After crafting one of the most definitive comic book translations in decades, Sam Raimi set the gold standard for superhero sequels with Spider-Man 2. The 2004 entry remains unparalleled in many regards, though what works best about it is the way it carries the baton from the first film by both deepening its themes and broadening its emotional scope.
Like its predecessor, Spider-Man 2 is a simple story at heart, though one that was created in a distinctly different moment in history from the first film, which was filmed before (and arrived shortly after) the attacks of September 11th. The sequel, therefore, has a more measured and cautious approach to the unbridled optimism of the wall-crawler’s origin. The hero still comes out on top, but he treads a much more difficult path. He still charges heroically into burning buildings, but this time, people die and he feels the weight of their deaths, and the film’s villain doesn’t fit neatly into the black-and-white morality seen in many franchise blockbusters at the time.
As we continue our look back at Peter Parker’s cinematic history, we examine here how Sam Raimi’s sequel both improves on the first film, and stands alone as its own great story about power and responsibility.
Willem Dafoe was a firecracker as Norman Osborn, though if the first film had one thematic misstep, it was that it failed to take full advantage of him as a complicated father figure to the grieving Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire). In fact, Spider-Man doesn’t learn the Green Goblin’s identity until their final battle, so Osborn’s climactic musings about how Peter is a son to him feel somewhat hurried. In contrast, Spider-Man 2 establishes this dynamic upfront, right from the moment it introduces Otto Octavius (Alfred Molina), a brilliant, sardonic scientist who Peter has long admired from afar.
As Peter works himself to the bone between his two identities — the college student with a part-time job, and the web-slinging superhero — his lack of structure and focus calls for a guiding figure just like Octavius. When they first meet, the two geniuses certainly discuss science, but Octavius’ advice to him soon takes on a fatherly quality, equal parts warm and stern. He calls Peter lazy, in a familiar, semi-joking (but mostly serious) way, because he recognizes Peter’s potential. As Peter spends the day with Octavius and his wife Rosie (Donna Murphy), their chats become more personal. The older couple opens up about the early days of their romance, and they impart lessons about the way even loving relationships need work, something Peter needs to hear. Octavius even lends him romantic advice about wooing women with poetry; for a brief moment, and for the first time since the death of Uncle Ben (Cliff Robertson), it feels like Peter has the guidance he sorely lacks.
However, even the charming Octavius has his flaws. His unchecked hubris leads to Rosie’s death, and despite taking precautions, he falls under the spell of his four robotic arms. He is, at once, Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, and the scene in which his metal tentacles take control allows Raimi to tap into his most ludicrous instincts as a long-time horror filmmaker. The visual language is crystal clear: The mechanical arms have turned Octavius into something monstrous.
However, he is not, himself, a monster.
The mechanical arms have turned Octavius into something monstrous. However, he is not, himself, a monster.
As with Osborn, an ambitious technological experiment leads to Octavius being fundamentally changed, only this time, it’s clear that the villainous alter ego in question isn’t merely a cackling, murderous jinn, but is born directly from the character’s most selfish desires, which we’ve already seen on screen. Early in the film, he speaks of intellect as a gift to humanity, but along the way, he loses sight of this idealism and becomes a twisted version of himself, willing to harm just about anyone with his advanced weaponry if it means achieving his goals.
Given the way the first Spider-Man film became an unintentional mirror to September 11th (and a rousing antidote to its hopelessness), it’s hard not to view Spider-Man 2 in a similar light. Octavius becomes twisted by grief, and by his ambition to be the very apex of civilization and human achievement, though he uses society’s benefit as a flimsy justification for his deeds. Spider-Man 2 began production in April 2003, after the American invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, two wars fueled by similar instincts of grief and cultural superiority in response to the attacks. Whatever Raimi’s intent with Octavius, the character plays, at first, like an embodiment of these raw emotional impulses, and eventually, like a rebuke of them, when he's brought back from the brink of violence. “I will not die a monster,” he proclaims, before sacrificing his life.
