Robyn’s Hood
By Robyn McCloskey
I am not typically what you would call a fan of those summer blockbuster superhero movies. I will say that when the original Superman came out (and to my generation that would be the Christopher Reeve version of the late ’70s as opposed to the previous generation’s George Reeves version on TV), I did find Mr. Reeve to be the ultimate Superman, not even knowing at the time that he would become a superhero in real life as well.
I did have one problem with the whole Superman concept, though. I just couldn’t get past that flighty Lois Lane never realizing that Superman was Clark Kent just because he’d ditched the glasses. People still recognize me when I’m not wearing my glasses. So how could a hard-nosed reporter like Lois be so clueless as to not think that maybe, just maybe there’s a slight resemblance between Superman and Clark?
Fine, I realize that a guy in a skintight suit with a huge "S" on the chest can be a little distracting. But I always thought this will be the time for sure when investigative whiz Lois sits on the edge of his desk and says, "Gee, Clark, you look an awful lot like this superhero I know." But I guess that would have brought a swift end to those big Superman paydays.
Now let’s move on to Batman. I tried really hard to get into the whole Batman film series, even standing in line to buy a ticket the weekend the first one opened starring Michael Keaton. But the movie just didn’t cut it for me. It was too dark, too brooding, too angry, too . . . too Tim Burton. And there wasn’t enough back-story for me to care about Bruce Wayne. What did I really know about him? Just that he was a depressed, revenge-seeking orphan living in a castle with an ever-faithful butler named Alfred who held the key to all of life’s questions, if only Bruce would ask.
Maybe my hang-up was that I loved Michael Keaton as Mr. Mom and kept expecting him to give Alfred a hand with the chores. I won’t get into all the other actors who have portrayed Batman over the years, except to say that ever since his stint on The Facts of Life, George Clooney can do no wrong in my eyes. Except maybe try to be Batman.
Which brings me to Spider-Man, my favorite of all the superhero movies. I was pleasantly surprised by the first Spider-Man movie. Reluctant hero Peter Parker was played by a perfectly cast Tobey Maguire. We observe Peter happily going about his life even after the fateful bite of the spider during that school trip to a museum. Humbly serving New York City as well as the Daily Bugle. Quietly pining for the always confused and ever sad Mary Jane.
But I guess if you’re Kirsten Dunst and your first-ever screen kiss was with Brad Pitt, and you knew the chance of Angelina ever letting that happen again were about zip, you’d walk around looking sullen too. So while Dunst definitely has the "poor me" attitude just right as Mary Jane, that’s about all she has right.
By the time Spider-Man 3 rolled around, I wanted Peter to dump MJ for the much-too-talented-to-play-the-blonde-bimbo-role Bryce Dallas Howard, the daughter of one of Hollywood’s favorite sons, Ron Howard. Thanks to that amazing heritage, Bryce may not have sullen down, but she definitely has talent down.
I realize I am a day late and about thirty dollars short (two movie tickets, one large soda and one large popcorn) to be pontificating on Spider-Man 3. The box-office receipts clearly tell me that most of America has seen it, but I am compelled. I just loved the first one. I so enjoyed the second one. And I figured the third one, lousy reviews aside, surely would give me something to like.
Well, although Tobey Maguire still portrays Peter Parker perfectly and James Franco is still hot (even with his face half-burned), I couldn’t find much to like. Yes, his aunt is still a classy and wise woman despite her impoverished circumstances. Yes, Thomas Haden Church is a good villain, and yes, Topher Grace is a good antagonist with all his well-honed sardonic charm, but you can’t go by me, since I’m always a sucker for sardonic charm.
I just wish the moviemakers who prefer doing "blockbusters" — not to mention sequels that span your child’s birth to his 18th birthday — would be more concerned about the viewer and less preoccupied calculating the money that can be made from video games, Happy Meal figures and next year’s Halloween costumes.
Give me a plot. Give me sympathetic characters. Give me dialogue. Make me care what happens, like in the first Spider-Man.
Back when a story line was far more important than building a film franchise that rakes in bags and bags of money, even though the quality no longer justifies it. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net