Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man monument

Sony’s love affair with Spider-Man goes back to the 1990s. Indeed, it was thanks to the Japanese company that the first film adaptation of Spider-Man’s adventures saw the light of day, after a complicated gestation period under various studios. Without the critical and commercial success of this first film, released in 2002, and the trilogy that followed, it’s a safe bet that today’s cinematic landscape would be very different, as the Marvel universe would not have been able to reach the hearts of the general public. If it was Iron Man that enabled the creation of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sam Raimi’s film is the instigator of the explosion of the superhero mythos, for better or for worse. The shadow of the Evil Dead creator’s works can be felt on many productions from the Marvel universe, particularly those based around the Spider-Man universe. As with every new iteration of Peter Parker’s adventures, comparisons with the trilogy starring Tobey Maguire are inevitable. The Amazing Spider-Man films starring Andrew Garfield were no exception to this rule, and neither were the three subsequent films featuring the young Tom Holland in the role of the Weaver.

The release of Spider-Man: No Way Home in 2021 is symptomatic of the legacy of these three films, which is sometimes too heavy to bear, and of the failure of those in charge of the project to free themselves from it and chart their own course. Faced with the impossibility of imposing the most recent version of Peter Parker in the hearts of the public, the heroes and villains of the old sagas are recalled, with the plot centered around Willem Dafoe and Alfred Molina, not to mention the arrival of good old Tobey Maguire. If we can blame the creative teams for failing to come up with a convincing new version of Spider-Man, it’s hardly surprising to see them give in to the easy fan service of bringing back major elements from the first trilogy. At heart, Sam Raimi’s films, while not the first cinematic works of the superheroic genre, nor even the first quality films in this register, continue to represent an ideal to be attained in the way they anchor the superman in our everyday lives, and tell us about the duality between the hero and the man under the mask. Marvel’s Spider-Man, released in 2018 and developed by Insomniac Games, is a worthy heir to Sam Raimi’s humanist vision. That’s why we’d like to revisit this cornerstone of contemporary cinema.

The genesis of a legend

While today’s superhero films flood cinema screens almost every three months, this was not the case twenty years ago. At the beginning of the 2000s, the superhero movie genre wasn’t exactly on a roll, and was often mocked. The film industry had nevertheless seen some great films in this genre, such as the first Superman, released in 1978 and directed by Richard Donner. We’re also thinking of Tim Burton’s two Batman films, more specifically Batman Returns, or Bryan Singer’s incredible first X-Men film, which impressed audiences with its impressive direction and powerful social themes. Others won’t forget to mention M. Night Shyamalan’s fascinating Unbreakable and its ultra-realistic take on the superhero myth, well before Christopher Nolan’s 2008 smash The Dark Knight. However, these works were the exception rather than the rule, because in those years, when we spoke of superhero films, we mostly thought of the abysmally bad Superman movies that followed the first. We also thought of Batman Forever, Batman and Robin and other horrors such as the 1990 Captain America film.

Staging a character in colorful tights was not yet a guarantee for studios to rake in a colossal sum of money. It’s no coincidence that the few successful films in this style up until the early 2000s were the fruit of talented, passionate directors with a real vision of the material they had to work with. Adapting Spider-Man to the big screen has been an almost Herculean task, and it has taken years for the project to come to anything that would allow a proper start to filming, due to a particularly nebulous situation regarding the rights owners of a film adaptation of Spider-Man’s adventures. It may seem hard to believe when you consider the behemoth that is Marvel in 2025, particularly with the advent of the MCU in 2008, but the American company hasn’t always been in good financial shape, far from it. In the early 1990s, the publisher’s sales plummeted, despite significant successes in the 80s thanks to a slightly more mature turn in terms of published content. Marvel then experienced very difficult years, following a succession of poor editorial choices, a drop in sales of derivative products and the flight of many talents who had decided to create their own publishing houses. The company soon went bankrupt and was the subject of takeover attempts by entrepreneurs fighting to get their hands on the publishing house.

