“We Are Who We Choose to Be”: Revisiting Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man (Part 1 of 3)

Seeing the first installment of Raimi's trilogy starring Tobey Maguire in theaters for the first time in two decades was something else.

Every live-action Spider-Man movie is back in theaters, most for the first time since their original release. In my love of both superheroes and cinema, Sam Raimi’s trilogy starring Tobey Maguire as the titular web-head is nothing less than a biblical, foundational text. My parents took me and a friend to see 2002’s Spider-Man on opening weekend; in our naïve glee, we sat in the very front row (my parents wisely sat towards the back). Two hours and one very sore neck later, I was forever by changed by the ultimate spin. I initially planned to write about seeing each film in theaters for the first time since childhood, however my love for them is so ardent one post became three (my deepest apologies). First up at the webbed altar of worship: Spider-Man.

While the Marvel Comics character’s origin is famous (high-schooler Peter Parker is bitten by a scientifically enhanced spider, gets spider powers, and, after a selfish act results in the death of his beloved uncle and surrogate father, commits himself to crimefighting), his first film’s development is less known. Stuttering attempts to produce a Spider-Man movie date back to the 1970s with development finally cementing at Sony’s Columbia Pictures in the late 90s. David Koepp, most known for adapting Jurassic Park (heard of it?), was brought aboard to rework James Cameron’s 80s treatment. Koepp’s primary ideas were to focus on two things: keeping Peter out of the suit for nearly half the movie to tell his origin, and centering his relationship with Mary Jane Watson, Peter’s main love interest in the comics, yet ending the movie with the couple apart.

Sensible directors like Tim Burton (Batman), David Fincher (Fight Club), and Chris Columbus (Home Alone) were considered. Raimi, a lifelong Spider-Man fan, was a respected if little-known genre filmmaker, with the Evil Dead trilogy, Darkman, and The Quick and the Dead among his CV. Undeterred, Raimi pursued a meeting with Columbia, saying in a 20-year retrospective on Spider-Man: “My agent, Josh Donen, said, ‘They want to be honest with you. There’s about 18 directors they’d rather have than you on a list,' . . . and I said, ‘OK, well, tell them I’m number 19.’”

Keenly aware of Columbia’s disinterest, Raimi’s pitch consisted of him describing his relationship to Spider-Man, mentioning a painting of the character that hung in his childhood bedroom and his connection to the insecure and bookish yet well-meaning Peter, that Peter’s believable melodrama differentiated Spider-Man from other comic book characters. In the same retrospective, Raimi said: “Peter Parker wasn’t some idealized kid. He came from a broken home and he wasn’t the best-looking. So you could really identify with him. They probably did recognize that we need to have someone tell the story that can also relate to this kid. And I certainly could.” The rest, as they say, is history.

Both at the time and especially so 20 years later, Raimi’s genuine, organic affection for Spider-Man combined with his and Koepp’s centering the human characters make Spider-Man so special. This is amplified by casting Maguire, who anchors a docile, innocent performance on his massive puppy dog doe-eyes. Spider-Man sincerely wears its beating heart on its sleeve as Maguire’s aw-shucks Peter welcomes the audience into its heightened melodrama, but he is only half the equation. As his opening narration goes, “This, like any story worth telling, is all about a girl.”

Beating on that same sleeve is Kirsten Dunst’s Mary Jane, “the girl next door.” The film paints MJ as a scarred dreamer constantly wounded by the men in her life: her father berates her and her mother; Harry Osborn (James Franco), Peter’s friend and MJ’s eventual boyfriend, treats her less like a partner and more like a trophy to impress his father; Norman Osborn (Willem Dafoe), Harry’s father, looks at Mary Jane like a piece of meat and, in an argument with his son, advises him to “do what you need to do with her then broom her fast.”

