I can point out the exact moment when Spider-Man 3 went right down the crapper for me. It was when Peter Parker, who had recently undergone an emo-ification, somehow forgot that outtakes belong on the DVD and started strutting his stuff through New York City à la Saturday Night Fever. And then decided to follow that up with the unforgiveable busting of some moves in Mary Jane Watson’s jazz club.
Perhaps if Parker’s strutting and dancing had been anything like this, then maybe Spider-Man 3’s rampant worldwide success would’ve been justified:
Come of think of it, this is actually better than the whole of Superman Returns as well. Sigh, if only I’d known beforehand. I could’ve saved myself twenty bucks.