"Spider-Man 3": Feelings, Woe, Woe, Woe, Feelings

By Lucia Bozzola, May 8, 2007
Somewhere into the second hour of the third movie of the Spider-Man epic trilogy, I couldn’t help thinking of a throwaway Friends moment. Phoebe, being Phoebe, wonders why “Spider-Man” isn’t pronounced like Goldman. Chandler (naturally) fields that one, replying, “It’s not his name. He’s not Phil Spiderman. He’s a spider Man.” Indeed—except that Spider-Man in Spider-Man first comes to life as adolescent boy Peter Parker. He needs to grow up a little before he becomes Spider-Man. He needs to overcome office politics to get a full-time job. He needs to understand what marriage really means. He needs to fight crime for the right reasons. And he needs to grapple with the big questions in life. Like whether he truly wants to wear his hair in bangs and look like a member of Fall Out Boy.

I realize Spider-Man 3 should be right up my alley. Richard Corliss even used the tantalizing label “subversive” in his review in Time. To paraphrase his explanation, Spider-Man 3 is actually a melodrama dressed up as an action film, centering on feminized men who get so in touch with their feelings that the movie leaks more tears than a Bette Davis weepie. That’s what I, a chick looking for a flick that isn’t, strictly speaking, a chick flick should want, right? Unfortunately, that review is more engaging than the movie. I was warned that it was a bit of a hairball. And alas, while it sometimes verges on a tantalizingly insane hairball—I’d expect nothing less from Evil Dead auteur Sam Raimi— it’s ultimately just a big, slimy, yakked-up mess. It’s the kind of flashy mess that made me think about all of the starving children that could have been fed for $250+ million. That is not what I want to be thinking about while I watch my mega-budget summer blockbusters. I want to be entertained. I do not want to watch dramatic scenes that are of the same caliber as the woeful later seasons of Beverly Hills 90210. I also do not want to watch a story that feels like scenarists Raimi, his brother Ivan, and Alvin Sargent put several Spider-Man comic books into the Cuisinart and then typed up the results. Not even a $250 million Cuisinart could turn that mash into a gourmet treat.

This is especially disappointing because Raimi proved in A Simple Plan that he knows how to direct a good dramatic story with classical simplicity. Granted, he seemed to have lost that touch in Spider-Man 2, where every key theme was stated, re-stated, re-stated again for the slow Joe in the back row, and then re-stated several more times for good measure. In this regard, Spider-Man 3 is no different. Raimi, when not playing with Cuisinarts, seemed to be wondering just how many different ways he could spend Sony’s money. Why have one villain when you can have three, three for the price of one? One annoying love interest isn’t enough—let’s have two. Let’s also throw in four variations on the anguished father-child relationship, and two romantic rivals to go along with those two love interests. And don’t forget the shredded Hefty trash bag Id From Outer Space. No wonder the action sequence featuring a construction crane teetering out of control on a skyscraper ended so suddenly that I couldn’t help wondering what the fuck happened to the crane (seriously, it’s swinging out of control. Did it fall? Did it magically stop swaying like a hula dancer?). It’s A.D.D. Theater, brought to you by the manufacturers of PlayStation Portable. Not even an action sequence—the reason these movies are made—can be taken to its logical conclusion. There’s just too much to do!

As a result, it’s hard to care when the waterworks start flowing in earnest at the climax (of which, shockingly, there are several). Corliss assumes that Spider-Man’s primary audience, i.e. teen and twentysomething boys, won’t like the alleged bait-and-switch wherein they arrive expecting super-cool action, and what they get is Adult Drama. I say Sony needn’t worry (and not just because the first weekend broke the requisite box office records). There is no Adult Drama here—not any that has any emotional impact, anyway. Such things usually require patience, character development, subtext: qualities Spider-Man 3 sorely lacks. This isn’t to say that I’m dumb enough to walk into Spider-Man 3 expecting Antonioni or Ozu, and then get all in a huff because it’s bubblegum. Rather, I’m just not buying what Raimi’s selling when Peter et al. start mewling in superficial grief. I mean, it’s nice and all to see men get in touch with their emotions and show their sensitive sides, but when the dialogue that Explains Their Feelings is laid on with a forklift, that tends to ruin the mood. More important, Raimi never lingers on any plot thread long enough, nor elicits heart-rending performances from wooden Tobey Maguire (who seems to have one facial expression) and droopy Kirsten Dunst (darling Kiki, I’d happily see a Spider-Man you’re not in), to create the kind of sob-inducing effect Corliss figures teen boys detest. The only tragic end that might even come close is the fate of Harry “My Father Didn’t Really Love Me So I’m The New Goblin” Osborne. He’s had the luxury of appearing in all three installments, and James Franco has charisma to burn. But he’s surrounded by so many other anguished men that he simply becomes part of the keening noise.

Raimi’s meat grinder/sledgehammer storytelling method doesn’t do Peter Parker any favors, either. After all, the main “emotional” attraction is supposed to be that Attack of the Killer Goo and what it does to our boy. The viscous black yuck that conveniently crash lands by Peter’s favorite love web (where’s it from, the Krypton Tar Pits? eh, who cares) leads to a key step in maturity: Facing Your Demons. As Dylan Baker’s handy-dandy physics professor steps in long enough to tell us, the substance enhances one’s aggression (go figure), and other traits that are already present in one’s self. Apparently, in his heart of hearts, Peter really wanted to be a morph of Dean Martin, John Travolta, and Gene Kelly with an emo haircut. This was news to me, but whatever. Anyway, once we get past the funny-strange spectacle of Peter getting down with his bad self, we are supposed to be appalled at how callously he treats the devoted Mary Jane and Bryce Dallas Howard’s disposable blonde Gwen Stacey. Since they don’t really register beyond being female, it’s a little hard to feel their pain. We are also supposed to be appalled when he goes after Thomas Hayden Church’s iron-jawed Sandman with furious vigor because he wants to avenge his dead uncle. Geez, Sandman just wanted to take care of his sick daughter—he’s not bad-bad. Again, this plot thread is so cursory (and the action so CGI PG-13 pretty) that it just seems like an excuse to do another groovy crash-bang number with subway trains. Is Peter heartbroken by his own assholery? Is he horrified when he sees Topher Grace’s gleefully venal Eddie Brock turn into black Spidey doppelgänger Venom? Probably. And if the more gifted Grace had played Spider-Man, then perhaps Peter’s horror and anguish would have leapt off the screen, as it were.

Ultimately, though, Corliss’s assumption is most curious because of something he himself observes about Spider-Man 3. The movie is essentially a boys’ club, with the boys taking on the girly emotions as well as the physical activity. As such, it also deals with such boy-ish concerns as loyalty to one’s best male pals, and coming to terms with a paternal legacy. This is nothing new in the land of male weepies. More crucially, it’s also nothing new in the land of superheroes. Batman and Superman have plenty of emotional baggage to carry on their buff shoulders besides love interests. Why would the fan boys be turned off by Spider-Man 3 when it tries so very, very (very) hard to delve into the same psychological terrain? There is nothing the least bit radical or, heaven help us, “subversive” about Spider-Man 3’s lachrymose plot. It’s just more of the same dross, slapped together with incoherent abandon, and tied up with a shiny $250 million bow. I will say this, though. Spider-Man 3 makes me even more anxious to see Christian Bale’s Bruce Wayne wrestle with his Batman demons in The Dark Knight.