In 1998, Marvel was finally rescued and enjoyed an unexpected revival under the editorial direction of Joe Quesada. Under his leadership, Marvel began to get involved in film adaptations of its licenses. Following the success of adaptations based on minor series such as Men in Black in 1997 and Blade in 1998, the publishing house negotiated adaptation rights for other licenses with various studios, enabling the production of such blockbusters as X-Men in 2000 and Spider-Man in 2002. The adventures of Spider-Man have long been awaited at the cinema. The film adaptation of Spider-Man has been a sea serpent for many years. Back in 1985, the adaptation rights were transferred to the Cannon Group studio for US$225,000 – a derisory sum compared with the value of the license today – with the sole condition of launching production of the film before April 1990. Unfortunately, Cannon Group was already in financial difficulties following the cataclysmic failure of the infamous Superman IV. The group was soon absorbed by Pathé Communication, which decided to transfer the rights to 21st Century Film Corp, thus postponing production until January 1992. This was only the beginning of the problems, as MGM, having just acquired 21st Century Film Corp, contested the transfer of the rights, which became trapped in a legal knot that was difficult to untangle, pitting Columbia Pictures, the Carolco company with which Marvel had previously made an agreement for the adaptation, against MGM, having bought Carolco on the verge of bankruptcy, and which ended up claiming its share of the cake too.

On March 2, 1999, after eight years of litigation, Columbia Pictures and its parent company Sony Pictures Entertainment won the rights to produce Spider-Man films. Sony Pictures, now in control of the project, initially intended to take over James Cameron’s development of Carolco, but Cameron was no longer interested and had moved on several years earlier. So began the mad search for the perfect director for a project of this magnitude. Tim Burton and David Fincher were considered for a time, but Sam Raimi won the bid in January 2000, after demonstrating his extensive knowledge of Spider-Man’s adventures. James Cameron’s script was initially retained, but then rejected, as Sam Raimi wanted to deliver his own personal version of Spider-Man. The script was therefore completely rewritten by him and screenwriter David Koepp. From Cameron’s script, they retained only the idea of the organic webs. With the director and script now fully in place, all that remained was to build the cast and crew, and find the perfect actor to play Peter Parker.

Finding the headliner for a superhero movie is often a complicated exercise. While Sam Raimi was quick to cast Willem Dafoe as the Green Goblin, Kirsten Dunst as Mary-Jane Watson and James Franco as Harry Osborn, it took him much longer to decide on Peter Parker. While the director was meticulous when it came to choosing the insect that would bite his hero, importing it directly from New Zealand to ensure the perfect specimen, he was equally fastidious when it came to choosing the cornerstone of his cast. Many actors were considered, some of them now particularly renowned, such as Jude Law and Elijah Wood. In the end, it was Tobey Maguire who won the right to don the Spider-Man costume. In particular, it was his attempts in the Spider-Man suit that would have definitively tipped the scales in his favor, eclipsing all his competitors. For Sam Raimi, there was no doubt that Maguire would represent the heart and balance of the film. Ironically, the young actor knew very little about the Spider-Man comic-book. Far from being a fan of the original comics, he had to read many issues to prepare for his role and grasp the character he was to play. He also underwent intense training. Over several months, he developed both strength and agility. However, Maguire was chosen neither for his knowledge nor his fitness, as both can be worked on.

What made the difference was his appearance and, above all, the way he looked. Peter Parker isn’t Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark, nor is he particularly cool or charismatic. Nor is he a popular flamer. He’s a normal kid from Queens, a young adult like many of them. He’s introverted, a bit nerdy and, above all, terribly awkward with girls. Tobey Maguire is an actor who, at the time, had a very distinctive physique, almost thankless according to some, enabling him to deliver a credible performance as the nerdy Peter Parker before he became Spider-Man. Maguire had everything it took to play a slightly awkward, terribly endearing everyman to perfection, who found himself having to deal with the complexity of the responsibilities a hero must shoulder, while undergoing the terrible transition from late adolescence to early adulthood. Peter Parker isn’t someone we fantasize about or envy; he’s someone we see endure and achieve, bringing us face to face with our own human condition.

Superhero, but above all superhuman

Etymologically, superheroes are heroes – in other words, men and women endowed with extraordinary abilities. When the first superheroes appeared, American society was in crisis and in need of new points of reference. Comic book writers emerged to imagine virtuous examples ready to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders to help the oppressed. They embody hope for a safer, fairer world. Unfortunately, this relationship with others and with human life has been largely lost in today’s superhero films, which are completely devoid of drama and depict these supermen only as super-functionaries completely disconnected from the world.

