshit?). It’s slow and boring and a little bit too obvious, almost self-aware. And then, after what feels like the one thousandth exposition scene in a row, it hit me. Every single scene in this dull opening act is necessary. It’s like director Sam Raimi is furiously laying down the tracks just ahead of the speeding train of the rest of the film. And, although Raimi is obviously keen to get them out of the way as soon as possible, he’s determined to do each and every one of these dead scenes justice. He never cuts or truncates a scene unnecessarily, and it takes balls to stand defiantly by something most people would quickly become impatient with. “Potential franchise” was probably an oft-uttered phrase around the Sony boardroom at the time of production, and Raimi takes the time to set up the fantasy New York setting of the film, and introduce all the major characters and themes of the universe, in order for it to pay off indefinitely into the unforeseeable future. It might not be much consolation for the poor people having to endure this boring first 45 minutes, but it means that for every subsequent Spidey film, we will never be subject to such a cold, necessary but uninteresting setup, ever again. When the film finally does get going, it really gets going, and there really aren’t any more structural defects to speak of.

Allow me a quick diversion. Comic books are frequently maligned as being ”for children.” The juvenile demographic buying the comics ensures that the comic book publishers cater mostly to juveniles — it’s a vicious cycle, with the result that something that started out as an interesting, potentially artistic hybrid of movies and books exploring the nature of crime, punishment, vigilantism, and heroism instead finds itself stuck in the cultural ghetto, where it’s been for decades. Before all those comic book nerds out there start whining about Watchmen, I challenge you to name another comic book series that is anywhere near as cerebral, challenging and socially relevant. Sure, Batman has a strict ethical code that is frequently tested by the fiendishly entertaining criminals of Gotham City, and sure, Wolverine is an anti-hero with claws coming out of his hands, but no other comic book franchise is unified or coherent enough to approach the focused, direct cultural suckerpunch Watchmen unleashed on us all. Plus, Watchmen actually ends, unlike the boringly immortal Superman and company. And don’t even start with that Sin City stuff — one-dimensional bloody noir with a unique art style does not a literary classic make.

Spider-Man has the advantage of time on his side. Published in the 60s as a counter to DC’s runaway Batman and Superman comics, Marvel’s The Amazing Spider-Man also featured a tights-wearing crime-fighting vigilante, but featured a much more relatable protagonist than the rich playboy Bruce Wayne or the, erm, entirely alien Kal-El: Peter Parker, regular guy, high school geek, unlucky in love, ploughing headlong through that hormonal drug trip named puberty. This was a guy a lot of people could relate to. Add to this a cheeky sense of humour and some classic morals and you have a keeper: Spider-Man comics are still published to this day (but for the love of god don’t expect a linear chronology or narrative to the books — comics have this horrible tendency to constantly reboot, refresh, or relocate-to-a-parrallel-universe their most popular characters. This is annoying, to say the least).

Sorry for the history lesson there, I tried to keep it brief, but it helps frame this film against its peers and its source. Anyway, where was I? Right, so comic books are a distinctly American phenomenon, and as such feature uniquely American characters and themes. Heroes have been around since the dawn of storytelling, but the way Americans in particular define and represent heroes is clumsy and shallow yet somehow very compelling. The Spider-Man story features a lot of wish-fulfilment, as well as representing a kind of coming-of-age, discovery-of-identity, bildungsroman not dissimilar to the Star Wars story, but in Spidey’s case, it could all be a metaphor for puberty and high school, two things which really shouldn’t be allowed in a room together.

Okay, okay, we’re finally back to the film. The reason we sit through it, the reason we endure the sometimes-cheesy dialogue and occasionally-overwrought performances, is because of Tobey Maguire’s performance as Peter Parker struggling to juggle family life, study, and the pursuit of his dream girl with saving the world every weekend. Tobey Maguire is a revelation in this. You’d think his buggy eyes and pouty lips would discount him from the hero game, but his physical quirks end up working with, and not against, him. He just seems like an everyday kid. We believe every single emotion telegraphed through those big, soft eyes: every single feeling rings true, and so we are compelled to believe him. He’s gifted but socially inept. Every single child in the history of the universe has felt socially inept at least once, and every single child in the history of the universe has been told  by their parents (often erroneously) that they are special and gifted, and so every single audience member who can remember their childhood is compelled to root for Peter as he struggles against increasingly insurmountable odds. That he becomes physically intimidating, with lightning reflexes, and that he saves the world and receives showers of adulation, and that he ends up winning the heart of the girl — all these things become our reward for having invested in this caricature of our childhood hopes and dreams.

