—three sticks of doom
A crowd is gathering around the cafe. Doc Ock’s mechanical tentacles are coiling sinuously, and he tells you you’d better bring him Spider-Man, or he’ll turn your lady friend into tasty mincemeat pie. What do you do?
Like any red-blooded geek, I was at the theater last weekend watching Spider-Man Deux. Once I got past my irritation with the smarmy I, Robot preview, the triple-bond adhesives on the floor, and the way that Rolling Stones song is being manhandled and exploited by American Express, I settled in to watch what I figured would be a passable sequel to a decent film.
Gentle Reader, I was not expecting much.
But this treatment of the ultimate Webmaster has one thing going for it that the original didn't. Alfred Molina. Alfred Molina is an international treasure, and not just because he played that guy who stole the statue from Indiana Jones at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Here, Molina thoroughly masticates scenery in the role of Dr. Otto Octavius, a cultured scientist whose wife and dreams both perish in an experiment gone horribly wrong (it's something to do with fusion and creating a miniature sun—the details escape me). The key to Molina's portrayal of the havoc-wreaking Doc Ock is a skillfully calibrated bipolarity, so that he seems fully at ease and natural, whether sipping Chardonnay in a boho turtleneck or shot-putting taxis across crowded boulevards. This gent brings style and intellect to the art of villainy, much like Alan Rickman did in Die Hard. Bravissimo. And to think, all we got with the original was a campy Willem Dafoe transforming into the Green Goblin. How were we supposed to buy this? I mean, he was so clearly evil to begin with.
And then there's the love triangle (M.J. Watson, Peter Parker, and Spider-Man), which has expanded to become a quadrangle, now that a beefy astronaut is in the picture. The quadrangle even threatens to morph into a pentangle (is there such a thing?) with the introduction of a doe-eyed and emaciated Russian neighbor girl who clearly has the hots for Peter. (This little plot thread seems to have wandered into the film by mistake, however—after giving Peter a piece of cake and some milk, she never appears again.) Anyway, I'm fairly satisfied with the way the filmmakers resolved the romance equation. I was beginning to suffer from nobility fatigue, what with Peter being all magnanimous and refusing to date M.J. because he was afraid his enemies would hurt her. Yeah, um, Peter? In case you hadn’t noticed, this chick seems to be prime prey for diabolical villains, whether or not you are officially dating. So just give up on the patriarchal protectorate business, and let the lady make her own decisions for once.
Speaking of the lady, Kirsten Dunst is still good, and she still hasn’t figured out how to put on a bra. It’s hard to make much of a "superhero girlfriend" role, but she brings a warmth and independence that has rarely been seen since Margot Kidder's bossy, ambitious Lois Lane in the '77 Superman.
James Franco is competent in his role as Harry but, with the exception of a weird pseudo-Hamlet scene, he doesn’t get enough to do. Since the last picture, Harry Osborn has become a slimeball business tycoon who is (nominally, at least) best friends with Peter Parker, but hates him at the same time because of his known friendship with Spider-Man. Confused, yet? Suffice it to say that Harry spends a lot of time James Dean-ing around the city, looking maudlin and making weird accusations at inappropriate times, like Peter Parker’s birthday party (can’t a superhero even get a break on his birthday?). But then, Harry is pretty much an archetype, which is the only thing that allows him to get away with shouting "I’m ruined!" and shaking his fists at the sky like some kind of uber-chiseled, postmodern Citizen Kane.
My favorite thing about Spider-Man 2 is that it’s unapologetically quirky. For instance, have you ever wondered whether Spider-Man launders his spidey-suit? He does, and sometimes the colors run, making red and blue tie-dye of his white boxers. There’s also a great scene where Spider-Man is riding in an elevator, engaging in awkward conversation with a businessman (the ever-smirking Hal Sparks). "It looks uncomfortable," the guy says, looking at his costume. Spider-Man is silent for a beat, then agrees. "Sometimes it rides up in the crotch." These kinds of scenarios are bizarre, but absolutely charming. What’s great about Peter Parker/Spider-Man is that he doesn’t live in some artificial superhero realm, blissfully exempt from the problems of everyday life. He hides from his landlord. He has problems with girls. He loses his pizza shop job because—even utilizing his extra-special gifts—he just can’t make deliveries on time. In a lot of ways, he’s got it worse than most of us normal people. And that's why we so willingly lend him our sympathies for the span of two hours.
Three sticks of doom are awarded to Spider-Man 2. In this movie, the miniature, fully gravitational sun created by Doc Ock is the only thing that sucks.