This is where Sam Raimi, with his Spider-Man trilogy, takes a radically different path. He’s not content to deliver a simple action story in which a hero swings from skyscraper to skyscraper. Instead, Raimi fashions a veritable initiatory quest, a long journey on the quest for identity that he develops in his three films, provoking ever greater empathy for his main character and those around him. The trilogy is not just a superhero epic, but a deeply human tale where inner dilemmas and relational conflicts are at the heart of the plot. For Raimi, what distinguishes a hero is not so much the greatness of his powers as the humanity that runs through him. He has always insisted that the essence of his films lies in the depth of the characters and the complex interrelationships that unite them, particularly those between Peter Parker and Mary-Jane Watson and Harry Osborn, who form the emotional and narrative pillars of the saga.

At first, Peter is just a young adult in love with his neighbor, whom he’s known since childhood. Interestingly, the entire construction of the first opus makes Mary-Jane Watson the major character of the film. The story opens on her, and she’s the one to watch, because she’s everything to this naive young boy. Peter is still out of frame at this point, and his first appearance is off camera. He’s just a hand tapping against the bus window, disrupting the viewer’s first glimpse of the beautiful redhead. It’s while he’s lost in thought, looking at her, that he gets bitten by that famous spider. It’s while trying to impress her with a car that he finds himself dreaming up a costume to take part in underground wrestling matches to make money, indirectly leading to his uncle’s death. Throughout the film, he chases after her, desires her passionately, saves her again and again, giving the viewer one of the most cult kisses in cinema history. Mary-Jane is a whole character who doesn’t just serve as Peter’s stooge. She has her own goals and goes through her own doubts in her quest for upward mobility to escape an alcoholic and violent father who never believed in her. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why some audiences have grown disenchanted with Mary-Jane, as she’s not just a prop who finds narrative utility only in death. The first feature ends with Peter deciding to turn his back on her, as the child he was at the start of the film comes to fully realize his superhuman condition. The bearer of both a gift and a curse, Peter is faced with a sad realization: no matter what he does or how determined he is, those closest to him will always end up paying the price. Peter’s involvement in the tragedies that affect his loved ones forces him to detach himself from his own identity to fully embody that of Spider-Man. It is through this personal sacrifice that the idea of responsibility, formulated by his uncle, becomes central to the saga. This transition, from naïve boy to hero aware of his responsibilities, is the real heart of the story, and it’s only by fully understanding it that Peter is able to embrace his condition as a superhero.

Throughout his saga, Sam Raimi places a great deal of emphasis on the question of fatherhood via the father/child bond. Peter Parker doesn’t become Spider-Man because he’s a superhero at heart. He becomes one because the consequences of his selfish choices indirectly lead to the death of his paternal referent, nearly causing him to lose himself on the path to revenge. It’s thanks to the power of time, which allows him to mourn, that he comes to fully understand his uncle’s now iconic phrase: “With great power comes great responsibility, never forget that”. The loss of his father thus represents Peter’s first steps towards adulthood and the man he is destined to become. It is above all this powerful filial love tainted by regret that brings about the birth of this superhero, and not the indestructible virtue that has always inhabited the character.

Many of the trilogy’s main characters are affected by this theme of the paternal bond. This is particularly true of Harry Osborn, who walks in his father’s shadow throughout the trilogy, constantly seeking approval in the first film from this uncompromising man who sometimes seems to admire Peter more than his own son. After all, the Oscorp heir is a privileged man who has been able to get everything he wanted since birth. It’s a safe bet that Norman feels an unconscious contempt for the man who never had to break a sweat to get ahead, where the Queens orphan’s self-sacrifice echoes his own journey; that of a self-made man who embodies the myth of the American self-made man. Where the death of a father figure led Peter down the path of virtue, Harry takes the path of resentment and hatred. No longer able to receive his father’s approval, he is motivated solely by the desire to surpass him in everything he undertakes, and by a desire for extreme revenge against Spider-Man, whom he holds responsible for the death of his progenitor. All this gradually leads him to despise his best friend, whom he particularly resents for not revealing Spider-Man’s identity. Harry’s world collapses when he discovers that the person he hates the most and the person he loves the most in the world are in fact one and the same person, driving him further down the path of resentment to satisfy an obsessive paternal image, before finally siding with Peter and leaving behind the harmful grip of a father who was never there for him.

