Boxing. Stalemate. Confrontation.
One fighter is unarmed but agile, the other has three heads and six arms but is strong and heavy. The blows land fast and furious, the physical attacks come so quickly that they blur together, overwhelming anyone watching.
A stalemate!
Spider-Man, amidst the chaos, finds a small opening using his quick reflexes, ready to go straight for Dr. Octopus's head.
Knock out Dr. Octopus, and the fight would be over.
But what Spider-Man doesn't know is that this is a trap. Dr. Octopus has intentionally left a flaw in his defense, waiting for Spider-Man to fall for it.
"Heh heh."
Though Dr. Octopus's face is hidden behind sunglasses, his smirk gives away his sinister satisfaction.
In a flash, Spider-Man has no time to react.
The next second, a tentacle shoots out from a gap on the right, hitting Spider-Man squarely in the nose. It strikes without warning, fast and unpredictable, impossible to block.
At the same time:
Spider-Man's right fist is aimed at Dr. Octopus's jaw.
A tentacle from Dr. Octopus's left side is aimed directly at Spider-Man's nose.
A fight to the death. An eye for an eye.
Bang. Bang.
The punches land at nearly the same time. Both exchange blows in a desperate move, each willing to take damage to inflict it. But Dr. Octopus's tentacle keeps extending, even after the punch, hurling Spider-Man away with full force.
Ugh.
Spider-Man groans in pain.
Yet, his reflexes kick in quickly. His left arm blocks the tentacle, deflecting it from below, giving him a brief moment to catch his breath.
But then, just a second later, a tentacle from Dr. Octopus's left side sneaks up from below, like an underground serpent, and grabs Spider-Man's waist, trapping him in a tight grip.
"Hah."
Spider-Man feels the crushing pressure on his body, cutting off his breath, as though his organs are about to be squeezed to pieces. He jerks his head upward to look at Dr. Octopus.
Their eyes meet.
Even though one wears sunglasses and the other a mask, they can't see each other's eyes, but in that instant, a spark ignites between them. The intense emotions simmering in the air explode, crashing into one another.
The tension spreads.
"Cut!"
Sam's voice interrupts the scene once again.
A breath catches in his chest, unable to be released. The actors' muscles freeze, and the tension lingers in the air. There's an unspoken frustration hanging between them, an irritation that builds and refuses to go away.
The scene had been flowing perfectly.
The wirework, the stunts, both Anson and Alfred—the actors—were in sync, a flawless performance that was on the brink of completion.
And yet…
What went wrong this time?
The scene wasn't finished yet. According to the plan, the wires were supposed to lift Anson again, showing the tentacle raising Spider-Man into the air, followed by Dr. Octopus slamming him through the train door, where Spider-Man would crash into the car.
That was the ending.
This was just a part of the fight scene, temporarily pausing here before cutting into the next segment.
But now!
Just as they were nearing the "checkpoint," Sam had interrupted again. Would they have to start over? What went wrong this time?
Everything had been perfect, everything was smooth. Why wasn't the director satisfied?
Fifteen takes, all requiring high physical effort and technical precision, and even with the air conditioning on full blast, the whole set was drenched in sweat. Frustration and fatigue were mixing, and everyone was on edge.
Eyes darted toward Sam.
Sam was lost in his thoughts, unaware of the growing tension around him.
"Brilliant."
Everyone: Huh? What's happening?
"That was brilliant! Beautiful! Perfect! Everything was perfect!"
"That's how it should be!"
Everyone: If it was perfect, why did you call a cut? The scene wasn't even finished yet, and now you've interrupted it. Again?
"We need to tweak something, just a small adjustment based on what you just did."
"I loved that moment when you exchanged punches—when Anson hit Alfred and Alfred hit Anson at the same time. I need you both to pause your head movements just slightly, so the audience can feel the impact, the power of the punches, exploding on your faces."
"And Anson, your performance was perfect."
"For the last bit, when you're in that intense fight, completely immersed, only to get ambushed at the last moment… when you're just about to counterattack, only to realize your opponent had laid a trap."
"I loved that energy. I just need your body language to show a brief second of shock, just a tiny bit, maybe half a second—no, not even that, just a split second."
"I want to fragment this scene, like a comic book. Every movement, every frame, each a separate shot, edited together in a chaotic, overwhelming way, making the audience feel like they're caught in a storm of punches, completely breathless, and missing none of the hidden details."
Inspiration was flowing—Sam's mind was bursting with new ideas.
According to the original plan, Dr. Octopus's mechanical arms would dominate Spider-Man with power, flexibility, and sheer numbers. This fight was supposed to be one-sided, with Spider-Man never able to overpower Dr. Octopus physically.
In the end, Spider-Man would win by appealing to Dr. Octopus's humanity, awakening his conscience, which prevents New York from being destroyed.
But now, Sam was inspired.
Without changing the overall structure, he wanted to make Spider-Man more combative, giving him chances to counterattack amidst the rapid blows. It wouldn't be a one-sided fight. At the same time, Dr. Octopus would show more cunning, relying not just on strength but also on tactical thinking throughout the battle.
Would this affect the film overall?
No, not at all.
But it would make the fight scene more thrilling, more exciting. In Sam's mind, it would enhance the climactic battle, adding more layers.
Sam was excited.
Indeed, there was a reason Sam admired Anson so much—Anson always brought something extra to the table. He could quietly inject charisma into his role, capturing attention.
Even in fight scenes.
With ideas racing through his mind, Sam enthusiastically laid everything out.
Then, he turned to the actors.
"Anson, can you do this?"
It wasn't a command, but almost a plea.
Anson: …
The entire crew was stunned, momentarily speechless.
Normally, the director is the highest authority on set, unless the producers intervene. Sony-Columbia was very pleased with Sam's work, and even before the first "Spider-Man" was released, they had already signed a contract for the sequel. After the box office exploded, Sony handed Sam full creative control.
Even though the producers and studio occasionally rejected some of Sam's ideas, like script changes, there was no doubt that Sam had absolute power on set.
Now, with Sam calling all the shots, everyone had to follow his lead, bottling up their frustration and exhaustion.
Maybe, just maybe, their only hope lay with Anson?