Sure, Mr. Molina.
I gave in. I went to see SpiderMan late last evening, and honestly, I enjoyed it.
Not the horrible, God-forsaken acting, mind you. For example, Willem Dafoe's two-minute appearance was easily the highlight of the evening. And despite the fact that Alfred Molina is a self-described "old, fat guy," he did a relatively okay job as Octavius.
Fiddler: Not so great.
Maguire and Dunst, of course, were wretched. Harris was brilliant, but mostly because she's too aged to be much else.
And Franco; Let us just say that if James Franco was just a little bit better at keeping his mouth shut and not pretending to act, he would be the most gorgeous man alive. But, like some know-it-all beauty, he has to pretend he has talent.
No, James. No.
Technically, the film was bounds beyond the first. Not amazing, mind you, but a relief from what I expected. Of course, every possible plot direction has now been drained and exposed, leaving nothing but a bitter taste and Franco in Dafoe's costume to fill the void of "3."
So excited about that one.
Ehh, not so much.
I did, however, enjoy screaming the few lyrics of "Vindicated" that I actually knew. It was permissible, simply because I was one of four people in the theatre.
Poor burnt-out Winter Park Village.
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