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What
absolutely floored me was not just that Spider-Man
could move, but that he
moved like Spider-Man. Not like Tim Burton's idea of how Batman
moves, but how Spider-Man actually moves. This was a film
obviously created by people who actually knew something
about Spider-Man. People who loved Spider-Man and who cared a
great deal about getting it right. They didn't approach the
material in a patronizing manner, something Hollywood has an
incredibly difficult time with. The first hour or so of Superman
was one of the most brilliant moments in super-hero film, but
then they just wrecked it by immediately camping it up soon as
Clark hit Metropolis. The first couple of reels of Tim Burton's Batman
were darkly gothic and a real pleasure to drink in, but Burton
couldn't help himself when he got to Nicholson's Joker, and the
taut plot careened off a cliff and never recovered.
Spider-Man remained disciplined from opening credits
to the final shots of Spidey doing his thing. It set a new
standard: Make It Good. Don't just make it work, but Make It
Good. If you Make It Good, they will come. They will come in
droves. And, better than that, they will go. They will go and
tell people, and other people will come. Spider-Man broke
$100 million in its opening weekend, a figure I guarantee you
not even Stan Lee (whom I know, so I'm not talking out of my
hat, here) could have possibly dreamed. Spider-Man had
Marvel all over it, with both Lee and Marvel top dog Avi Arad
actively involved, where the tradition as, typically been, to immediately
exclude the comic book guys as soon as the deal is inked. Marvel
is all over this film and it shows. There are dumb things
about Spider-Man— the really bad Goblin mask for one, I
almost didn't see the film because of it, and I almost walked
out when Willem Dafoe first suited up— but the amount of
dumbness was clearly kept to a minimum, and I refuse to accept
the idea that that's a happy coincidence. That's what having
Stan Lee in the room gets you.
So the new standard, Make It Good, includes, as a prime
component, Keep The Comic Book Guys In The Room, Moron. This Is
What They DO For A Living. In case it doesn't show, I am
flat-out overjoyed by Spider-Man, a film that may
actually help keep comics alive, as opposed to, say, the Joel
Schumacher gay fest Batman & Robin. I have no problem
with gay fests per se, but Schumacher was making fun of Batman
and company and paying Ahh-nold (I still can't believe it)
twenty-five mill to do it. Batman & Robin not only
killed the Bat franchise, it nearly killed the notion of
super-hero flicks altogether. I'm not sure when or if we'll ever
see Batman suit up again, but Spider-Man has made Black
Panther that much more likely, as now Snipes has to
be thinking, "Spandex sells." Of course, at this writing,
Snipes' team has violated the new deal. They have kept the comic
book guys out of the room. I hope that changes. A recent article
in one of those film previews magazine had sound bites from
Snipes talking about Panther, but talking about Panther
in a way that shows us he's never read the current incarnation
of the character. In fact, the article published a BLACK PANTHER
comic book cover to go along with the article— issue #7 of the
greatly lamented and very silly Jack Kirby run. I hope Snipes
learns the Spider-Man lessons. If he makes the Kirby
Panther, the Joel Schumacher Panther, I may just have to kill
myself.
I'm not sure where the misfire was on Mary Jane. MJ was a man-eater:
a fiery and outgoing person who immediately became the life of
any party and sucked all the air out of any room she walked
into. MJ was aggressive in a playful way, very direct, and used
to make Peter's knees shake just by looking him in the eye. She
was not this... onion... Dunst portrays in the movie, who has no
idea the boy next door has a crush on her. Stan Lee's MJ knew everybody
had a crush on her. She didn't use it to an unfair advantage,
but she had fun with it. She was a party girl. She called Peter,
"Tiger," which was her way of gently mocking him
(actually, she called all the guys, "Tiger," because
there were too many guys to remember all the names). Mary Jane
was a much brighter personality, a much sharper person, than the
Dunst character, who came across as a little vapid and very
bland. Dunst was playing more of Gwen Stacey, Peter Parker's
actual love interest (his romance with MJ didn't really kick
into high gear until Marvel decided to pervert my Spider-Man
versus Wolverine into an excuse for the two to get married,
but that's another story).
I think the film wimped out by not killing Dunst's character.
In the comics, the Green Goblin tosses Gwen Stacey off of the
Queensboro Bridge. Spider-Man saves her with his web line, but
the shock of the fall, and the whiplash of the sudden stop,
snaps Gwen's neck and kills her. This was one of the most
brutally shocking moments in the history of comics, one that
hundreds of writers, including myself, have attempted to top. It
was one of those seminal, almost religious moments where the
standard has been set. Gerry Conway's brilliant writing of The
Death of Gwen Stacey stands as a landmark in comics history, a
moment so shocking it just left twisting for a month, refusing
to believe she was dead, thinking Spidey would get Dr. Strange
or somebody to resurrect her. But, no, she was gone, and that
death and the subsequent showdown with Norman Osborne's Green
Goblin constitute likely the best 44 pages of comics ever
written or drawn (art by the fabulous Gil Kane, tempered by the more
familial inks of legendary Spider-Man artist John Romita).
Has Willem Dafoe tossed Dunst over the bridge, and Maguire saves her only to realize he has not, in fact, saved
her— my
lord, that would be some movie. I have no doubt this scenario
was played out as some point in the development process, but
scratched likely under pressure of the looming franchise and
merchandising. This creative choice was likely one not even Stan
or Arad could change, although every Spider-Man fan knows
what actually happened on that bridge, and every
Spider-Man fan likely walked out of the film knowing they
chumped out when the going got rough: when the film actually
came close, for a brief moment, to the actual intensity of real
comics.
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