Andrew Garfield in the Amazing Spider-Man 2. Image: Sony Pictures International.
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Thank goodness for Andrew Garfield, saviour of the Amazing Spider-Man 2

Fans cannot live on special effects alone. It is Andrew Garfield's super powers, as Peter Parker without the mask, that justify the explosions and non sequiturs that follow as soon as he puts it on.

“Acting is impossible,” Andrew Garfield told me in 2011, shortly after he had been cast as Spider-Man. “Creating a performance is impossible. Creating a performance that’s good is impossible. I will never ever create a performance that’s good. I know that. I will never be able to watch myself and feel happy with what I’ve done. It’s constant striving.”

Nothing wrong with some healthy perfectionism. And while I wouldn’t argue that playing Spider-Man demands of Garfield the same complexity that he has brought to his most nuanced work to date—his elegantly measured performance as Eduardo Saverin, the wronged and wounded co-founder of Facebook in The Social Network, and his taut, twitchy turn as a juvenile murderer all grown up in Boy A—his work in the two Amazing Spider-Man movies does go above and beyond the call of duty. His performance is in a whole different key to the one given by Robert Downey Jr in the Iron Man trilogy: Peter Parker is a doe-eyed dope, after all, rather than a strutting id like Iron Man’s human counterpart, Tony Stark. But both engender the same feeling in the viewer: we don’t want them to disappear into the melee.

As with Downey and Iron Man, the bond Garfield forges with us when he is Peter Parker is so strong and sympathetic that the movies can’t help but suffer a slump whenever the mask and the bodysuit goes back on. Every time he’s the amazing Spider-Man, the movies become that little bit less amazing.

The least an actor needs to do in a superhero movie is to keep his or her head above water; that is, to render a performance that won’t be overwhelmed by special effects. Much of this is out of the actor’s hands. What makes the final cut is down to the director, the editor, the studio, but these are not stupid people. They know that a superhero movie in which the audience has no connection with the man or woman in the cape or the mask or the Lycra bodysuit will count for nought. Less than nought. Less than Superman IV: The Quest for Peace.

Garfield and his co-stars in The Amazing Spider-Man 2—Emma Stone, who reprises her role as Gwen Stacy from the previous movie, and Dane DeHaan as Peter’s childhood friend-turned-adversary Harry—are not blockbuster veterans, and they don’t work in the broad, hammy acting style that can be the default setting of the action genre. They contribute detailed, attentive work that just happens to be mounted on the canvas of a noisy, sprawling superhero film. Not, in itself, anything new: ever since Tim Burton’s Batman in 1989, the cleverest actors have recognised that it pays in this genre to keep your integrity, your intimacy, while all around you, everything explodes.

The disparity in scale between fine-grained acting and lumbering action is one of the intriguing elements of a movie like The Amazing Spider-Man 2. It needs its high-calibre cast (to connect with an audience that cannot survive on special effects alone, however much it might want to) but must also end up overruling precisely what makes those actors special. At some point the filmmakers have to pay the piper, which means crass action sequences comprised of escalating explosions, violent non-sequiturs and the arbitrary destruction of property, all rendered unintelligible by stroboscopic editing.

Until that point, with buses and cars being tossed around Times Square like Tonka toys, there is Andrew Garfield, thank goodness. Just as the enduring moments from The Amazing Spider-Man were small and tender and humorous—Garfield not strolling but skipping down the school corridor during a moment of romantic elation, or apologising when he accidentally starts web-slinging on a crowded subway train—so the best parts of the sequel have nothing to do with combat or confrontation. The actorly miracles lie in his bleary, discombobulated tomfoolery when his aunt almost walks in on him in full Spider-Man costume, or the expertly choreographed slapstick when he is called upon to engineer some distraction, or his coquettish peek-a-boo from behind the branches of a tree during a heart-to-heart with Gwen.

Like Johnny Depp’s intricate physical pantomimes in the Pirates of the Caribbean series, or—to take a superhero movie precedent—Gene Hackman’s withering, perpetually disappointed villainy in the first two Superman films, these are the gifts an actor gives to the audience. It’s a trade-off. They nourish us through the long sequences of bone-headed bluster and shallow spectacle. And, if they’re lucky, we come back for parts 3, 4 and 5.

