Spider-verse is a Leap of Faith for a Young Hero and a Tired Genre
It’s a leap of faith. That’s all it is, Miles. A leap of faith, opines the down-on-his-luck Peter B Parker to his young trainee Miles Morales. He’s right, of course, but about more than I understood when I first saw Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.
You’re probably getting tired of superhero narratives. They’ve dominated the box office and our cultural consciousness for the good part of the last two decades, and even as someone who’s enjoyed superheroes since I was a wee little lad I have to admit the fatigue is getting to me. Are these films slowing down in terms of dollars grossed and pop-cultural impact? I don’t think so, but even Marvel’s more interesting recent ventures (Black Panther, Thor Ragnarok) feel like they’re working despite the formula, not because of it.
There’s an article going around decrying the genre entirely, and while its written abrasively I must admit I’m sympathetic to its arguments. We’ve seen Marvel stamp out films so eerily similar to each other you imagine their production process involves some sort of Joseph Campbell hero’s journey cookie cutter that stamps them into the conformity of a well-worn, stagnant, and impersonal template.
It begs the question, why are eating this shit up?
Is our shared existence in a hellworld compelling us to seek simplified fiction wherein problems are easily identifiable, and life’s antagonists always get their just desserts? I think so, to an extent.
Has our faith in the institutions that are supposed to protect and support us been so irreversibly shattered that we’d like to imagine a buff man from outer space swooping in to save us from ourselves? I’d argue we do, and the rise of the superhero genre is an understandable response to the pains and alienation of our modern lives.
In a world where we find ourselves presented with less meaningful opportunities for upward mobility, it’s no wonder we like to imagine a radioactive spider-bite could give us a shortcut to power and appreciation.
In that sense, superhero films are a symbol of our complacency.
We watch these heroes save the day and then feel better about ourselves and the world around us. Tony Stark (the MCU’s obvious stand-in for Elon Musk and similar techno-capitalists) and the rest of his rich and powerful superhuman friends are going to take care of those bad aliens in the sky. Sit your ass down, grab some popcorn, and wait for the storm to blow over. We watch some gaudy CGI set-pieces, chuckle at uninspired quips (“they pointed out that superheroes are silly, how self-aware!”), and then go home and wait for the next one, because I totally heard that Captain Marvel’s going to be in it, and I hear she’s super wicked. These movies inadvertently send a message: don’t worry about anything. The super-people are on it.
I think this is the opposite of what a hero’s story should tell us. In terms of fiction about superheroes that I find particularly poignant (two series I’d recommend are the animated Samurai Flamenco and the live-action Masked Rider Kuuga), a hero’s power isn’t just about saving the day: it’s about the inspiration they can bring others while doing so, inspiration that compels action.
Spider-verse blew my expectations away because it’s a film about how the narratives of others can inspire us to act. At the start of the movie Miles Morales (Shameik Moore), is having an identity crisis. Half Black and half Latino, Miles himself is a product of different cultures, and while he seems comfortable with these facets of his identity in the streets of his familiar neighborhood he clams up at his new prep school. Miles spends most of the film woefully unprepared. Whether its his police office father, cool Uncle, or the other Spider-people, Miles is always surrounded by elders who are much more assured and confidant than he is. He’s truly a rookie wherever he goes, and we as an audience really feel for him when he struggles against his limitations and inexperience. The kid is trying his hardest, but it just isn’t coming to him yet.
Spider-verse knows that the power of superheroes is all about what they symbolize. The Spider-Man of Miles’ universe (Chris Pine) feels like a fictional character come to life rather than the mainstay of New York City that he is in the film’s canon. This is intentional, because the filmmakers choose to introduce him to the audience as such. Spider-man tells us during his introduction that we know how his story goes and he’s right. We’re all bored of it by now. The character of Peter Parker has been around since JFK was in office, and we all know about his romance with Mary Jane and the hilarious goth dancing of Spider-Man 3. Spider-verse lets the audience know that its OK this is all old hat, and when (spoilers) the original Peter dies early in the film it sent a message to me as a viewer that this was definitely not the story of Spider-Man, it was the story of Miles Morales and what being a Spider-Man meant to him. Despite his untimely demise, this Spider-Man’s power lingers as a symbol for the difference anyone can make.
Spider-verse treats Spider-Man less like a character and more like an affliction. The different universe spider-people that come together to save the world later in the story all share two common points of origin: that life-changing radioactive bite, and the loss of a loved one that came with it. They were not born spider-people, rather they had spider-personhood cast upon them as well as other tragedy. This has always been one of my favorite things about the Spider-Man concept. The original Peter Parker was not ready for his powers, and because of that he lost his dear Uncle Ben. The responsibility was unwanted, but it comes to define him. Spider-Man takes a toll on Peter’s relationships, career, and mental health, but its not something Peter can avoid being for too long, because it’s more than a mask. Spider-Man is something Peter does despite his own best interests.