The theme of parenthood also extends to Mary-Jane, whose quest for recognition on the Broadway stage reflects a need to escape a devaluing father figure. Her life, marked by abuse and devaluation, is echoed in her dependence on public admiration and the approval of others. Mary-Jane’s vulnerability to criticism and social pressure is a consequence of her emotional wounds. Finally, a character like Sandman, transformed in spite of himself into a monster, illustrates yet another facet of parenthood: that of the ultimate sacrifice, that of the father who seeks to provide for his daughter, but loses his footing in the midst of his responsibilities. Through him, Raimi manages to nuance the idea of the enemy, showing that some “villains” are above all victims of circumstance. This duality between good and evil, sacrifice and revenge, is a recurring motif in the trilogy, and contributes to the exploration of the notion of moral responsibility that is imposed on the characters at every turning point in their evolution.

Beyond the action and spectacular scenes, it’s this exploration of parenthood and family ties that makes Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy so profound and universal. The central question remains: what is a hero, if not one who assumes, sometimes at great cost, the consequences of his choices, for the good of others? Through this family and human prism, Raimi delivers a philosophical reflection on responsibility and sacrifice, at the heart of all true heroic mythology.

The phrase “With great power comes great responsibility” has become a staple of popular culture, on a par with “I am your father” from The Empire Strikes Back. It embodies the very essence of Sam Raimi’s trilogy, the deeper meaning of which is sometimes overshadowed by its popularity. If, at the outset, these words designate a simple moral – the imperative to put one’s exceptional abilities at the service of humanity – they actually carry all the complexity of Peter Parker’s inner quest. The hero’s responsibility is not only to fight evil, but also to live with the heavy consequences of his choices. This is the principle of the leader of the rope, the one who provides the impetus and must serve as an example to others. This is the duty of a superhero whose life is not all glitter and consequence-free deeds. In the first film, Peter becomes aware of his mission, a sacrificial duty that forces him to juggle his dual identity. However, this tension between his two lives soon becomes a difficult burden to bear, especially in the second opus, arguably the greatest superhero film ever made. Spider-Man, though indispensable to New York, becomes a source of suffering for Peter: he fails in his studies, loses job after job and, worst of all, abandons his loved ones, including Mary-Jane, who blames him for being an empty chair in her life. He continually finds himself in ambivalent situations, as in his relationship with Harry, who lives only to kill the Spider-Man without knowing that he’s right under his nose. 

The hero exhausts himself in his quest to save the city, but forgets himself in the process, leading him to an essential realization: he can’t be a hero by neglecting his own humanity. When he decides to set aside his Spider-Man alter ego to focus on his personal life, he soon realizes that inaction in the face of injustice is impossible to bear. The film’s moral becomes clearer: sacrifice is no longer a duty imposed by the memory of Uncle Ben, but a conscious choice. This reconciliation with his role as hero, and acceptance of his personal responsibilities, allows Mary-Jane to finally become part of his life, despite the complications of their relationship. The third film concludes this evolution: Peter, now an adult capable of managing his priorities, still has to face the pitfalls of pride and fame, leading to a deterioration in his character under Venom’s influence. The appearance of the symbiote then becomes a metaphor for addiction, symbolizing Peter’s fall into his darkest desires before his redemption. Their life’s journey on screen ends on a bittersweet note, symbolizing two adults bound for life who have succeeded in embracing the full extent of their responsibilities, bearing the scars that such a change can only bring.

By blending Peter’s account of his responsibilities with his philosophical opposition to his enemies, Raimi manages to turn this trilogy into a masterpiece of writing. Doctor Octopus, for example, embodies the ambiguity of human genius: an ordinary man, driven by passion, who allows himself to be swallowed up by his quest for knowledge, only to find redemption. Opposite Peter, who embodies sacrifice, Octopus symbolizes the arrogance of someone who loses sight of ethics and responsibility in favor of personal ambition. The key moment of their confrontation, when Peter, in a martyr’s posture, refuses to fight his enemy while trying to bring him to his senses, is of great philosophical power. It echoes Aunt May’s point that there’s a hero in all of us, and that sometimes all it takes is the right inspiration to strike that chord in everyone’s heart. In the end, we are all responsible for our actions, and we can all choose the hero’s path. Ultimately, Raimi succeeds in weaving a profound reflection on responsibility, sacrifice and redemption. The trilogy not only explores Peter Parker’s personal dilemmas, but poses a universal question: how do we live with our powers, our gifts and our weaknesses? Every one of us faces this question, and it’s in the choice to take the hero’s path, despite sacrifice and hardship, that true greatness lies.