The Amazing Spider-Man 2 is released 16 April.

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

Davide Restivo at Wikimedia Commons
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Scientists have finally said it: alcohol causes cancer

Enough of "linked" and "attributable": a new paper concludes that alcohol directly causes seven types of cancer.

I don't blame you if you switch off completely at the words "causes cancer". If you pay attention to certain publications, everything from sunbeds, to fish, to not getting enough sun, can all cause cancer. But this time, it's worth listening.

The journal Addiction has published a paper that makes a simple, yet startling, claim: 

"Evidence can support the judgement that alcohol causes cancer of the oropharynx [part of the throat], larynx, oesophagus, liver, colon, rectum and [female] breast"

So what's especially significant about this? 

First, scientists, unlike journalists, are very wary of the word "causes". It's hard to ever prove that one action directly led to another, rather than that both happened to occur within the same scenario. And yet Jennie Connor, author of the paper and professor in the Preventive and Social Medicine department at the University of Otago, New Zealand, has taken the leap.

Second, alcohol not only causes cancer of one kind – the evidence supports the claim that it causes cancer at seven different sites in our bodies. There was weaker evidence that it may also cause skin, prostate and pancreatic cancer, while the link between mouth cancers and alcohol consumption was the strongest. 

What did we know about alcohol and cancer before?

Many, many studies have "linked" cancer to alcohol, or argued that some cases may be "attributable" to alcohol consumption. 

This paper loooks back over a decade's worth of research into alcohol and cancer, and Connor concludes that all this evidence, taken together, proves that alcohol "increases the incidence of [cancer] in the population".

However, as Connor notes in her paper, "alcohol’s causal role is perceived to be more complex than tobacco's", partly because we still don't know exactly how alcohol causes cancer at these sites. Yet she argues that the evidence alone is enough to prove the cause, even if we don't know exactly how the "biologial mechanisms" work. 

Does this mean that drinking = cancer, then?

No. A causal link doesn't mean one thing always leads to the other. Also, cancer in these seven sites was shown to have what's called a "dose-response" relationship, which means the more you drink, the more you increase your chances of cancer.

On the bright side, scientists have also found that if you stop drinking altogether, you can reduce your chances back down again.

Are moderate drinkers off the hook?

Nope. Rather devastatingly, Connor notes that moderate drinkers bear a "considerable" portion of the cancer risk, and that targeting only heavy drinkers with alcohol risk reduction campaigns would have "limited" impact. 

What does this mean for public health? 

This is the tricky bit. In the paper, Connor points out that, given what we know about lung cancer and tobacco, the general advice is simply not to smoke. Now, a strong link proven over years of research may suggest the same about drinking, an activity society views as a bit risky but generally harmless.

Yet in 2012, it's estimated that alcohol-attributable cancers killed half a million people, which made up 5.8 per cent of cancer deaths worldwide. As we better understand the links between the two, it's possible that this proportion may turn out to be a lot higher. 

As she was doing the research, Connor commented:

"We've grown up with thinking cancer is very mysterious, we don't know what causes it and it's frightening, so to think that something as ordinary as drinking is associated with cancer I think is quite difficult."

What do we do now?

Drink less. The one semi-silver lining in the study is that the quantity of alcohol you consume has a real bearing on your risk of developing these cancers. 

On a wider scale, it looks like we need to recalibrate society's perspective on drinking. Drug campaigners have long pointed out that alcohol, while legal, is one of the most toxic and harmful drugs available  an argument that this study will bolster.

In January, England's chief medical officer Sally Davies introduced some of the strictest guidelines on alcohol consumption in the world, and later shocked a parliamentary hearing by saying that drinking could cause breast cancer.

"I would like people to take their choice knowing the issues," she told the hearing, "And do as I do when I reach for my glass of wine and think... do I want to raise my risk of breast cancer?"

Now, it's beginning to look like she was ahead of the curve. 

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.