There is a scene at the very end of The Amazing Spider-Man where one of Peter’s teachers tells her class that there is only one real plot in all of fiction: “Who am I?” I sat in my seat in the theater, alone in the row, hating on the screenwriters for causing me an existential crisis at noon on a Thursday. I loved the first Spider-Man so much because I saw it when I was twelve, and back then there was still time for be to be bitten by a radioactive spider and thus catapulted out of adolescent ennui and into greatness.
Of course now I’m only 22 and my life is far from over, but there comes a moment when you’ve taken yourself on a date to the 10am Thursday matinee of a superhero movie when you’re like, “should I be checking myself before I wreck myself right now? Did I really get up at 8 o’clock on my day off to see Andrew Garfield swing around downtown Manhattan on genetically engineered ropes? Would I wake up and do this again tomorrow??”
Whatever, I LOVED the movie. I loved it so much that I almost bought a $25 ticket to see all three Batman movies on July 19th because I was still on a superhero high (and then I really did check myself, because I knew that come July 19th I would be sitting in that theater thinking to myself “why the HELL did I do this again?”). I consider myself something of a connoisseur of the first movie, having seen it upwards of twenty times since its first release, and though I did not feel the same deep and personal connection to this version of Peter Parker, I would be straight up LYING if I said my heart didn’t swell a little bit during that one scene with the cranes, which I will not elaborate upon because **SPOILER ALERT**.