Visual mastery

It’s time to underline a fundamental aspect of Sam Raimi’s trilogy: beyond a solidly written script, it’s above all the directing that’s striking in its power and singularity. Raimi, a true aesthete with the camera, delights us at every turn, transforming the lens into a protagonist in its own right. It’s often said that he makes the camera the main character in his films, an approach that enables him to fashion unique visual universes. This ability to use the camera as a projection of his fantasies and the actions of the characters allows him to create iconic, spectacular shots, where the lens immerses itself in the action with a fluidity that seems haphazard, but is in fact almost mathematically precise.

In many ways, every action scene in the trilogy embodies an aesthetic of excess. Our superhero’s confrontations are gripping, filmed with such depth of field and mobility that we sometimes forget the underlying simplicity of the staging. Raimi prefers never to descend into grandiloquence, far from massive explosions or omnipotent antagonists threatening to destroy the entire universe. The stakes, meanwhile, always remain anchored in reality, closer to us: everything takes place on a speeding train, a dizzying skyscraper or a colossal bridge, but the essence of the battles remains intimate, focused on the physical confrontation between Spider-Man and his enemies. This simplicity and closeness to the characters make the action terribly effective and memorable.

One of the major strengths of these films lies in their legibility. Raimi avoids artificially bold camera strokes or choppy montages that seek to mask confusing action. Instead, he favors long shots, studied down to the last detail, that let the action breathe and offer a clear vision of the choreography, to the point of taking our breath away. The train scene in Spider-Man 2 is a model of this mastery: the confrontation between Spider-Man and Doctor Octopus becomes an absolute reference for the genre, a palpable intensity that never loses its clarity. But what sets Raimi apart even more is his ability to navigate between spectacular action and more intimate, emotionally-charged moments. The kissing scene in the first film, the moment when Spider-Man abandons his costume in a garbage can in the second, and the melancholy, romantic dance at the end of the third, all bear witness to his mastery of emotional nuance. Raimi offers viewers total immersion in the intimacy of his characters.

Sam Raimi’s stylized, dynamic direction is very much in keeping with the comic-book universe, as evidenced by the memorable transition in which Doctor Octopus’ eyes follow Spider-Man in mid-air. All this is enhanced by Danny Elfman’s soundtrack, which makes us all want to slip into the spider’s skin and leap from rooftop to rooftop. This perfect fusion of image and music helps to immerse the viewer in a story that is both heroic and profoundly human. Sam Raimi made his name with the Evil Dead saga, establishing himself as a master of radical, kitsch horror cinema. This mastery has enabled him to concoct a trilogy that is both serious in its themes and intense in its dramaturgy, while remaining faithful to this very particular aspect of his cinema. This talent is particularly evident in his taste for visual gags. Raimi manages to raise a smile just by filming the clumsiness of Peter Parker’s character, who, like a Pierre Richard of the Marvel universe, accumulates missteps with irresistible comic lightness. Case in point? The scene in Spider-Man 2, at a gala event, where Peter is constantly being beaten to the punch by the last oven available, or the moment when, after struggling so hard to grab a dish from the waiters’ trays, he comes across an empty glass. These little touches of humor are the perfect embodiment of Raimi’s penchant for kitsch.

One of the comedic pillars of this offbeat universe is undoubtedly the character of J. Jonah Jameson, magnificently played by J.K. Simmons at the top of his game. Jameson brings a touch of the grand-guignoleque to every one of his appearances, portraying this stingy, angry newspaper magnate with unrivalled energy. The love of kitsch is also evident in the vocal exaggerations of the damsels in distress, screaming in terror at the dangers ahead. Raimi doesn’t hesitate to play with these shrill screams, sometimes framed in a fixed way, reminding us of the codes of 80s horror films, and inserting clichés in a deliberately excessive and joyfully retro style.

