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Small Wonders: Get creative, Hollywood!

September 01, 2012

Dear Hollywood,

As a lifelong admirer, consumer of your work and member of your workforce, now that the summer movie season is over, I feel it is my responsibility to make the following request: Please stop making Spider-Man movies!

Seriously. Use your spidey-sense to think of something else to do with $200 million.

In 2002 you brought us “Spider-Man.” Fine. In 2004 its sequel, “Spider-Man 2.” Expected. And since all successful franchises and celebrity deaths come in threes, in 2007 you gave us “Spider-Man 3.” You had to do it. We understand.


But since the fourth movie in a series is almost always a disappointing, pointless money grab (Indiana Jones, I’m talking to you), you wisely bailed on “Spider-Man 4.”

Yet now, only five years later, you rammed “The Amazing Spider-Man” down our throats.

“But it's not a sequel,” you demand. A “reboot,” you like to call it.

Isn’t that like sending my hamburger back to the kitchen because it wasn’t prepared right, then getting it back with only the parsley swapped out?

Do you lack creativity? Since when is five years an adequate period of mourning before you reanimate one of your tormented, beloved creations?

I have no problem with mindless, special-effects-driven, comic-book entertainment on the big screen. “The Avengers” was the most fun I’ve had in a theater since I saw Lesley Ann Warren’s “Chicago, Illinois” dance in “Victor/Victoria” when I was 14.

And I have enjoyed the Spider-Man movies too. But can’t you think of anything better to do than put lipstick on another arachnid, hoping we’re as brain-dead as your focus groups tell you we are?

I’m not saying these movies aren’t well-made or entertaining. But in a world with 4,000 cable channels — half of which are airing “CSI Modesto” or “Law and Order: Jaywalker Unit” — why can’t you come up with something original for a family to throw $100 at?

Don’t even get me started on 3-D. What scares me most about this gimmick with a locust-like ability to resurface every decade is that it might actually stick around this time. But no one, not my 8-year-old daughter and not her grandmother, gains anything in the human experience by having Katy Perry’s firework breasts three-dimensionally thrust into their face.

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