Although, before Peter can remind Octavius of his lost humanity, he needs to undergo a perilous spiritual journey of his own.
In the first film, Peter’s duality had only just begun to take its toll, when he fell asleep at the foot of Aunt May’s (Rosemary Harris) hospital bed, hunched over his college textbooks. When Spider-Man 2 begins, his exhausting double life is in full-swing, so to speak. He tries and fails to balance his super-heroics with his job delivering pizza, but his inability to juggle and compartmentalize leads to him repeatedly letting down Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst), despite his promises of friendship. Before long, he spreads himself so thin that his webs stop working and his powers begin to diminish, as if his subconscious is trying to tell him to take a break and recharge. He even forgets his own birthday.
Peter’s dark-night-of-the-soul takes up much of the second act, as he wrestles between the responsibility of protecting people — something Uncle Ben would want him to do — and his desire for a fulfilling personal life, the fallout of which Raimi dramatizes overtly and impactfully. For Peter, this duality is embodied by the only two suits hanging in the closet of his crumbling apartment: his Spider-Man outfit, and the suit-and-tie with which he hopes to impress Mary Jane.
These are the two paths laid out in front of him, and while he chooses the latter, the red-and-blue keeps calling out to him. To Mary Jane, Peter becomes an unoccupied seat during her Broadway performances. After gazing at her from afar, he leaves before she turns around, and he becomes little more than empty space on the sidewalk. Raimi and cinematographer Bill Pope emphasize this emptiness by pulling the camera out slowly, revealing a haunting contrast to the many exciting romantic moments during which they usually push in.
Peter’s love interests in future films would leave much to be desired; each actress brings a fervent buoyancy, but rarely are their characters afforded lives and personalities beyond Peter himself (as we’ll explore in the rest of this series). Dunst’s performance, however, stands out. She paints Mary Jane with frayed and weary brush strokes; the girl next door may have finally found success on stage, but adulthood has clearly worn her down. Once adept at hiding her disappointments beneath a radiant smile (and behind her brightly colored hair), she now carries herself with a sense of exhaustion, and wears her hair in its natural tone. The harsh realities of the real world — more stress, more competition, and much more heartbreak — no longer allow her to be the bright-and-cheery “popular girl.” She’s much meeker and more soft-spoken. Ironically, she has a distinctly Peter Parker-like awkwardness this time around, because her best friend hasn’t been around to help lift her up.
Peter and MJ are reflections of one another. They have been since the first film, when their roles were defined by their shared optimism and sincerity in the face of life’s harshness. In this film, Peter is also in search of upliftment. Emotional support is in short supply; his mentor has become a megalomaniac, his best friend Harry (James Franco) treats him with contempt because of his involvement with Spider-Man, and Aunt May is far too preoccupied (with trying to save her home from foreclosure) for Peter to want to burden her. Since Peter hasn’t let anyone in on his secret, he’s left without a support system, and every aspect of his personal life suffers in the process, from his work to his grades to his relationships.
Peter's duality is embodied by the only two suits hanging in the closet: his Spider-Man outfit, and the suit-and-tie with which he hopes to impress Mary Jane.
The idea of him suddenly finding this support would certainly be comforting, but it would also be far too easy. Instead, he’s rattled out of his stupor both by Octavius kidnapping Mary Jane — the catalyst for him regaining his powers — and by Aunt May’s own version of the “With great power” speech, in which she reminds Peter of his innate heroism: “I believe there’s a hero in all of us,” she tells him. But she also reminds him of the difficulty that lies ahead, and that sometimes all the nobility and adoration that comes with being a hero requires the great personal sacrifice of one’s dreams and desires.
Rosemary Harris delivers a soul-piercing performance in this scene. Aunt May, though she doesn’t let it slip, appears to have some idea that her nephew is secretly Spider-Man, and that he’s given up his mantle. While she uses her young neighbor Henry as a justification for her speech — he’s a child who needs a hero to inspire him and instill him with hope — some part of her seems to yearn for that hopeful inspiration herself, during this difficult period in her life, where she’s forced to confront a cold and uncaring world all alone for the first time. And so, Peter springs back into action.
