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Does Anyone Like Spider-Man 3?

Dana Stevens at Slate:

The writers of Spider-Man 3, a team that includes Raimi and his brother Ivan (but not novelist Michael Chabon, who collaborated on the script of 2) seem to be suffering from villain insecurity. Are they afraid that James Franco, as Peter's best-friend-turned-superfoe Harry Osborn, isn't threatening enough? Why do they feel the need to overcompensate by throwing in the Sandman (Thomas Haden Church), an ex-con who can change into a shape-shifting heap of sand particles, and Venom (Topher Grace), an envious rival of Peter's at the Daily Bugle who transforms into a fanged, building-scaling meanie? And I'm not even counting Bad Spider-Man or the evil space licorice.

Christopher Orr at TNR

This, evidently, is what happens when your star, Tobey Maguire, has expressed doubts about making any further sequels. (As he put it a while ago, "It feels like a trilogy to me, and it feels like the end.") Early on, there was reportedly some discussion of dividing the developments in Spider-Man 3 into two films; instead, Director Sam Raimi has crammed everything into one $250-plus million, two-and-a-half-hour behemoth, the most exhausting mass entertainment since Peter Jackson's King Kong. Every plot thread is tied up, every character completes his assigned arc, and every special effects technician on the planet will be able to put food on the table for months to come. Even viewers who enjoy the movie–and for fans of the franchise there's plenty to enjoy–may be relieved that this could be the last we see of the webcrawler for a while.

Anthony Lane at The New Yorker:

The most pathetic aspect of “SpiderMan 3” is that stickiness. In an early scene, a meteorite crashes to Earth, and from it crawls what seems to be a tiny garbage sack with half a mind of its own: not a bad image of where this film belongs. And, would you believe, the first person this superblob attaches itself to is, yes, Peter Parker. It doesn’t choose him; nobody has targeted him—of all Earth’s inhabitants, he just happens to be close by. Is this truly the best that the filmmakers can be bothered to do for our delight? Just how easily and stupidly pleased do they presume we are? Peter’s college professor (Dylan Baker) declares that the black stuff “amplifies characteristics of its host.” Fine, and I vaguely understand what occurs when it latches onto Eddie. The first host, however, is Spider-Man himself, and this is where the film becomes so embarrassing that you have to crouch down and stuff popcorn in your ears.

Rex Reed at the Observer:

In its third spit-and-paste retread, the most boring of the Marvel Comics series runs out of octane before it steps on the pedal and just skids along on desperation and ethanol. Just trying to make sense of its overlapping plots risks boring you to death, but duty calls. Deadlier than ever, Tobey Maguire is back and hardly able to keep his eyes open as Peter Parker, the dork from Queens who swings through the canyons of New York on spider webs, saving the world from evil. Apparently the job doesn’t pay very well, because he still lives in the same crummy room with the broken doorknob where he hides his Spider-Man suit. Mary Jane Watson (an anesthesized Kristen Dunst, slumming it up under a contract hike) is now starring on Broadway, singing “They Say It’s Wonderful,” an Irving Berlin song from Annie Get Your Gun, in a musical that has nothing to do with either. They spoon over Central Park watching shooting stars in a spider web the size of a parachute, until she get fired after one performance and sinks into a deep depression. But wait. There’s no time for Spider-Man to waste on that plot. He’s too busy fending off his former best friend Harry (James Franco), the millionaire who competes for Mary Jane’s affection, blames Peter for his father’s suicide, and goes over to the dark side to seek revenge, emerging as—duh!—Green Goblin Jr. In the most criminal waste of talent since Vivien Leigh danced the Charleston in a maid’s uniform in the doomed Broadway musical Tovarich, the great Rosemary Harris makes another brief appearance as Spidey’s widowed Aunt May. This stuff must pay like crazy.

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