All this is incorporated into a resolutely colorful and dynamic visual style, in which Raimi doesn’t shy away from pushing the boundaries of spectacle and exploiting his trademark visual madness to the full. The film thus becomes a veritable extension of his cartoonish, unreal universe, while delivering action scenes of rare power, worthy of Spider-Man’s iconic strength. To see Raimi deploy his unique style in such a big-budget production, centered on the adaptation of Spider-Man’s adventures, seems almost an anachronism today. It’s a symbol of a bygone era for blockbusters, when a director could still indulge in daring stylistic digressions, visual and narrative choices that would be hard to imagine in a Marvel film in 2021. Raimi has managed to infuse his unique style, creating a work that goes far beyond mere entertainment to offer a true cinematic experience.

Raimi doesn’t hold back, and doesn’t hesitate to slip in sequences that would be hard to imagine in a classic superhero movie. A striking example can be found in Spider-Man 2, with the improbable scene in which Peter, having renounced his Spider-Man identity, lets himself wander through the streets of New York, to the strains of B.J. Thomas’ Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. This is Tobey Maguire’s chance to shine, giving us nearly two sublime minutes in which he brilliantly embodies a gangly and totally out-of-date Peter Parker. This sequence, which seems totally out of time, brings an incredible cachet to the work, and humanizes Peter’s character to an insanely accurate degree, with virtually no need to resort to the slightest word.

Il serait juste de dire que Raimi s’affranchit complètement de toute retenue dans le troisième opus de la trilogie. La scène où Peter sombre du côté obscur, sous l’influence de Venom, en est l’exemple le plus marquant. À l’époque, cette séquence fut vivement critiquée, jugée ridicule par beaucoup, alors qu’elle a toujours été brillante. En effet, on a souvent tendance à associer le passage du côté obscur à une attitude cool et charismatique, et beaucoup ont été déroutés de voir Spider-Man, un personnage pourtant sympathique et maladroit, ne pas se transformer en un héros dark et badass. Mais Peter Parker n’est pas ce genre de personnage. Il paraissait évident qu’en perdant tout compas moral, il ne pourrait être qu’un ringard désinhibé. Un ringard reste un ringard, fut-il méchant ou gentil cela ne change absolument rien.

It would be fair to say that Raimi is completely unrestrained in the third opus of the trilogy. The scene where Peter goes over to the dark side, under the influence of Venom, is the most striking example. At the time, this sequence was widely criticized as ridiculous, even though it was always brilliant. Indeed, we often tend to associate going over to the dark side with a cool, charismatic attitude, and many were baffled to see Spider-Man, however likeable and awkward a character, not transforming into a dark, badass hero. But Peter Parker isn’t that kind of character. It seemed obvious that, by losing all moral compass, he could only be an uninhibited nerd. A nerd remains a nerd, whether he’s a bad guy or a good guy, it makes absolutely no difference.

A tangible legacy

When it comes to superhero movies, Sam Raimi’s trilogy remains at the heart of all discussions, whether it’s about direction, character writing or the soundtrack. It represents the genre’s benchmark, laying the foundations that most of the films that have followed have tried to imitate, with varying degrees of success. The fact that this trilogy is constantly brought up in debate sometimes annoys some of its few detractors, who struggle to grasp what made these three films so great. And yet, all it takes to fully appreciate the impact and quality of these films is to take a step back from the superhero genre as a whole. Although origin stories are increasingly rare today, as Marvel heroes have settled into the collective imagination, the formula of Raimi’s first Spider-Man is still used with every new superhero introduction. Even when we don’t focus specifically on a character’s origin, the influence of Raimi’s films remains omnipresent, and many still attempt to replicate it, never quite managing to match its brilliance. We can debate indefinitely the meaning or influence of a success, its ability to inspire other works both aesthetically and industrially, but such debates often testify to the power of a license.