Spider-Man’s resurrection is crystallized in the scene where he goes above and beyond to save a subway train from plummeting off the rails — a sequence in which his arms are spread Christ-like. As his webs snap and his suit tears at the seams, he passes out from the pain. But in this moment, he finds a missing piece of himself in the people of New York. They catch him before he falls, and they carry him to safety. They have become his missing support, and his symbolic strength.
They are also the first people to learn his identity, albeit by accident, and they decide to keep his secret, setting the stage for Peter finally letting someone else in.
The missing piece of the puzzle for Peter was someone to share himself with — both his secrets and his burdens — the way he wishes he could when he makes a confession over the phone, to no one in particular, after Mary Jane hangs up on him. Until he lets her in, she can’t be anything but emptiness and silence to him too.
In the film’s final scene, the camera pans around Peter’s scant, suffocating apartment, first capturing him in isolation, but then framing Mary Jane in the shot as the camera lands on the open doorway behind him, using movement through space to create possibility. Even before their eyes meet, their reunion feels liberating, as she both literally and symbolically waits to be let inside. “It’s wrong that we should only be half alive,” she tells him. “Half of ourselves.” For the first time, Peter is offered the chance of no longer hanging two different suits in his wardrobe: the man and the mask. While he may be too decent to let another person take that chance — given the dangers involved — Mary Jane ultimately makes the decision herself to weather the storm alongside him. Perhaps this is the difficult road of which Octavius and Rosie spoke.
As Peter and MJ kiss, sirens blare in the distance, and he knows what he must do — but he looks back at her with concern, as if asking her permission to leave. “Go get ’em, tiger” she says, because this time, she knows he’ll come back to her. As the film comes to a close, after another sequence of Spider-Man swinging triumphantly through New York, its final image isn’t one of Marvel’s bright hero standing tall, but of Mary Jane Watson, as she watches from a distance, both uncertain of the future that lies ahead, yet completely sure that she’s ready to face that uncertainty, in an era where nothing felt like it could ever be certain again.
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Like its predecessor, Spider-Man 2 is a simple story at heart, though one that was created in a distinctly different moment in history from the first film, which was filmed before (and arrived shortly after) the attacks of September 11th. The sequel, therefore, has a more measured and cautious approach to the unbridled optimism of the wall-crawler’s origin. The hero still comes out on top, but he treads a much more difficult path. He still charges heroically into burning buildings, but this time, people die and he feels the weight of their deaths, and the film’s villain doesn’t fit neatly into the black-and-white morality seen in many franchise blockbusters at the time.
As we continue our look back at Peter Parker’s cinematic history, we examine here how Sam Raimi’s sequel both improves on the first film, and stands alone as its own great story about power and responsibility.
A Great Villain With Great Power
Willem Dafoe was a firecracker as Norman Osborn, though if the first film had one thematic misstep, it was that it failed to take full advantage of him as a complicated father figure to the grieving Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire). In fact, Spider-Man doesn’t learn the Green Goblin’s identity until their final battle, so Osborn’s climactic musings about how Peter is a son to him feel somewhat hurried. In contrast, Spider-Man 2 establishes this dynamic upfront, right from the moment it introduces Otto Octavius (Alfred Molina), a brilliant, sardonic scientist who Peter has long admired from afar.
More From The Spidey Saga
As Peter works himself to the bone between his two identities — the college student with a part-time job, and the web-slinging superhero — his lack of structure and focus calls for a guiding figure just like Octavius. When they first meet, the two geniuses certainly discuss science, but Octavius’ advice to him soon takes on a fatherly quality, equal parts warm and stern. He calls Peter lazy, in a familiar, semi-joking (but mostly serious) way, because he recognizes Peter’s potential. As Peter spends the day with Octavius and his wife Rosie (Donna Murphy), their chats become more personal. The older couple opens up about the early days of their romance, and they impart lessons about the way even loving relationships need work, something Peter needs to hear. Octavius even lends him romantic advice about wooing women with poetry; for a brief moment, and for the first time since the death of Uncle Ben (Cliff Robertson), it feels like Peter has the guidance he sorely lacks.