Contrast this to Peter, the only character who shows actual care for MJ. The relationship blossoms over the movie, starting in their respective backyards with each discussing post-high school plans, with Peter encouraging Mary Jane to purse her dreams of acting. The most outwardly romantic scene occurs when MJ, crushing on Spider-Man after he rescues her, asks Peter, Spider-Man’s “photographer” (Peter Parker invented the selfie?), if the wall-crawler has mentioned her. Peter replies with a monologue that, rather than embarrassingly sappy, is an unadulterated expression of love. Screenwriter Alvin Sargent, who polished dialogue, gives their romance a classic, Old Hollywood treatment, while their love’s pure essence is reflected by composer Danny Elfman’s aching, tender theme. Adult me is so moved by this scene I lose control of my face and make this expression, caught by a friend when watching Spider-Man on Zoom.

The film’s heart is Peter and MJ’s relationship, with it beginning and ending on them. Koepp’s decision to invest the audience in a couple only to snatch away togetherness at the last minute is still brilliant. Mary Jane closes the film confessing her love to Peter, that he was the only one there for her. Yet, Peter, worried his alter ego will further jeopardize MJ’s wellbeing, sacrifices everything he ever wanted to choose selflessness and responsibility (that thing great power comes with). Hopelessly romantic, Spider-Man primarily triumphs by being an earnest tale of unfulfilled love.

There is more to the movie’s magic, however, than saccharine young love: Spider-Man is also a friggin’ blast. Raimi’s longtime editor Bob Murawski imbues their trademark style and personality into the film, with brisk, playful cutting and framing mirroring the effect of reading a comic book. When heartfelt melodrama is offscreen, audiences are treated to some glorious New York photography and energy, with a montage of New Yorkers’ takes on Spider-Man a particular highlight. Adding to the fun is J.K. Simmons’s cantankerous, Spider-Man-hating Daily Bugle editor J. Jonah Jameson; Simmons chews scenery so vigorously I hope he flossed after each take.

The largest dose of pulpy delight, though, comes from Dafoe’s Norman Osborn, secretly the film’s antagonist, the Green Goblin (yes, it took me this long to get to Dafoe, but I had Things to Say™). Driven mad by an untested super-serum and professional setbacks, Norman develops a split personality, frequently delivering evil speeches to himself. Dafoe, performing like a cartoon made manifest, is simply having the time of his life hamming it up, making the most chaotic faces with different voices reflecting Norman and the Green Goblin. While the film obscures Dafoe’s wildly expressive face behind a mask for most of its runtime (its biggest flaw), his performance is simultaneously menacing and entertaining. Norman’s death at the film’s climax (spoilers for a movie old enough to drink) additionally teaches Peter of Spider-Man’s cost, as Harry Osborn, his best friend, vows vengeance on Spider-Man, quietly setting up a sequel.

While all this and more contribute to the film’s staying power, Spider-Man’s legacy is forever cemented by its release, swinging into theaters to meet a public that needed its unabashed heroism, as New York and the US were still hurting from the tragedy of 9/11. Beyond the infamous trailer and poster featuring the World Trade Center that were quickly recalled in 9/11’s aftermath, a scene where New Yorkers jeer the Green Goblin was reworked after the attack to reflect the city’s resilience. The film also shattered box office records, becoming the first movie to gross $100 million domestic in one weekend; this may seem quaint now, but that simply didn’t happen 20 years ago. It also accidentally created the onslaught of comic book and IP-driven franchise filmmaking that is only now maybe exhausting itself.

Other than my sore neck, I don’t remember watching Spider-Man for the first time. I just know it’s always been special to me, a sentiment seemingly shared by the audience of its rerelease. Fewer crowds have been as locked into recent releases as they were a few weeks ago – I even heard quiet repetitions of the movie’s more famous lines (Spidey generally but the Raimi movies in particular are meme factories). My relationship with Spider-Man has obviously changed in 22 years. Eight-year-old me probably didn’t smile as Peter Parker tells Mary Jane Watson what he sees in her eyes, yet 30-year-old me cannot help but be so charmed by it. Nevertheless, seeing Spider-Man on the big screen again reminded me of that same kid. This time, however, I didn’t hurt my neck and sat in a middle row.