Spider-Man 2

Web master: Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 2 is an exceptionally clever, layered summer sequel

By Jeannette Catsoulis

There's an emblematic moment about two-thirds of the way through Spider-Man 2 when our unmasked hero (once again played magnificently by Tobey Maguire) explains to his beloved M.J. (Kirsten Dunst) why he must reject her. As she leaves, heartbroken, the camera pulls back and down until all we see is Spidey standing forlornly on a rafter, silhouetted against the night sky, his body language powerful yet hopelessly tragic. The image has immense pathos, a soulful and reverent realization of Stan Lee's comic book vision.

This is the genius of director Sam Raimi--to take the fantastic and make it believably, achingly human. We saw it in 1990's Darkman (which bears more than a passing thematic resemblance to Spider-Man 2), where Raimi miraculously managed to create and sustain a poignant love story amid the chaos of a horror-revenge fantasy. And this is also one of the reasons Spider-Man 2 exceeds our expectations: Raimi may pack his films with humor but he never, ever, laughs at love. And he won't allow us to, either.

But to say that Spider-Man 2 is a love story is only half of the truth. An exceptionally clever and layered film, S2 is deliberately designed to be enjoyed on more than one level. From the stunning opening credits--featuring pen-and-ink drawings of scenes from the first film--to the vastly improved computer graphics and the flawlessly executed action sequences, the new movie makes its predecessor look positively earthbound. This time around, the synchronicity of imagination and performance is a palpable force, hurtling the characters forward with the smoothness and momentum of a speeding bullet.

Two years have passed since Peter Parker shared that fateful kiss with M.J., and now we find him struggling to balance work and destiny as the demands of being a crime-fighting arachnid impact not only his love life but also his pizza-delivery job and college grades. (Like Clark Kent, Peter is endearingly klutzy--he can't even wash his red-and-blue spider suit without staining his underwear.) Confused and depressed, Peter is grateful when friend Harry (James Franco) offers to introduce him to Otto Octavius (Alfred Molina), a scientist whose work with fusion may help Peter pass one of his classes. But when an experiment goes horribly wrong and Octavius winds up fused himself--to four writhing, self-directed metal tentacles, all of them hell-bent on world domination--Peter realizes that non-colorfast spandex may be the least of his problems.

Unarguably a superlative villain, the cheerfully-dubbed "Doc Ock" is also afforded real tangibility by uncommonly vivid sound editing and some inspired puppeteering. The tentacles, impish appendages with distinct personalities, scurry up buildings and skitter over rooftops with clanking purpose, tearing apart yellow cabs and tossing unwary women out of their way. Yet I had the feeling--at least as far as Raimi is concerned--that the Doc is also an unnecessary monster, included to satisfy a formula that demands at least one villain per superhero movie. Because in Spider-Man 2, the hero's real nemesis is fate and his toughest battle is with himself.

Effortlessly interlocking themes of isolation and self-doubt, Raimi creates a tortured, lonely protagonist, forced to deny his own needs in order to serve others. "Am I not supposed to have what I want?" Peter asks Aunt May (Rosemary Harris), and Maguire gives the line a fierce longing. And just as Tim Burton did with Michael Keaton in Batman and Batman Returns, Raimi photographs his star frequently in isolation, detached from the world yet compelled to protect it. The difference is that Spidey, unlike Batman, is no emotional castrato; when M.J., weary of waiting for Peter to make his move, announces her engagement to another man, Peter is so devastated he can neither leap nor shoot webbing from his fingertips. Like others before him, Peter is experiencing his first bout of superhero impotence.

Spider-Man 2 is all about self-acceptance and identity, but it's not always about angst. Though Danny Elfman's brilliantly ominous score is a near-constant backdrop, Alvin Sargent's screenplay is witty and, occasionally, sublime. (Placing M.J., now a successful stage actress, in a production of Oscar Wilde's secret-identity muddle The Importance of Being Earnest is a lovely touch.) Also rescuing the film from introspective darkness is a jaunty, tongue-in-cheek interlude when Peter accepts the loss of his powers and embraces normalcy, doing his homework and ignoring random criminal activity--all while wearing a goofy grin and bouncing along to the sound of B.J. Thomas crooning "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head."

Both Maguire and Dunst have grown beautifully into their roles, and their scenes together have a charming innocence that's exactly right for this arm's-length love. But some of the supporting players are sadly under-used, particularly Franco, whose part feels scribbled in as an afterthought. And while the excellent Harris has a couple of strong scenes, she's also saddled with the film's corniest speeches. "To do what's right we have to give up our dreams, the thing we want the most," lectures Aunt May with snooze-inducing gravity--until we realize how un-American that sentiment actually is. Placing the common good before our own driving ambition? Can Raimi possibly be giving us a little subversive kick in the ass?

But Raimi is having too much fun to moralize; he's much more concerned with the evolution of the man in the suit. At no point are we permitted to see Spider-Man as anything other than a living, breathing human, filled with self-distrust and weakness. Whether struggling to halt a speeding train--in the film's most dazzlingly heart-stopping scene--or casually holding up a building, our hero's attractively shredded costume is never allowed to completely define the character. Spidey may not know exactly who he is, but fortunately his director is never in any doubt.