Earlier that evening I’d gone out with two friends I was genuinely excited to see. The night ended sooner than I expected, and I drove away a little disappointed, a little unappreciated. Nothing dramatic. It was just one of those nights where the energy you bring and the energy you get back don’t quite match.
I didn’t want to go home yet, so I did the sensible thing and bought a ticket to a late screening of Spider-Man: Brand New Day.
It was around midnight on a work night, and the theater was almost completely empty. I’ll admit it was fun at first. A giant Spider-Man movie, and I had it nearly to myself. The seats were bright and colorful, almost childlike, so there I was, a 41-year-old man in a room that looked designed for a birthday party, settling in for a superhero film. I felt great about it.
And the film delivered what I came for. It’s energetic and entertaining, the action does what you want Spider-Man action to do, and it’s a good-looking movie. Most importantly, Peter still feels like Peter. There’s humor and youthful energy in him, even when things get heavy, and that’s what I always want from the character. If it had been only that, I’d have walked out happy.
But underneath the fun, the film is dealing with more adult ideas than I expected: memory, loss, friendship, love that exists on only one side, moving forward, continuing to care when your life has changed. It’s more mature than the poster suggests, and it earns that.
Somewhere in the middle, it stopped being only Spider-Man for me.
The idea is simple. Peter remembers relationships that other people no longer remember. He carries a whole history that exists only on his side, and he watches people he loved continue their lives without knowing what they once meant to each other. And I felt a quick, uncomfortable oh, I know this.
To be clear, nobody erased my memory. The connection is emotional, not literal. But I know what it’s like to realize a relationship, a friendship, a memory might occupy far more space in your mind than in someone else’s. You think about someone fairly often. They may barely think about you. Something meant a lot to you, and for them it’s just a thing that happened years ago.
Nobody necessarily did anything wrong. That’s the part I find hardest. It would be easier if somebody were cruel. Instead it’s just two people holding the same moment with different weight, and the imbalance can hurt even when everyone behaved decently.
That’s what the film touched, and it opened a drawer of older memories: past friendships, past relationships, times I cared more than the other person, times I showed up and wondered if they would have done the same. I hadn’t gone to the cinema to open that drawer. I’d gone to watch a guy swing around a city.
The question I took home isn’t about Peter and me being alike. He’s a character I admire for one specific reason: disappointment doesn’t make him stop caring. Helping is part of who he is. That raises something I don’t have an answer to. How much of yourself should you give to other people before you start neglecting yourself? Can you stay generous without letting generosity turn into disappearing?
I don’t think the answer is to keep giving no matter what. I don’t think it’s to forget everyone and look after only yourself either. I haven’t worked it out.
There’s a harder instinct that shows up on nights like that. Get successful enough, strong enough, independent enough that you need nobody. It has a real pull when you’re disappointed. If you never need anyone, nobody can let you down. But I’m suspicious of it. Is needing nobody actually strength, or just another kind of loneliness?
The film doesn’t leave Peter alone with that, which I liked. Even without consciously remembering their history, certain people drift back to him and fall into an easy rhythm, as if some compatibility has a gravity of its own. Some people disappear. Some stay. Some find their way back. That’s a richer and warmer take on relationships than simply “Peter is alone.”
So did I like it? Yes. It worked as entertainment and gave me the energy and the Peter Parker I wanted. I’m not claiming it’s the greatest Spider-Man film ever made, and not every scene is perfect. But on this particular night, this version of Peter met me at exactly the right emotional moment, and that’s why it stayed with me.
When the lights came up, the theater was still nearly empty and the seats were still absurdly colorful. I’d gone in expecting two hours away from my own head. Sometimes you go to the movies to escape your life for a while. And sometimes, annoyingly, the movie finds you there anyway.