This is kind of a Walt Kowalski-ish thing to say, but my first big drop-out moment with Spider-Man: Far From Home was when the big-ass water monster (i.e, Elemental #1) started destroying centuries-old buildings in Venice, Italy. “Oh, fuck, here we go again,” I groaned. “Once again a grotesque American bullshit popcorn movie arrives in beautiful Venice and before you know it a whole lotta buildings are being wasted, all in the service of selling tickets so that more crap like this can be made. Is this all they can think of…monsters shattering centuries-old timber and brick or stucco walls being reduced to ash and powder?”

The same thing happens in Prague about 20 or 25 minutes later. Then Berlin. And then London. And then it’s finally over.

I hate Americans and American destruction culture. I hate big CG movies and massive CG budgets. I hate loudness and chaos and teenagers who aren’t X-factor types like me when I was 16 and 17. I despise Tom Holland‘s punchable face, and I really hate the Marvel machine when it has nothing better to do and starts jizz-whizzing all over everything and everyone. I really hate the idea of Jon Favreau boinking Marisa Tomei, and I think the romantic pairing of Jacob Batalon and Angourie Rice is close to ridiculous. There once was a time when a guy like Batalon couldn’t even dream about becoming the dweeby, mostly asexual, backwards-baseball-hat-wearing “gay” friend of a girl like Rice. But in Spider-Man: Far From Home, they become lovers almost immediately. Sure thing.