Spider-Man: Homecoming

Spider-Man: Homecoming

Oh, I get it: Spiderman is a cop. Not a cop-cop—more like the hipster cop who stalked Occupy in New York. Your "friendly, neighborhood" spidercop, your cute cop with a good hair cut, an unassumingly lean build, a modicum of personal style, an abundance of charm. He'll talk you up as he strokes your bodega cat. But he's still the guy who'll needlessly interrogate you on the street, leave you cuffed—or in this case, webbed to a car—and walk away saying, "You deserve that; you're a criminal." After you help him! Got it. I think I prefer the recent iterations of Iron Man and Batman: defense contractors whose depictions don't mitigate that fact.  

Anyway, neither here nor there in terms of pleasure, as the movie's main problem is mostly its hyper-coordinated blandness. What's fascinating though is to keep tabs on the ways these corporate properties try to charm us—while also openly advertising their deficiencies. They didn't even try to make the movie look good. The cast is supposedly diverse, but when the whole movie looks as washed and ready-for-daytime-TV as a stick of chalk, with the frozen-dinner formalism to match, who can tell? You say black person—I say wack person. The studio doesn't care; neither should we.

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