The real highlight yesterday was the trailer for Spider-Man 3. I creamed my jeans when I saw it. It is, already, hands down one of my favorite movies of all time, even though the movie doesn't even come out until next summer. I don't have to see it. I already know. I love it! This installment introduces the black suit! Yay yay yay!
So for a year, my heart would skip a beat any time I saw a bit of news about Spider-Man 3, I posted Spider-Man 3 magazine pictures on my bulletin board, and, most recently, I sucked down three huge-ass Slurpees from my corner 7-11 in order to collect the three exclusive 3-D Slurpee cups that I just had to own. And then, on the Thursday night before the movie opened worldwide, I went to the midnight screening at my neighborhood theater alone, since none of my friends are as fanatical as I am.
First the good news: there are some really amazing special effects and action sequences (the birth of the Sandman is simultaneously jaw-dropping and beautiful), but Spider-Man 3 is by far the weakest entry into the superhero series. And I can be the most naive apologist in the world for entertainment that I'm passionate about (just try to argue against 24 on any level and I'll end up wiping the floor with your faux intellectual, faux high-brow ass), but, whenever Spider-Man 3 started to suck, man, did it suck bad. The writing, the acting, the almost-everything: one misguided, cringe-worthy attempt at profundity after another.
Have you ever gone up to a little boy and crushed his dreams? I haven't. But I sure know how he feels.
—Reporting From Glendale, California