Sometime during splurging 250 million, Sam Raimi possibly realized that he had little money left for the script and story.
And so he did what Dell, GE and many other “exporters of America”, using the words of the formidable Lou Dobbs, have done. He outsourced the scripting to India where a company that had Kunal Kolhi and Sanjay Gadhvi on its payroll did a “How may I help you” and converted “Spiderman 3” into a classic Bollywood formula movie of the first order.
How else can you explain “Spiderman 3” opening with Peter Parker and Mary Jane reclining on a spiderweb watching shooting stars ala SRK and Kajol in “Kuch Kuch Hota Hain”, Peter Parker’s friend-turned-enemy Harry contorting his face and spitting out something on the lines of: ” Yes I kissed her and muaaah she tasted like strawberries” (which must have made Shakti Kapoor go “Aoooo copyright violation “), a rejected Peter Parker with a Devdas-like curl of hair trying to make his ex-girlfriend Mary Jane jealous with a “Koi yahan aha nache nache” dance with another girl , the “pyar ki qurbani for sake of saiyaan” set-piece from the 70s socials and enough tears shed (the hero, heroine, the other man, the other woman and even the villain— not one person is spared the glycerine) to make Nirupa Roy tear her hair in frustration?
Noone grudges romance, drama and brainlessnesses in a superhero flick —at least not me. Which is why I loved the first part of the Spiderman series –it was cute, action-packed and trod the line between sentimentality and superhumanity with style. Spiderman 2 was more of the same: except that I liked it a little less than the first Spiderman. But Spiderman 3 loses the balance altogether sinking into a morass of tear-drenched maudlinity, with a tangled web of a “he loves her, she loves another, and he loves someone else” soap-operaish plot that inhibits the development of any cinematic pace and frequent incursions into unintentional comedy brought about by good boy Parker going over to the dark side and desperately trying to portray evilÂ by doing a “well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk” gait and over-the-top Shahrukhian flourishes.
In conclusion, I have to say that I went in prepared to see a rousing finale of epic proportions to the Spiderman saga and came out with the distinct aftertaste of strawberries.
To be honest, I did not find that muaaaahhh.