The Art of the Origin, the Ascendant “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse”

Back during the 2018 holiday season, I was in a theater auditorium (member those?) waiting to watch Travis Knight’s Bumblebee as a friend was texting me while leaving another auditorium in that exact same theater. She had just seen what is today confidently my favorite superhero movie, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. But honestly, at that moment, it really wasn’t that exactly. I had seen it once then and had loved it, but this was really the moment it started to crystallize just how truly I had fallen for it. She asked me what I thought of the movie, and more to the point, what my favorite aspects of it were, what I thought it did excellently. This friend is an works for a local videogame developer and is a digital artist, and we each share a deep admiration for and interest in animated films and animation in live action films. We have during our friendship shared many thoughts on the disparate quality of rendering in films like Shazam!, The LEGO Movie and Alita: Battle Angel, and this conversation was really no different. We were each thoroughly dazzled by Spider-Verse’s audaciously stylized digital 2D/3D animation, but just before my movie started I left her a message which read, “I think it’s probably my favorite Lord and Miller script, the writing’s ace.”

That message had a couple points of impact. First, I got made fun of for saying, “ace,” like a nerd… but more importantly, it began to settle for me how much I felt the film’s written choices enhanced the overall experience and how well developed its central emotional arc was. Part of the reason for that is the text got my gears turning while watching Bumblebee. That’s another 2018 feature with killer animation — best looking ’bots in that franchise bar zero — and much like Knight’s Kubo and the Two Strings, it has a simple but effectively heartfelt story. But in no way, at any point, did it hold a candle to Spider-Verse, which had gotten lodged in my head thanks to that damn text. For as chaotic and kinetic as the film is, it manages to be lean and breathless while still hitting character beats even as it’s playing in double time. It made Bumblebee, which is itself a smaller scale (relative to the Bay films that preceded it) intimate Transformers movie, feel bloated and saggy. In order to tell half as affecting a story, that movie had to shift gears normally whereas Spider-Verse got to its highest level emotionally and visually with seemingly minimal effort.

In spite of the certainty that was born for me that day, praising Spider-Verse’s script has proven to be a surprisingly contentious act. Let me not overstate things, the movie is of course, widely beloved. Its most vocal detractors are certainly a minority, yet as there always is, there are those who feel the unanimity and volume of the film’s warm reception is overblown or undeserved. There is a specific strain of criticism, even among those who enjoy the movie, that feel the writing is below the level of the animators’ wizardry. And honestly, that’s not an incorrect statement, the writing isn’t to that level, because that level is the stratosphere. If it isn’t the best looking animation of the 2010s, it is almost certainly the most technically impressive. Spider-Verse would work as a silent film which retained only its score because that is the power of it visually. By using a slower than average framerate for its characters, the animators rendered a 2-dimensional style with 3-dimensional animation. That now signature style, coupled with the movie’s litany of sight gags, frequent use of frames-within-frames, and thrilling application in its set pieces make it feel like an actual, literal comic book movie.

It’s a style where you can toss in floating yellow captions or label a BAGEL as it donks off a security guard’s head. Like any great comic, it invites you to really take in and study its copious visual details. Just in the bottom right of the still above, you can make out the blue straps of Gwen Stacy’s ballet flats. Basically at all times, Spider-Verse is artistic showboating, but it’s also like a puzzle that ultimately tells a great story of its own. The enduring images of the film include Miles’ face reflected against a uniform case, first just below the iconic Spider-Man mask and later perfectly aligned with it. Perhaps the most iconic still is that of his evolution into Spider-Man, floating upward as he’s falling downward, his journey reaching its dramatic crescendo. So in addition to being a candy-coated sugar rush, the movie functions at a high visual storytelling level from the moment it begins until the moment it is over, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every ounce of praise heaped on the movie’s animation is well deserved, and it’s gobsmacking and obvious brilliance shines brightly on the biggest screens possible where you can become immersed in its vibrant colors and countless frames.

One thing that bears mentioning while on the topic of the animation is that the almost stuttering framerate of the overlaid 2D characters looks great all the time, but it look tremendous in motion. When Spider-Verse goes to the set piece, there is little else like it in action movies, comic-related or otherwise. Naturally the medium of animation allows for abundant creativity, but the film goes further to pepper in loads of details that make every bit of the action stimulating and stylish. There’s a genuine kineticism to the way scenes are framed as well, where the camera (so to speak) rushes alongside the the characters in a way that thrusts the viewer into each websling, chase and fight.

