The Web-Slinga

I often wonder if I’m the last in a dying breed. As a teenager, I bought the bound volumes of The Amazing Spider-Man and read Nos. 1–40.

Years later, I picked up the DVD box set of the 1967 animated television series. I only made it through about half—the episodes start to get repetitive. It’s a solid show, but I’m convinced the theme song did more to boost its popularity than the actual content.

Back in 2002, when Tobey Maguire debuted as Peter Parker, I had one major gripe: Spider-Man didn’t build his web-shooters. In the comics, he invents those wrist devices himself.

At first, that might seem like a small detail.

However, the original writing shines when Peter adapts to his new abilities. It’s his intelligence—his bookishness—that combines with the radioactive enhancements. He doesn’t just inherit power. He applies brains to brawn, inventing the web-shooters as a tool, not a gift.

Ultimately, only when he merges his mental edge with his physical upgrades does he truly become a superhero.

In the comics, Spider-Man also creates a utility belt packed with web cartridges, spider tracers, a camera, and a buckle that projects the spider-signal.

Batman showed up in the ’30s. The Amazing Spider-Man launched in 1962. I can’t say for sure, but the similarities pile up—especially when you factor in the Spider-Mobile, a dune buggy that’s more headache than help. Therefore, it wouldn’t surprise me if Stan Lee crafted the series as a cheeky answer to DC’s caped crusader.

Each issue followed a familiar structure: Peter struggles through life. A villain with layers storms in. Spider-Man faces off and usually loses the first round. The superhero problem always mirrors Peter’s real-world conflict.

Then he’d devise a plan—maybe even invent a new gadget—and take down the villain.

Now about this film…

Calling it The Amazing Spider-Man is misleading. It actually pulls from the “Ultimate Spider-Man” comic series. I won’t wade into that mess right now.

That said, this time Peter builds the web-shooters himself. He fights The Lizard (an earlier villain than the Green Goblin), and Mary Jane is swapped out—different name, different hair. The Daily Bugle and J. Jonah Jameson? Nowhere in sight.

The cage-fighting subplot? Gone. But they give it a respectful nod. To be fair, the original film handled it well, and X-Men already did a similar thing. I respect the decision to avoid recycling that arc.

Even so, that’s just one of several story beats they sacrificed for the reboot.

Anyway—enough comic book rambling. Let’s dig into The Amazing Spider-Man.

First off, can we officially retire the whistling teapot as a tension-building device? Anyone who uses it from now on is a hack. That’s law.

Notably, Stan Lee and Steve Ditko—the original creators—contributed to the screenplay.. If this isn’t the best Stan Lee cameo ever, I don’t know what is. I know some people hate the cameos—I don’t get it. That feels like forced contrarianism.

Surprisingly, Martin Sheen disappears into Uncle Ben. I didn’t even recognize him.

Sally Field, who didn’t impress me as Mary Todd Lincoln, nails it as Aunt May.

Emma Stone is her usual fantastic self. I’m into the blonde Gwen Stacy look. (Also, Gwen Stacy? Classic “firsty, firsty; girly, girly.”)

Moreover, Emma’s got great comedic timing. But can’t we just call her Mary Jane and rinse Dunst from the collective memory?

I saw The Bachelorette. It was… ungood.

Denis Leary holds his own. Not an easy role, but he injects some fun.

Andrew Garfield does a solid job. I like the more introspective, hipster Peter Parker. The only letdown is his banter—Spidey’s supposed to crack jokes, and the writing just doesn’t deliver.

Now here’s a moment I found truly absurd.

After Peter gets beaten by Flash Thompson (the worst scene in the movie, though I doubt Chris Zylka is to blame), the crowd disperses.

One random kid—not Flash’s buddy, just some guy—kicks Peter’s camera across the pavement while he’s lying there. Totally unprovoked.

Nobody acts like that. It’s a hilariously bad cherry atop a melted sundae.

There’s a fun parallel to draw between Flash and the Lizard.

Speaking of—no complaints about Rhys Ifans. I do wish he’d rocked the purple pants, though.

The CGI holds up for the most part.

However, some plot points feel lazily borrowed. Dr. Connors struggles with dual personalities. He talks to his reflection. The Lizard goads him toward destruction.

Sure, it’s the reptilian brain—maybe that’s the point. But did we really need the exact same Jekyll/Hyde conflict?

That said, the writers deserve credit for the twist near the end. They deliver one small, unexpected beat that refreshes the hero-villain dynamic.

One thing I can’t forgive: bad ADR. A few moments let the puppet strings show.

Worst offender? Spidey’s chat with the criminal in the car. Clearly reworked, and not cleanly.

The film’s biggest failure is its unoriginality. The Peter/Uncle Ben arc hits the same beats. The “with great power” speech is so telegraphed you can practically mouth along.

The Amazing Spider-Man feels too much like Spider-Man.

I don’t know how to fix that. But it signals a bigger problem.

After digging into this, I’ve come to see Sony Pictures as the real villain. Like the Lizard, their motives are complex—so I can’t totally write them off.

Marvel sold off rights when they needed cash. Sony bought up Spider-Man. Fox grabbed X-Men. Raimi gave us a great first film, then followed it up with the beloved Spider-Man 2.

Then came 2007.

I’ll argue with anyone: Spider-Man 3 is a good movie with one godawful scene and maybe one more weak link. But tension with the studio killed Raimi’s control. By Spider-Man 4, he was fighting for creative input after being strong-armed into bad choices on the third film.