However, even the charming Octavius has his flaws. His unchecked hubris leads to Rosie’s death, and despite taking precautions, he falls under the spell of his four robotic arms. He is, at once, Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, and the scene in which his metal tentacles take control allows Raimi to tap into his most ludicrous instincts as a long-time horror filmmaker. The visual language is crystal clear: The mechanical arms have turned Octavius into something monstrous.
However, he is not, himself, a monster.
The mechanical arms have turned Octavius into something monstrous. However, he is not, himself, a monster.
As with Osborn, an ambitious technological experiment leads to Octavius being fundamentally changed, only this time, it’s clear that the villainous alter ego in question isn’t merely a cackling, murderous jinn, but is born directly from the character’s most selfish desires, which we’ve already seen on screen. Early in the film, he speaks of intellect as a gift to humanity, but along the way, he loses sight of this idealism and becomes a twisted version of himself, willing to harm just about anyone with his advanced weaponry if it means achieving his goals.
Given the way the first Spider-Man film became an unintentional mirror to September 11th (and a rousing antidote to its hopelessness), it’s hard not to view Spider-Man 2 in a similar light. Octavius becomes twisted by grief, and by his ambition to be the very apex of civilization and human achievement, though he uses society’s benefit as a flimsy justification for his deeds. Spider-Man 2 began production in April 2003, after the American invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, two wars fueled by similar instincts of grief and cultural superiority in response to the attacks. Whatever Raimi’s intent with Octavius, the character plays, at first, like an embodiment of these raw emotional impulses, and eventually, like a rebuke of them, when he's brought back from the brink of violence. “I will not die a monster,” he proclaims, before sacrificing his life.
Although, before Peter can remind Octavius of his lost humanity, he needs to undergo a perilous spiritual journey of his own.
A Great Hero, and a Great Romance
In the first film, Peter’s duality had only just begun to take its toll, when he fell asleep at the foot of Aunt May’s (Rosemary Harris) hospital bed, hunched over his college textbooks. When Spider-Man 2 begins, his exhausting double life is in full-swing, so to speak. He tries and fails to balance his super-heroics with his job delivering pizza, but his inability to juggle and compartmentalize leads to him repeatedly letting down Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst), despite his promises of friendship. Before long, he spreads himself so thin that his webs stop working and his powers begin to diminish, as if his subconscious is trying to tell him to take a break and recharge. He even forgets his own birthday.
Peter’s dark-night-of-the-soul takes up much of the second act, as he wrestles between the responsibility of protecting people — something Uncle Ben would want him to do — and his desire for a fulfilling personal life, the fallout of which Raimi dramatizes overtly and impactfully. For Peter, this duality is embodied by the only two suits hanging in the closet of his crumbling apartment: his Spider-Man outfit, and the suit-and-tie with which he hopes to impress Mary Jane.
These are the two paths laid out in front of him, and while he chooses the latter, the red-and-blue keeps calling out to him. To Mary Jane, Peter becomes an unoccupied seat during her Broadway performances. After gazing at her from afar, he leaves before she turns around, and he becomes little more than empty space on the sidewalk. Raimi and cinematographer Bill Pope emphasize this emptiness by pulling the camera out slowly, revealing a haunting contrast to the many exciting romantic moments during which they usually push in.
Peter’s love interests in future films would leave much to be desired; each actress brings a fervent buoyancy, but rarely are their characters afforded lives and personalities beyond Peter himself (as we’ll explore in the rest of this series). Dunst’s performance, however, stands out. She paints Mary Jane with frayed and weary brush strokes; the girl next door may have finally found success on stage, but adulthood has clearly worn her down. Once adept at hiding her disappointments beneath a radiant smile (and behind her brightly colored hair), she now carries herself with a sense of exhaustion, and wears her hair in its natural tone. The harsh realities of the real world — more stress, more competition, and much more heartbreak — no longer allow her to be the bright-and-cheery “popular girl.” She’s much meeker and more soft-spoken. Ironically, she has a distinctly Peter Parker-like awkwardness this time around, because her best friend hasn’t been around to help lift her up.