Raimi builds the film well for the bittersweet catharsis of the final scenes. Spidey’s occupation is prohibitive to long-term commitments and relationships, but Peter wants nothing more than to love and be loved by Kirsten Dunst’s girl-next-door Mary-Jane. This conflict between his want — the girl — and his need — to be Spider-Man and rid New York of crime — is a classic storytelling device, and it pays off here in spades because the writers and editors invest just the right amount of time swinging like a pendulum back and forth between each. It’s all tied together by Maguire’s awesome, inviting performance and Raimi’s uncharacteristically restrained direction.

When I first saw this film, I of course had no idea who Sam Raimi was. I was 12, why should I? His hand is only visible in some of the shots he chooses — the occasional swinging crane or jib shot, the occasional low-angle or crash-zoom — and the inclusion of old pal Bruce Campbell in an amusing (but, to a 12-year-old) confusing cameo. Let it not be said that Raimi should ever be obliged to return to his comic horror roots. Here he shows that he is as capable of spinning a classic yarn as he is disassembling and satirising one. The fact is that the Spider-Man films, more than any other film or series of films, actually cracks through to my emotions. It does it effortlessly, seamlessly, and I admire and respect and appreciate Raimi’s efforts in bringing this wonderful experience to me.

There are, of course, flaws to the film. The dialogue is as cheesy as an American burger. There’s a solid line in the sand between dialogue that is tolerable and dialogue that is intolerable, and screenwriter David Koepp spasms back and forth over this line like a freshly caught fish. If a single cheesy line is a dealbreaker for you, avoid this film. The fantasy universe of the film is similarly naff, but the film’s performance and professionalism are enough to suspend my (usually more finicky) disbelief. The villain, while unusually compelling and relatable for a comic-book baddie, seems completely out of place in the story, almost like “Green Goblin” was picked out of a hat of potential villains. Sure, he’s crazy and clever enough to force Spidey through his first major Hero’s Test — save the girl or suffer the children — but surely a more visually and emotionally engaging villain could have fulfilled the same function. Forcing a personal relationship with the unmasked villain is also a bit annyoing, as it adds to the business of an already busy film. And finally, I usually hate to mention source material when discussing film adaptations, but indulge me just this once. In the comics, Peter is dating receptionist Betty, while a running gag is that Aunt May is trying to set Peter up with plain Jane Mary-Jane from next door. I wouldn’t mind the screen-writing switcheroo (it is, in fact, vital to the story), except for a pair of very simple, obvious facts: Kirsten Dunst plays MJ, and Elizabeth Banks plays Betty. Dunst is too cute to take seriously, especially in the make-up and lighting Raimi drenches her in, but Banks is, well, Elizabeth Banks. She’s just about perfect in every way you can think of, and then a few more you can’t. It was a bit of a casting oversight to give a bit role to a woman infinitely more attractive than the heroine, whose very existence propels the entirety of the narrative. Okay, okay, subjective gripe, but seriously … Elizabeth Banks …

On the positive side, we get a mature, cathartic and extremely well-put-together exploration of what the term “hero” means when applied to real people. We get amazing performances from a great cast (JK Simmons as J Jonah Jameson is one of my favourite film characters of all time). We get some inventive and visually stunning aerial combat / travel sequences. But most importantly we get a promise: this film is just a beginning, and all the emotion, drama and tension hinted at here will bear itself out over the course of several sequels. Usually I don’t want a film to beckon a sequel, but in this case, I find the thought of a future without a Sam Raimi-helmed Spider-Man film a rather dull one indeed.

Overall, your enjoyment of this film hinges on a whole bunch of predispositions I can’t proclaim to be able to predict. I reckon I can safely wager you were once a child, but I can’t force myself to believe you’ll take cheesy scenes and lame dialogue seriously, or that you’ll entertain the almost soap-operatic labyrinth of relationships set up in the film, or that you’ll even make it through the excruciating open act, which even I find boring. But the film works for me, and, most importantly, it elicits genuine emotions in me. Fun ones, too, like longing, hope, guilt, laughter and that elusive catharsis, all gleaned vicariously from Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man. And that, for me, cements Spider-Man as a bona fide favourite, the kind of subjective pleasure nobody can diminish or remove — and that, as much as meaningful and provocative art, is what film is all about.

Spider-Man score

74/100