Of all the letdowns in my life, none hit the way Spider-Man 3 did. I skipped it in theaters. Everyone told me it wasn’t worth my time.

Eventually I watched it. I was shocked how much I liked it. The fights are killer. But that emo Peter scene? Finger guns and sidewalk dancing? Nauseating. Pure garbage.

It reeks of studio meddling.

I don’t think Raimi made that call.

So I blame Sony. That one scene tanked the franchise’s momentum and gave the fanboys a reason to bail.

Which brings us to 2012. If Sony hadn’t produced another film, the rights would’ve reverted to Marvel—likely to Disney.

Given how Sony handled Spider-Man 3 and The Amazing Spider-Man, I wish that had happened.

I get why they clung to the brand. But rebooting with the origin story again? Way too soon.

Maybe the reboot evolves into something great. Maybe this first entry fades into history like Iron Man 2.

Nevertheless, it’s frustrating to see such a smart, beloved legacy get reprocessed like disposable content.

Let’s just hope the next film gets it right.

Jamie Foxx plays Electro. He’s a snarky villain. Should be fun.

We’ll see.

★★ ★★★ ★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Read The Amazing Spider-Man 2 to see what I thought.

Everybody loves this movie.

I don’t.

It’s alright—not okay, not good, and definitely nowhere near great.

Silver Linings Playbook is just… alright.

And honestly, I find that extremely disappointing. The plot holes, dull characters, and plodding narrative strip away any potential for satisfaction.

While the Academy throws it a Best Picture nomination and critics praise it as touching and spectacular, I don’t see either quality. It’s neither smart enough nor enjoyable enough to deserve that nomination.

Let’s start with what works: Bradley Cooper delivers a terrific performance, and Jennifer Lawrence does even better. But that’s where the goodness ends.

De Niro turns in a performance that’s serviceable—not bad, but far from exceptional.

As a Dromantic Quirkedy (dramatic romantic quirky comedy), this genre mashup just doesn’t work for me.

The film includes several scenes clearly designed to induce cringe: dark comedic moments that demand a lot from the viewer just to deliver a half-hearted chuckle. That being said, let’s get deeper into the mess.

Now if you haven’t seen SLP, beware spoilers and long-winded complaints. But if you also haven’t seen American Hustle, I’d suggest watching that instead.

Here’s my biggest issue: the Hemingway reference. Bradley Cooper’s character claims he likes the part of A Farewell to Arms where the characters dance but dislikes the ending.

There is no dancing between Henry and Catherine in A Farewell to Arms. I know because I read the novel immediately after watching this film.

Maybe the filmmakers had Cooper’s character misread the book on purpose. If that’s the case, fine. It better be intentional.

If we’re supposed to accept the reality the film shows us, then we either have to believe Cooper’s character lied about reading the book, or he misunderstood it completely—both options feel out of sync with the rest of his character.

And if it’s not intentional? Then the screenplay makes a glaring mistake.

How does a Best Picture nominee carry that kind of writing error?

Another major misfire happens when Jennifer Lawrence’s character meets Cooper’s family. She walks in, grabs a beer, and acts like she lives there—even though she’s never been to the house or met the family. That whole scene feels crazed, hazy, and diluted, like we’re watching it through Bradley Cooper’s warped perception.

During that same moment, De Niro’s best friend initiates a weird, pressure-filled bet with him. Why would he force something like that on an old friend? Why would the bookie respect or even acknowledge J-Law’s scoring rules for the dance contest? He hasn’t met her—and he clearly doesn’t care about Cooper’s character. So why suddenly treat this random romantic interest like an authority?

Do these people seriously have nothing better to do than pour all their energy into this half-baked attempt to place in a professional dance competition?

And why on Earth does the ex-wife show up? Everyone around BC should recognize how unstable that dynamic still is. Why risk triggering a guy still hanging by a thread?

Now let’s talk about the psychiatrist. If I saw mine at a football game, I’d say hello, shake his hand, and move on. He’d do the same.

He definitely wouldn’t tailgate with me.

And he absolutely wouldn’t walk into my house shirtless and flop down on the couch like he owns the place. Not even my best friends would pull that—and they know they can get away with almost anything.

This scene is one of the worst I’ve ever seen in a so-called serious movie.

Best Picture? Really?

And let’s not forget—the shrink plays the song on purpose just to provoke Cooper. That’s cruel. It’s also reckless. If a patient reacts that explosively to a trigger, any decent therapist would take it seriously. No licensed professional plays head games like that.

Then there’s the letter. The movie builds it up like it holds some secret meaning—then drops the obvious: J-Law wrote it, like we all expected. That’s not a twist. That’s just underwhelming.

And what’s going on with Chris Tucker’s character?

His presence barely registers. Cooper’s mom doesn’t even acknowledge him. She doesn’t speak to him or look at him directly. That same disconnect appears throughout. No one really interacts with him—except for J-Law, who engages with him awkwardly.

It’s so strange that I genuinely thought Tucker’s character might be a figment of Cooper’s imagination. The film sets up that possibility—and then never follows through. So what we’re left with is a confusing, misleading side character who doesn’t serve a clear function.

Finally, the ending makes no sense. The last judge—previously built up as a hardliner—randomly equalizes the score so they just barely win. If he’s truly passionate about judging, why throw consistency out the window? He’d call it like he sees it—not hand out mercy points for a poorly executed finale.

David O. Russell, I know you read every word I write—so I’m sorry for trashing your film.

But American Hustle is way better.

★★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Watch Mud instead.