Spider-Man

A spectacle that swings higher than it lands

Action/Sci-fi ‧ 121 minutes ‧ PG-13 ‧ 2002

“With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility”

I’ve never claimed to be objective in my movie reviews, but I’ll be as honest as I can here. Spider-Man (2002), directed by Sam Raimi and starring Tobey Maguire, James Franco, Willem Dafoe, and Kirsten Dunst, is my favorite movie of all time.

The foundation of any great superhero story is not the suit or the powers, but the person forced to live with them. Raimi understood this instinctively, and Spider-Man succeeds because it never loses sight of Peter Parker as a human being first and a hero second. Even now, in a genre bloated with multiverses, cameos, and constant escalation, the film still feels refreshingly sincere. It is imperfect, occasionally awkward, and unapologetically earnest, and that sincerity is exactly why it endures.

Peter Parker is introduced not as the kid you bullied in high school, but the kid the guys you bullied bullied. Tobey Maguire leans fully into that discomfort, portraying Peter as withdrawn, soft-spoken, and painfully invisible. While casting a 28-year-old to play a teenager is a decision that has not aged gracefully, Maguire captures Peter’s internal life well enough that it rarely breaks the illusion. When Peter gains his powers, Raimi avoids turning the moment into a pure power fantasy. Instead, those abilities isolate him as much as they empower him, placing a quiet distance between Peter and everyone else. He is stronger, faster, and more capable than ever, yet emotionally more alone.

That isolation leads directly to the film’s defining tragedy. In the midst of doing what any awkward teenager might, trying to impress a girl and enjoy his newfound confidence, Peter chooses not to act. His uncle dies because of it. This moment does not simply motivate him, it scars him. From that point forward, every decision Peter makes is filtered through guilt and responsibility. Raimi frames heroism not as triumph, but as restraint. Peter becomes Spider-Man by choosing responsibility over personal happiness again and again, often for people who do not notice and may never thank him.

Willem Dafoe’s Green Goblin serves as a chaotic counterpoint to Peter’s restraint. The costume has undeniably aged poorly. It looks stiff, cartoonish, and more than a little ridiculous. But Dafoe commits so fully that it almost stops mattering. His Norman Osborn is volatile and unpredictable, shifting between warmth and unhinged cruelty with frightening ease. The Goblin feels dangerous not because of spectacle, but because he always seems one bad moment away from completely losing control. He is what happens when power is embraced without responsibility, and that contrast gives their conflict real thematic weight even when the visuals falter.

The film’s greatest strength lies in its quiet, human moments. After Peter’s graduation, there is a simple scene of him crying. Not for drama. Not for awards. Just grief. Raimi allows moments like this to breathe. Peter standing on a rooftop after stopping his uncle’s killer. Vulnerable conversations with Mary Jane. Gentle scenes with Aunt May in the hospital. This is where the film truly shines. Anyone can stage a fight scene. Getting the audience to care about what is being fought for is far harder. So when Peter ends up bloodied and broken at the Goblin’s feet, I do not see Spider-Man. I see a kid who has lost everything, who has bled for a world that does not seem to care, and who keeps going anyway.

Mary Jane Watson remains the film’s most frustrating element. While some criticism over the years has been unfair, the core issue lies in the writing. The bold, flirtatious, rock-and-roll MJ from the comics is replaced with a version who is too often reduced to a damsel in distress or trapped in soap opera drama between Peter and Harry. The film hints at depth and agency but rarely commits to it. Still, the romance works more often than it should. Raimi avoids hollow longing or generic chemistry, giving us moments that feel lived in. The upside-down kiss is not just iconic, it feels spontaneous, intimate, and emotionally earned.

Visually, Spider-Man still holds up surprisingly well. Raimi’s direction is playful and expressive, leaning into bold framing and a bright, comic book color palette that separates the film from the sterile grays of many modern superhero movies. The CGI is uneven, but the final web swing remains exhilarating, helped by Raimi’s inventive camerawork. The action choreography can feel repetitive at times, relying heavily on punch-dodge-punch rhythms that later films would refine, but the emotional stakes usually carry the scenes through.

Despite its flaws, Spider-Man is filled with soul. It is sincere, emotionally raw, and far more interested in sadness and sacrifice than spectacle. It is a bittersweet tragedy disguised as a blockbuster, a film that understands life is not fair and that doing everything right does not guarantee success. The real question it asks is what you do with that pain. Do you strike back, or do you rise above it?

Spider-Man is a film about growth, transformation, and what it truly means to become a man. Not an overconfident alpha, but someone defined by compassion, humility, and purpose. It is about love, loss, anger, courage, and above all, responsibility. It earns a soild 4.5/5

(And somehow, Spider-Man 2 is even better. Spider-Man 3... well, it’s there.)