This character should speak to us more than the rich asshole one percenter Iron-Man in his big dick robot suit and his narc pal Captain America who voluntarily took a super-powered steroid injection. In our lives the potential for heroism is not at our beck and call, its often presented to us in an instant and all too easy to miss if we lack the courage to do the right thing. Miles becomes a Spider-Man at precisely the wrong time, with the fate of the multiverse at stake, a superhero situation way above his punching weight. Miles sees his spider senpais (sorry for that terminology) and knows he doesn’t measure up yet. He wants to do right but the voice in his head keeps telling him he isn’t ready. That voice is right.
Of course Miles isn’t wrong, but he’s missing a key piece of perspective: we are never ready. The Peter Parker from another universe we hang out with for most of the film (Jake Johnson) is honestly a mess: divorced, out-of-shape, and early on a poor role model to Miles. But he’s without question a Spider-Man, because he tucks in his gut and swings into action when he needs to, prepared to make the ultimate selfless sacrifice at a moment’s notice simply because it is the right thing to do. To him Spider-Man isn’t someone you are, it’s an action you take, and this is exactly what Miles needs to hear. When you’re Spider-man you leap, leap, leap, and cross your fingers there’s something down the road to catch your web on. Peter doesn’t have his shit together, but that’s OK. What’s important is that his actions foreshadow Miles’ potential and help push him into action. Anyone can be Spider-Man, but it really helps to see someone else one do it first.
In our lives we’ll almost certainly be more like Peter B Parker than the original Spider-Man of Miles’ universe. Opportunities to do good will present themselves to us when we are stretched too thin, at the most inopportune moments. But there’s power in taking a leap of faith, because no matter what result we face we can take pride in the fact that we tried. The world isn’t changed when you wear 3D glasses and guzzle Coca-Cola down your throat at the cinema, but maybe taking the inspiration fiction can provide us and applying it to the world can make it all worth something.
Spider-verse also represents a leap of faith in and of itself, and the fact that its production has been so well-documented and transparent over social media platforms is fantastic. I’ve really enjoyed seeing peaks into the storyboards, design work, and concept art that animators and artists who’ve worked on the film have shared on twitter. Sony even released the entire script online for people to read, study, and appreciate. This is amazing, and something more films should be doing. It fits with the film’s message of inspiring others, and I hope aspiring creators learn all they can from these behind-the-scenes materials.
The new animation techniques on display here are even more evidence that risk equals reward, as this is without a doubt the most aesthetically appealing superhero film ever made, animated or otherwise. The colors pop, the designs are incredible, and even the soundtrack comes together just right. You’ve never seen anything like it before, and I truly hope we’ll be lucky enough to see something like it again.
The film is also taking a risk positioning the biracial Miles as its main character: will audiences be as receptive to a non-white Spider-Man? It’s something you wish the filmmakers didn’t have to ask themselves, but potentially comes off as a risk to the number-crunching pedants at Sony worried about the film’s bottom line. Miles sticks the landing: he’s relatable, fun, and a total delight. I’m glad the kids who look more like Miles than they do Tom Holland get such an incredible story here.
To be fair, there are a few things about the film that fell flat for me. Despite Kingpin’s imposing character design, his cliched backstory didn’t work for me and I wish the writers would have given Miles an opponent with more thematic relevance to his story (luckily The Prowler fills this role to an extent). I’d give some scenes more time to breath, and a trim a few jokes that didn’t quite land. But overall Spider-verse is as bulletproof an execution of its ideas as you could ask for, a triumph in making what’s old and passé feel fresh and exhilarating. All the above risks I’ve mentioned this production took paid off, as if the film lived up to the message of its story. Even the Stan Lee cameo is surprisingly poignant.
Before the psychedelic final battle Miles faces his fears and leaps off a skyscraper in an instantly iconic sequence. This first jump catapults him downwards into danger, but also uplifts his spirit. During his descent, the camera frames Miles as rising. His leap of faith has paid off, and he’s finally Spider-Man.
Superhero filmmakers should aim to inspire us with these stories, to show us reflections of ourselves and demonstrate the ways individuals can make a difference. These films shouldn’t encourage us to wait for the supermen to come and save us: they should be like Spider-verse, encouraging us to take that critical first jump just like Miles. After all, it’s just a leap of faith. That’s all it is.
