You've seen it, your cousin has seen it and that sci-fi freak in your cell bio class with thick-rimmed glasses, a pocket protector and an aversion to proper hygiene has definitely seen it. It has made $223 million in two weekends of work, and its star Tobey Maguire has since been linked with everyone from Kirsten Dunst to Nicole Kidman to Joe Piscipo.
So, instead of reviewing Spiderman--the best comic book adaptation since the first Batman with Michael Keaton--I will put the film under the microscope, exposing some of its gross mediocrities because, as his uncle said right before kicking the bucket, "With great power, there must also come great responsibility." Spidey, I love ya, but for these parts of the movie, you didn't quite come through with that responsibility your uncle was always yapping about:
Product Placement: You and I are a lot alike. I know the first thing I'd do too if I suddenly realized that I could ejaculate a spider web from my wrist is snatch that Dr. Pepper from across the room. Except, where we differ here is that I think you were too subtle in endorsing your primary sponsor mid-film. Instead of merely staring at the label for a good 10 seconds, like you did, upon taking a sip of that delicious soda treat, I would have pranced around the room singing, "I'm a Pepper" at the top of my lungs. I guess we're not so similar after all.
Computer Generated Schlock: You'd think that for its $127 million budget, Spiderman could at least afford to have some decent looking computer graphics. You'd also think that John Tesh would stop making CDs by now. Foiled againÉ.
Low-level Necrophilia: If you were Mary Jane (Dunst), where would you confess your undying love for Spiderman/Peter Parker? The cemetery, silly! Nothing smacks of blustery romanticism quite like a funeral, and MJ does well to capitalize upon the sultry environment.
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