So it’s no surprise that the film’s bright, upbeat photography, with its vivid color palette, has been copiously reproduced, as have the subtle humor and light-hearted moments that punctuate the work. This tone, which never neglects to slip in moments of comedy, has become a standard in the genre. The problem, however, is that this recipe is often misunderstood or badly transposed. The mistake of a superhero movie is not to introduce humor, but to flood every scene with it, thus annihilating any dramatic stakes. This makes it difficult to become emotionally invested in the story or in a character’s fate, when the film itself makes a fool of itself at every turn. In a sense, for all the genius of this trilogy, Sam Raimi could almost be considered the indirect father of the Marvel Cinematic Universe films, which have never matched the originality of their roots. These films have often turned the genre into a gigantic, explosive buffoonery, far removed from the finesse and gravity that Raimi had managed to infuse into his work. A simple search on social networks shows just how much Raimi’s Spider-Man films have become must-see classics, among the genre’s best-loved and most successful.

It’s worth noting that the original trilogy has enjoyed a huge resurgence in popularity in recent years, largely thanks to the phenomenal success of the Spider-Man game on PlayStation 4 and the huge success of the animated film Into the Spider-Verse. These works pay tribute to Raimi’s saga on many levels, multiplying references to the gimmicks of the films starring Tobey Maguire and perfectly in keeping with the spirit of the first three opuses. These tributes have rekindled memories of the trilogy in the hearts of fans, to the point where many are now calling for Maguire and Raimi to return for a Spider-Man 4 that never saw the light of day, due to artistic differences at the time. Spider-Man’s legacy proves relatively easy to bear for the majority of films in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which enjoy almost systematic leniency, although their distance from Sam Raimi’s cinematic ambitions is obvious. On the other hand, this benevolence hardly extends to other adaptations of the hero, and in particular to those starring Andrew Garfield, whose The Amazing Spider-Man films have often borne the brunt of fierce comparison with Raimi’s trilogy. Yet, with sufficient hindsight, it’s clear that these films are nowhere near as bad as some critics would have us believe.

Admittedly, it was a perilous mission from the outset for director Marc Webb and his team. The public was expecting a Spider-Man 4 starring Tobey Maguire, but the film never saw the light of day. Raimi and his collaborators decided to pull out of the project due to insurmountable differences with producers Sony Pictures. As a result, the Japanese company was obliged to produce a new Spider-Man film within five years, or risk losing the film rights to the license. It was against this backdrop of urgency that The Amazing Spider-Man was born, and Andrew Garfield took on the role of Peter Parker, in a climate of general frustration, with fans feeling orphaned by Tobey Maguire’s sympathetic but clumsy face.

The first installment of this new saga struggled to break free from the shadow of Raimi’s original film. The apparent desire to reproduce the broad outlines of the first Spider-Man lacked subtlety, and the magic and technical mastery of the 2002 version were sorely lacking. One of the most emblematic scenes, that of Uncle Ben’s death, never achieved the raw emotion that characterized Raimi’s adaptation. Although Garfield was a talented actor, and showed an uncanny ease in the Spider-Man costume, his interpretation of Peter Parker failed to convince. His Peter was too handsome, too self-confident, too popular for us to believe for a second in his role as a persecuted geek, a fundamental trait of the character. If the romance between Maguire and Kirsten Dunst, though sometimes naive, was able to touch us thanks to its dramatic breath and expression of the complex dilemmas of a superhero, the one between Garfield and Emma Stone struggled to strike such a balance. The chemistry between the two actors was undeniable, but the script sometimes seemed to slip into the register of a Twilight-like romance, with tights to boot.

The Amazing Spider-Man suffered from an obvious schizophrenia: on the one hand, it tried to follow in Raimi’s footsteps, and on the other, it sought to reflect the emerging trend towards darker, more “mature” superhero films, popularized by Christopher Nolan. This mix of contradictory influences fails to fully convince. However, we mustn’t forget that, despite these shortcomings, both films possessed an undeniable aura and some notable qualities, which still make us regret never having had a third opus. We would have liked to see a more accomplished Peter Parker, having overcome his grief to finally become the full-fledged hero his fans had been waiting for. Due to disappointing box-office results, Sony decided to entrust the sequel to Spider-Man’s adventures to Marvel Studios, while retaining the rights to the license. And so it was that young Tom Holland made his appearance in the iconic Weaver’s costume, ushering in a new era for the character.