That distinction is important, because it means that it’s critical to keep Spider-Verse in motion. Like the timeless art of webslinging, the visual style is defined by movement, by never relenting its exhilarating forward progress. It is operating on that rare Fury Road wavelength where the film never seems to calm down or waste time doing anything other than moving at breakneck speeds and being as fun as possible, virtually always. But it’s interesting here, because that pace and basic approach to blockbuster filmmaking is, on its surface, at odds with what we know about effective superhero origin stories. In many ways Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man represents a good blueprint for how most superhero flicks handle their humble beginnings. That movie takes Peter Parker from awkward high schooler to wall crawler in a way that’s breezy yet still feels genuinely developed, which is difficult to do, and frankly not all origin stories manage it.

A superhero film, at least of the action variety, on some level has to execute in terms of spectacle. There are exceptions to this — things like Lindelof’s Watchmen or the now defunct Netflix Jessica Jones, which play things more lowkey and driven by drama — but every iteration of Spider-Man has been directed with the intent to replicate the soaring and acrobatic nature of that hero. When you hire Sam Raimi, you don’t get him for his deep emotional nuance, although I would argue that is an underrated trait of nearly all his work including the Spider-Man trilogy . You hire him cause he does shit like threading Spidey through the cab and trailer of a moving semi. But in order to make that happen, Parker has to be Spider-Man. And in order for the origin story to happen, Parker has to not be Spider-Man for a convincing amount of time to make the come up arc function. It’s an incredible balancing act to know where to make the baton pass such that the opening doesn’t drag because the action is too backloaded, but also to avoid rushing and possibly spoiling the character’s arc.

To that end, Spider-Verse effectively kicks the door in and never stops kicking doors in, and part of the reason it is able to achieve this is the inclusion of all its Spider-People. I’m talking of course about the movie’s side characters. Both Peter Parkers, Gwen Stacy and the each member of the crew bring a fully formed competence that Miles lacks, and that allows this movie to do something most origin movies can’t: hit the ground running — er swinging.

For the bulk of the movie every set piece involve Miles as either spectator or a largely incompetent participant. He’s a kid who’s learning the ropes for nearly the duration film, yet the action never has to stop, because he is surrounded by people who accompany him into the fray. That’s an important choice because it means this movie can function in its highest gear as often as possible, without Miles having to be Spider-Man until he’s ready. The inclusion of the characters allows for an extremely patient approach with Miles’ awkwardness as he comes into his own, while also contrasting their seasoned skill with his predictable ineptitude, and that creates a genuine emotional tension that weighs on Miles, the team and the viewer alike. You begin to feel the gravity of his slow start, relative to not only this film’s characters but other iterations of Peter Parker as well.

The first Raimi Spider-Man also gives it’s wall crawler an early clumsiness to overcome. In fact both it and Spider-Verse tease at the idea of the superpowers as representative of hitting puberty. Both Peter’s and Miles’ bodies change, but where they differ is Peter becomes almost instantly more confident. He’d been a scrawny, bullied high school nerd who is suddenly thrust into this new existence, and the transformation also comes with a level up in charisma. That’s a change that represents what many superhero stories are, wish fulfillment, and it really suits Raimi’s silver age interpretation of the character. Miles, by contrast, is totally thrown off by his physical transformation. His clothes don’t fit, he’s sweating, his hands won’t stop sticking. It’s relatable, and it’s a radical reversal of the traditional way Spider-Man stories are told. Both Spider-Men fall off buildings trying to get into the swing of things, but one them starts to succeed much faster than the other. The leap of faith comes much more naturally and quickly for Parker.

That means instead of being strict wish fulfillment, Spider-Verse presents Miles with a deeper character arc that takes him to more complex and affecting emotional places. Instead of having a few funny bungles via montage, he really struggles to grasp the ropes. While he is still improving, it’s a realistic representation of how difficult his transition is, contrasted against the Spider-Man you’d find in the sequel. In that way the movie gets to be both at once, a full origin arc and a full Spider-Man action movie, and where they meet they drive the core conflict. It’s not just that Miles is floundering, it’s that he can’t remotely keep up with his peers. That sort of fish out of water setup is reflected in Miles placement in school and really key to his progression as a character.

