Losing the thread

Peter Parker's (Tobey Maguire) new spidey-suit brings out the webbed warrior's dark side in Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 3. (Sony Pictures Entertainment)

It’s a compliment that Spider-Man has always been a slightly feminine superhero, and not just because he smartly pairs ballet flats with tights. Neither a tortured loner like Bruce “Batman” Wayne nor an anal perfectionist like Clark “Superman” Kent, Peter is just a gentle science nerd who has managed to channel his youthful bodily excretions into vigilantism.

But in Spider-Man 3, Peter’s strain of sensitivity gets dialed up so high that it screeches wusssss. Peter (Tobey Maguire) is working hard to resolve the communication issues he’s having with his actress girlfriend, Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst), who’s not feeling heard, and he totally respects that. He also likes to get around New York on a motor-scooter resembling an upright French schoolgirl bike — it may or may not have a basket — and he takes great pleasure in an evening watching shooting stars from a web he’s spun between the trees in Central Park.

The full-on wimpifying of Peter Parker requires only a little fluffing, and it’s the set-up for his transformation into something more Maxim. One of those shooting stars is a meteor that, after landing, sends a black tar creature scuttling up Peter’s body, a substance that “amplifies aggression” in its host. It amplifies styling, too: Peter gets a new scuba-black Spidey suit for when he’s a superhero, and bangs and eyeliner — very Jared Leto — for when he’s not. The ladies appear to dig the new playa Peter, turning their heads as he cruises the streets, snapping his fingers like a West Side Story gangbanger. Dancing in a jazz club, new Peter glides and dips bubble blonde Gwen Stacy (Bryce Dallas Howard), wearing an ear-to-ear grin that makes him a dead ringer for Jim Carrey in The Mask, but without the mask.

This goofiness – an odd tonal leap for a superhero movie – isn’t terrible, exactly, but it’s a little uncomfortable, and surprising, sort of like watching your great Aunt get loaded at a wedding: “Wow, I did not expect to see that tonight. I guess someone’s having fun.”

Maguire is enjoying himself, and why shouldn’t he? After three installments, his inner actor is probably tired of underplaying doleful teen Peter or invisible Spider-Man. (How do we even know it’s Maguire under that mask, anyway?) He gets to limber up with a bit of comedy, but it’s the goth drama that probably got the young thespian really excited. “I’ve done terrible things,” mutters the new, grimmer Peter. In his black Spidey suit, he’s a great-looking brooder, hanging out on church spires feeling guilty for entertaining revenge fantasies about his murdered Uncle Ben. Peter shouldn’t be so hard on himself; Spidey noir thinks dark, but he doesn’t really do anything that bad, except for taking a little more pleasure in battling villains than Spidey rouge.

Peter Parker as Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire), right, battles arch-villain Sandman (Thomas Haden Church) in Spider-Man 3. (Sony Pictures Entertainment)

Spider-Man has his pick of opponents to tussle. As yet another creature heaves forth to destroy New York, Peter asks: “Where do these guys come from?” Back issues, apparently. His most impressive new foe is Sandman (Thomas Haden Church), an ex-con named Flint Marko who wanders into a Particle Physics Test Laboratory – a sweet nod to the innocent logic of comic books — and finds his insides sucked out and replaced with grains of sand, turning him into a gigantic, ill-tempered egg timer. Less visually spectacular is Venom (played with typical, enjoyable smarm by Topher Grace), a shark-toothed envy monster and Peter’s weaselly colleague at the Daily Bugle. That’s a full dance card, but there’s always room for another adversary: New Goblin, Parker’s snowboard-riding best friend/archenemy Harry Osborn (James Franco), still mad at Peter over the death of his father, not-so-new Goblin (Willem Dafoe in Spider-Man).

The chorus line of bad guys is a trademark of the three-quel, where the rallying cry is more, more, more. Until now, director Sam Raimi has kept a tight grip on the Spider-Man franchise, branding his first two episodes with a smart balance of loyalty to the comic book culture that owns the dude and a firm belief that non-insiders (the term “outsiders” seems a little harsh for this healthy bunch) can come, too. Hence, Spider-Man 1 and 2 never felt burdened by the earnestness that keeps the Batman franchise so flightless; there’s a sense of play in Raimi’s vision, a nimbleness that invites even the most diehard summer movie-hater to get lost in the game. Raimi leaves enough space between spectacles to allow something human to grow, and that warmth starts with Maguire. Gentle and hangdog, Maguire’s Peter Parker seems as awestruck by his circumstances as we are. Above all, and just coincidentally, the Spider-Man franchise has provided some kind of redemption for New York, injecting joy and victory, no matter how contrived, into a city that was truly under siege not so long ago. In the film’s smart set design, Manhattan isn’t an inflated cartoon but a recognizable place, rife with real-life urban anxiety — something worth saving.

Yet, as often happens, by part three, the law of diminishing returns takes hold. The script, by Raimi, his brother Ivan and Alvin Sargent, is aimless and congested, forever circling a repetitive, simplistic morality. “I’m a good man,” says Sandman, who has been given a neglected backstory about a sick daughter. “You’re a good person,” Peter tells the New Goblin. When Aunt May (Rosemary Harris) drops by, it’s not just to chastise Peter’s housecleaning, but also to deliver a Rousseauian lecture on the choice between good and evil, followed up with a sermon on the perils of revenge. Basically, she orders Spider-Man to get over Uncle Ben’s murder, already; it’s been two whole films!

Why all this yammering that goes nowhere? Could it be that Spider-Man 3 wants to come down against capital punishment? Is our webbed crusader, Queens-born, irked by the way his post-9/11 city is being avenged around the globe today (that’s his job, after all)? One fantastic sequence involving a skyscraper, a loose crane and a Spider intervention seems like a direct response to the unstoppable destruction of two other, unnamed towers.

These weighty ideas bubble along the surface and pop, leaving no residue. In the panic to keep the profitable franchise growing bigger and better, the story gets smaller and smaller; the grand themes flicker and fade, and the quiet minutes in which Peter reminded us of us are shaved away for still more action. Spider-Man 3 is reportedly the most expensive film in history (between $250 million and $300 million US), and Raimi and his millions do make moments of technical beauty. When Sandman first rises from the sandbox, a look of deep horror appears in the flex of a sandy eyebrow; a realization of what he has become. There’s magic in that image, but a series of disconnected, wondrous moments don’t add up to a film.

Soon after he rises, the wind blows Sandman away, limb by limb, an apt metaphor for the opening weekend of the summer popcorn season: very expensive dust in the wind.

Spider-Man 3 opens May 4.

Katrina Onstad writes about the arts for CBC.ca.

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