Peter and MJ are reflections of one another. They have been since the first film, when their roles were defined by their shared optimism and sincerity in the face of life’s harshness. In this film, Peter is also in search of upliftment. Emotional support is in short supply; his mentor has become a megalomaniac, his best friend Harry (James Franco) treats him with contempt because of his involvement with Spider-Man, and Aunt May is far too preoccupied (with trying to save her home from foreclosure) for Peter to want to burden her. Since Peter hasn’t let anyone in on his secret, he’s left without a support system, and every aspect of his personal life suffers in the process, from his work to his grades to his relationships.
Peter's duality is embodied by the only two suits hanging in the closet: his Spider-Man outfit, and the suit-and-tie with which he hopes to impress Mary Jane.
The idea of him suddenly finding this support would certainly be comforting, but it would also be far too easy. Instead, he’s rattled out of his stupor both by Octavius kidnapping Mary Jane — the catalyst for him regaining his powers — and by Aunt May’s own version of the “With great power” speech, in which she reminds Peter of his innate heroism: “I believe there’s a hero in all of us,” she tells him. But she also reminds him of the difficulty that lies ahead, and that sometimes all the nobility and adoration that comes with being a hero requires the great personal sacrifice of one’s dreams and desires.
Rosemary Harris delivers a soul-piercing performance in this scene. Aunt May, though she doesn’t let it slip, appears to have some idea that her nephew is secretly Spider-Man, and that he’s given up his mantle. While she uses her young neighbor Henry as a justification for her speech — he’s a child who needs a hero to inspire him and instill him with hope — some part of her seems to yearn for that hopeful inspiration herself, during this difficult period in her life, where she’s forced to confront a cold and uncaring world all alone for the first time. And so, Peter springs back into action.
Spider-Man’s resurrection is crystallized in the scene where he goes above and beyond to save a subway train from plummeting off the rails — a sequence in which his arms are spread Christ-like. As his webs snap and his suit tears at the seams, he passes out from the pain. But in this moment, he finds a missing piece of himself in the people of New York. They catch him before he falls, and they carry him to safety. They have become his missing support, and his symbolic strength.
They are also the first people to learn his identity, albeit by accident, and they decide to keep his secret, setting the stage for Peter finally letting someone else in.
A Great Ending
The missing piece of the puzzle for Peter was someone to share himself with — both his secrets and his burdens — the way he wishes he could when he makes a confession over the phone, to no one in particular, after Mary Jane hangs up on him. Until he lets her in, she can’t be anything but emptiness and silence to him too.
In the film’s final scene, the camera pans around Peter’s scant, suffocating apartment, first capturing him in isolation, but then framing Mary Jane in the shot as the camera lands on the open doorway behind him, using movement through space to create possibility. Even before their eyes meet, their reunion feels liberating, as she both literally and symbolically waits to be let inside. “It’s wrong that we should only be half alive,” she tells him. “Half of ourselves.” For the first time, Peter is offered the chance of no longer hanging two different suits in his wardrobe: the man and the mask. While he may be too decent to let another person take that chance — given the dangers involved — Mary Jane ultimately makes the decision herself to weather the storm alongside him. Perhaps this is the difficult road of which Octavius and Rosie spoke.
As Peter and MJ kiss, sirens blare in the distance, and he knows what he must do — but he looks back at her with concern, as if asking her permission to leave. “Go get ’em, tiger” she says, because this time, she knows he’ll come back to her. As the film comes to a close, after another sequence of Spider-Man swinging triumphantly through New York, its final image isn’t one of Marvel’s bright hero standing tall, but of Mary Jane Watson, as she watches from a distance, both uncertain of the future that lies ahead, yet completely sure that she’s ready to face that uncertainty, in an era where nothing felt like it could ever be certain again.
Continue reading...