If Spider-Verse were a different kind of high school film, Miles might be the newest member of a football team. But instead of the conventional setup where he’s the star, he’s the weak link. The team wins, but almost always in spite of his contributions. That’s a bold setup that eventually mounts in two incredible ways. The first is an exchange with Miles and his father, where the former is unable to respond as the latter — voiced by the always excellent Brian Tyree Henry — gives a stirring pep talk to his son about the virtue of perseverance, of pushing through one’s limitations. Or as this movie’s (second) Parker would put it, to take a leap, to embrace the change and let the confidence naturally fill in the gaps.

And the second moment, well, it sits proudly alongside the best in superhero fiction, I guess I’d say:

This leap is the film’s quintessential moment, inarguably, and it works so well in part due to how late it falls on the story’s timeline. In a movie written any other way, this can’t happen to kick off the film’s finale, because then an hour and a half of it is just a character flubbing around. There’s a way to make that story compelling, but not one that makes the most out of the incredible visuals. The conceptual approach here manages to simultaneously keep the set pieces flowing, creating emotional turmoil for the protagonist and wait deploy the payoff until the exact moment where it has the most impact. That’s ingenious writing before you consider all the jokes, character moments and other scenes that make up the script. It’s a thoroughly engrossing ascension that stands as the best, most gratifying origin story I’ve ever seen.

Another quality related to these side characters that really works for me on the page is my personal favorite Parker, Peter B. In this story, the Spider-People not only serve the aforementioned function to let this origin story double dip and behave exactly like a confident middle chapter, they also gesture at the story’s thesis that anyone can wear the mask. Spider-Verse and Spider-Man as a whole eschews the “chosen one” setup present in many superhero comics. Parker in particular is a character defined by his innate relatability. He’s a down to earth guy who struggles to hold a job, pay rent and also gets his ass kicked by various mutated college professors. The ability to identify with the character is part of the core appeal and what makes the long running book enduring and beloved.

Miles Morales is a black latino teenager and represents something of a rejuvenation of the idea of Spider-Man and a redefinition of who is allowed to be a hero, so it’s only natural that his film should be about those very concepts. And rejuvenation is precisely what I think the Peter B. arc is all about and one of the main things that really moved me about the film. That character with his paunch and overgrown facial hair is as similar a Spider-Man as I’ve ever seen to my own self. This is a bit of a sad sack, complete with a cynical attitude toward kids, life and all this comic book stuff.

Suddenly this is the character that’s thrust into being the competent member of the party, as suggested before, and also tasked with showing the new kid the ropes. But in the process, Parker finds not only a measure of purpose but perhaps the film’s greatest quality, unbridled joy. If Peter B. codes for the superhero skeptic who’s gotten too old for this shit, Spider-Verse presents a great tonic, emotionally earnest and excellently crafted. In the end, Peter B.’s arc from slouch to mentor to hero is as vital as Miles’ or even Luke’s in The Last Jedi. After all, he is an unwilling mentor who’s hesistant to show the hero their place in all of this. In both films that metaphor codes for the very members of their audiences most resistant to their full-chested sincerity. Luke and Peter B. represent the long time readers, the dudes who saw every Star Wars and Spider-Man flick. People who have seen the city get saved too many times.

For those in the know, me comparing this to the core emotional pairing of Luke and Rey in The Last Jedi is big time, top shelf praise, and I think the movie earns it. The connection between its two leads and their respective development is well earned and all within the space of a sub two hour story that never once stops moving or taking you in the emotional and sensory directions it intends. The way they come together, one “as the teacher who can still do it” the other “the student who can do it, just not as good.” As ever the dialogue percolates with humor but is laced with genuine pathos. It’s a truly joyful film, but it’s also deeply felt.

It is, undeniably one of the best works of visual art in the past ten or so years in animation. I also think it’s an elegantly crafted bit of writing that really allows the film to function seamlessly as elite character work and second-to-none action filmmaking. It’s a thrilling ride that takes my breath away, but it never loses sight of the story it wants to tell, a hero’s origin, and the best one, at least so far.