What We Talk About When We Talk About SPIDER-MAN 2

I first saw SPIDER-MAN 2 in a double feature with Tony Scott's MAN ON FIRE. I remember almost nothing from that screening. For years, I would hear friends talk about how awesome SPIDER-MAN 2 was, and I'd smile and nod my head, but really, I was just remembering Denzel Washington cutting people's fingers off as "Oye Como Va" and "Hey Mickey" played in the background. To each his own.

But there's one thing I have always remembered about SPIDER-MAN 2. During the bank robbery scene, Doctor Octopus starts throwing bags of money at Spider-Man, and they explode. Into coins. The bank is literally holding bags of coins, like the kind you'd see Scrooge McDuck jealously guarding on Sunday morning. They may as well have put the big dollar sign on the bags. It was kind of amusing at the time, but now, looking back at it, this decision has come to define the entire movie for me.

But first, what is SPIDER-MAN 2 ostensibly about? Sacrifice. No less than three characters have distinct speeches about giving up "your dream" in order to do "the right thing". Peter has to choose between being Spider-Man or being with Mary Jane. Octavius, in the climax of the film, has to choose between doing nothing or destroying his life's work. Throw in a big slice of survivor's guilt between Aunt May and Peter, and we're looking at some fairly heavy stuff. So what the hell is a movie with these serious thematic explorations doing with a ghost Willem Dafoe screaming "AVENGE ME!" and cartoon money bags?

The answer is that SPIDER-MAN 2 sits in that awkward transition between childhood and maturity that the best comic book movies manage to navigate. It's a very tricky minefield to walk through. When critics hate superhero movies, they throw "comic book" around like a dirty word, and when they do, they're referring to those things that only the juvenile can truly believe in: giant ice death rays, assassins who kill people with their amazing darts skills, and the like. These sorts of "comic book" movies get the most scorn because they veer too far into fantasy.

Getting too real, though, won't bring the kids in. I give you SPAWN, or any version of THE PUNISHER. People don't heap scorn on these movies, though - more often, they're just met with shrugs and quickly forgotten. They're movies for niche audiences, the ones who want to see sobering theological debate between Black Dynamite and John Leguizamo in a fatsuit. Most of us just don't get it. Instead, we seem to want a mix of the fantasy of comic books with an undercurrent of more adult concerns. In 1989, we wanted Batman to have a ridiculous bat-shaped jet fighter, but we basically voided the purpose of that plane by demanding that we examine Batman's "one rule" philosophy. I mean, why does he have the Batwing equipped with machine guns if he won't kill people? Because we want to see a goddamned Batwing, that's why.

So what are we talking about when we talk about SPIDER-MAN 2? We're talking about childhood dreams and adult pessimism, and we're talking about a weird space where we want to indulge in that fantasy, but we can't validate it without it coming from a sober adult perspective. The ending to SPIDER-MAN 2 is the perfect encapsulation of this push and pull. After Mary Jane and Peter have been apart for the whole movie, doing the adult thing, there's a moment of elation as they unite, as they've known they should since they were teenagers. This emotion should coast us out of the theatre as we swing through the city. But our reservation about this kind of fantasy rears its head, and the film undercuts this elation right as the Sum 41 should be kicking in, instead lingering back on a wistful Mary Jane as she watches her love fly away, in an ominous portent of the future.

The point is, when it comes to entertainment, especially summer blockbuster entertainment, we're not quite satisfied with being youthfully exuberant or a grown-up killjoy. We want a little of both.

And that's why there are exploding bags of coins in a movie about sacrifice.

ST. ELMO'S FIRE doesn't make up for THE NUMBER 23, BAD COMPANY, or BATMAN & ROBIN

I'm not sure if there's a more reviled director in my social circle than Joel Schumacher. The reasons are simple, and can be summarized in two words: Bat Nipples. He is The Man Who Killed Batman. His filmography can read like a list of the Damned: Phone Booth. 8 MM. The Number 23. Bad Company. But allow me to theorize that there just might be two Joel Schumachers: the one who makes the atrocities listed above, and the one that likes to make small character films like LOST BOYS, TIGERLAND, and ST. ELMO'S FIRE.

I'm not sure that there are two Schumachers - and believe me, I'm not going to turn into an apologist - but there is no way you could tell that the same man made BATMAN & ROBIN from looking at ST. ELMO'S FIRE. There's not a wildly overblown performance in the bunch, neon is kept to a merciful minimum, and, most importantly, there's a grounded human reality to the proceedings.

ST. ELMO'S FIRE kind of reminded me of an ensemble '80's version of a personal favourite, HIGH FIDELITY. The characters are all deeply flawed, even repugnant at times, but there's a basic goodness and purity to the friendships that keep you from being completely turned off. Emilio Estevez is actually the weak link in the cast, but that's mostly the script's fault, as he's given precious little to do except obsess over Andie McDowell. Ally Sheedy continues to break my heart with every performance, Mare Winningham turns in a startling Barbara Bel Geddes impression, and Demi Moore turns in the only sincere performance I've ever seen from her. Judd Nelson plays an eerie Bill Clinton forerunner and Andrew McCarthy rounds out the cast as the depressed loner of the group. The real standout, though, is Rob Lowe.

Yes, STIR OF ECHOES 2's Rob Lowe. I'm used to seeing him in THE WEST WING mode, as the charming well-intentioned genius, but here he plays completely against that type, as the self-destructive, womanizing, alcoholic Billy Hicks. It's a great role, reminiscent of Kevin Bacon's in DINER, but Lowe makes it his own, even when he's called on to make playing "lead sax" (which is, as we all know, an actual thing) look cool (which he debatably does).

The film basically follows this group of friends as they navigate post-college life. ST. ELMO'S FIRE's greatest strength is that these characters have a wide array of problems, and the actors all breathe genuine life into them. The appeal of these type of ensembles is that everyone has a few scenes to shine, and you're never stuck with one character for too long. Schumacher keeps up a bustling pace so you're never bored.

I've already mentioned HIGH FIDELITY and DINER, two of my all-time favourite movies, and I'm asking myself why I didn't like it as much. I think the answer is that ST. ELMO'S FIRE feels like a product of its time - it's very much tied to the eighties, and it occasionally feels like an after-school special. Demi Moore does cocaine and lives on credit, Judd Nelson's political ambitions threaten his personal relationships, and Andrew McCarthy has a secret crush, and this territory verges on the cliché.

So are there two Joel Schumachers? He's got a movie coming out next month called TWELVE which looks like ST. ELMO'S FIRE meets THE HILLS, and it looks absolutely awful (including the tell-tale 50 Cent supporting role). I'm forced to believe when watching that trailer that movies like this one or LOST BOYS were, in fact, happy accidents.

And that the scorn is well-deserved.