The new incarnation of Spider-Man, played by Tom Holland, represented a unique opportunity to finally integrate him into the Marvel Cinematic Universe and see him evolve alongside other iconic superheroes such as Iron Man, Captain America and Thor. From the outset, Marvel took care to distance this version of the Weaver from everything that had made Sam Raimi’s films so successful. Uncle Ben, a central figure in the first adaptations, is barely mentioned here, while the role of father figure is entrusted to Tony Stark. Gone, too, is Harry Osborn and his tumultuous relationship with Peter, replaced by Ned, an endearing geek whose caricature and propensity for making jokes make him a secondary character far removed from the intensity of the duality between Peter and Harry. What’s more, there are no spectacular aerobatics scenes or solemn speeches on the responsibility incumbent on a hero. Everything is taken lightly, and the character of Spider-Man thus fits into the mold of MCU productions, which are more concerned with humor and action than moral reflection.

However, despite this obvious desire to move away from the more dramatic and symbolic approach of the first films, we can’t help noticing that this new version slips in a few references here and there, particularly visual ones, to Raimi’s work. Take, for example, the ferry scene, which seems to clumsily reproduce one of the most memorable moments of 2004’s Spider-Man 2, when the Weaver tries to save a train. If the intention is indeed to offer a modern reinterpretation of the myth, the aura of the first films continues to hover over this new version, making any attempt to break away somewhat futile. The real turning point, and perhaps the fatal blow for Tom Holland’s saga, comes shortly after the release of the second opus devoted to him. In addition to the questionable quality of the film, which almost systematically fails in its narrative choices, the major faux-pas lies in the introduction, a little too forced, of J.K. Simmons in the role of J. Jonah Jameson. This obvious reference to Raimi’s films, just as we were trying to turn the page, ends up weighing the film down with misplaced nostalgia. This decision completely overshadows the MCU’s Spider-Man, whose aura immediately fades in the face of the original trilogy’s imposing shadow.

This phenomenon only heightened speculation about a hypothetical film reuniting all the actors who have played Spider-Man on the silver screen. So, faced with Tom Holland’s failure to win the hearts of fans, Marvel quickly opted for a fan service strategy in Spider-Man: No Way Home, bringing back villains from previous films, starting with Alfred Molina and Willem Dafoe, and even Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield. With this choice, Marvel seems to be implicitly acknowledging that Holland’s Spider-Man wasn’t convincing enough, and that it was imperative to call upon the figures who had made the character famous on the big screen. In so doing, Tom Holland – one of the only bright spots in this new saga – finds himself marginalized, overshadowed by his predecessors.

And so concludes this tour d’honneur devoted to Sam Raimi’s trilogy, which represents so much. We have before us a veritable lesson in cinema, both in content and form, a benchmark for a genre that has been too little exploited in recent years and, above all, a symbol of an era when the production of a superheroic blockbuster did not necessarily rhyme with the desire to break the billion-dollar barrier at the box office. These three films encapsulate all the potential greatness of a superhero movie. Over the course of three opuses, Raimi lavishes us with masterful direction, making us twirl in all directions as the friendly neighborhood spider flies by. He never forgets to paint us with characters of incredible depth and humanity, to give heart to a story that understands that it can’t exist on action alone. Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man is the very definition of heroism, as we follow the initiatory journey of a clueless kid from Queens who becomes the symbol of hope for an entire city, and who goes from tormented child to accomplished adult, marked by life, and who will have become as great as a man as he can be in costume. This reminds us that it’s not the mask, nor the ability to flounce around or lift cars that makes the hero. The hero is the individual who keeps moving forward and keeps getting back up, even when life knocks him to his knees. The hero is the one who sets an example when all seems lost. The hero is the one who reminds us, through profound self-sacrifice, that we can always do the right thing by giving the best we have to offer. In the final analysis, what is a hero if not someone who constantly fights for the dignity of the weak? In this world, too few people spend their time devoting themselves entirely to their fellow human beings. Yet we all sorely need a courageous hero, ready to sacrifice himself at a moment’s notice, to be an example to us all. Under Sam Raimi’s leadership, Spider-Man will have taught us that there’s a hero in all of us, who makes us more honest, gives us strength and, in the end, allows us to die with pride. “With great power comes great responsibility”, said Uncle Ben. Sam Raimi proved, over the course of three films, that he fully understood and accepted his own responsibilities when faced with a project of such magnitude.