Which leads us, at last, to the beginning of Phase 3 on May 6, 2016 with the Russo Brothers returning to direct Marvel Studios’ Captain America: Civil War. In this movie, rather than a blind lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen or an alcoholic private eye from Brooklyn, Tony Stark decides the person for the job of defeating Captain America is a child from Queens by the name of Peter Parker. But given that Peter Parker is only a minor figure within the film whose importance is based solely on the fact of, to be blunt, spiteful fan pandering, it’s worth instead to engage with the core issue that, in theory should drive the third Captain America movie: Who do the Avengers serve?
The main action of the film, after all, opens with an Avengers unit performing military actions in Lagos which leads to them having to sign a treaty with a government body to continue their military adventurism. Indeed, what is supposedly Tony’s arc in the film is kickstarted by the mother of one of the people who died in Avengers: Age of Ultron confronting Stark by saying “You think you fight for us. You just fight for yourself. Who’s going to avenge my son, Stark?” And, of course, the Avengers are confronted about their militarism by the Secretary of State.
The core of the film, in theory, is the nature of the Avengers as a military unit. What does it mean to be a group of individuals from predominantly American backgrounds with exclusively American sensibilities fighting against superpowered monsters attacking foreign nations. This is a sensible question to ask in the context of the post-Iraq War landscape, wherein America invaded the Middle East to “liberate” the people from despots and villains, leading to millions dead, tortured, and disenfranchised. America can claim to stand for freedom, to fight evil. But does that really matter if it means not caring about the collateral damage beyond how sad the person who caused it feels.
The problem, as to be expected with the MCU, is that the film largely sides against oversight of its superpowered beings in favor of giving them a pass to do whatever they want. There are several ways the film does this while still trying to claim it’s a debate. For starters, it introduces the audience to the idea of the oversight, dubbed the Sokovia Accords, through the character of Thunderbolt Ross. While many might not remember The Incredible Hulk, Captain America: Civil War nevertheless paints Ross as an unsympathetic figure via characters questioning whether he agrees with the minority of people who think they should have oversight as well as being a generally abrasive voice who is constantly ignored by even those who supposedly agree with him. Then there’s that detail that only a small few actually want the Avengers to have oversight in their militarism.
And, of course, there’s the fact that the film is called Captain America: Civil War and not Avengers: Civil War. As such, the audience will inevitably side with Captain America in the conflict being presented because he’s the main character of the movie. He is the hero saving his best friend from being framed for various terrorist actions. He gets the final say on the matter with regards to the film. And he views having to work under the watchful eye of the United Nations with scorn, complaining that they would take away his freedom. Every possible questionable action committed by Captain America in the name of his cause is justified. He had to act outside of proper channels, the government ordered Bucky to be shot on sight. The government outright laughed at the prospect of giving Bucky a lawyer, why should you trust them?
And then there’s the fucking line. In the memorial for Peggy Carter, minor character Sharon Carter shares a line that was spoken by Captain America in the Spider-Man tie-in issue for the Civil War comic the movie takes inspiration from. In the comic, Captain America says to Spider-Man: “Doesn’t matter what the press says. Doesn’t matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn’t matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world, No, you move.”
This quote, and the line in the film that represents it, is one of those vaguely positive lines with horrific implications. If you would like an example of people who deny what the press said, who planted their feet at the river of truth and said, “No, you move.” Look no further than the people who stormed the capitol of the United States of America because the truth was Donald Trump should be President of the United States. Or the Judges on the Supreme Court who, against the vast will of the people, stripped away abortion from women across America and are planning to strip more rights away from people including the right to be married, the right to not be discriminated against, and the right to vote.
It's a pretty quote. But ultimately, its vagueness makes it easily usable to those who would kill those who are not like them. The mobs are faceless. No one has to consider their actions one way or another. You either fight the mob or die like a dog in the street.
Which brings us back to Spider-Man. In the film, Peter Parker aligns with Tony Stark with regards to the Sokovia Accords. Except not, because that’s not what the film is about. The Sokovia Accords are, at the end of the day, only a means of drawing up conflict. They don’t actually mean anything. They’re just pointless bureaucracy that prevents the heroes from working together. No one actually believes in them. Tony ultimately ignores the Accords at the end to help Steve with the evil Super Soldiers Hydra has lying around.
Ultimately, the film is about the ways in which male egos can blind people to the larger picture. How men need to be free to do as they please while also being cognizant of the needs of other men. There’s frankly no reason for Spider-Man to be here, both in terms of his ideology and with regards to this movie. He’s just here because we need to introduce Spider-Man into the MCU and Iron Man is the best way to do this because he is the God Emperor of the MCU, who dictates where the arc of history leads. The empire must have a future.
There’s just one problem: Spider-Man: Homecoming, for all it has been built up as the return of Spider-Man to his rightful place within the MCU, his homecoming… it has no idea what, exactly, his function within the MCU is. In previous Spider-Man films, Peter Parker is an everyman thrust into strange and bizarre situations. Even The Amazing Spider-Man films, with their conspiratorial plots and corporate espionage, still kept this at the heart of Peter Parker. That isn’t to say that Spider-Man: Homecoming doesn’t likewise frame Peter as an everyman. Rather, it has no idea what he’s supposed to be beyond average.
As a result, he kinda sucks. And not in the ways Spider-Man normally sucks where it’s because he’s kind of an asshole or the miserable, joyless, saintly cosmic punching bag of Rami’s Spider-Man. He’s just… the annoying kid sidekick character who thinks babbling incoherently is somehow a character trait. By contrast, though he doesn’t appear much in Captain America: Civil War, the Spider-Man of that film (while having the rather crap gag of not knowing what The Empire Strikes Back is) is just a generic good guy. Far less annoying, but also far more flat, essentially existing solely to sell the Marvel Studios’ Captain America: Civil War™ Limited Edition™ Spider-Man™ action figure.
This is perhaps best highlighted through the relationship Peter has with Tony Stark. In Captain America: Civil War, Peter certainly shows reverence for Iron Man, but he’s not constantly giddy at the mere presence of Iron Man. In fact, the majority of his initial scene with the weapon of mass destruction is spent with him trying to get Tony out of his apartment. He sides with Tony in the “Civil War,” but only because his moral compass says it’s the right thing to do. For Tony, Peter represents the future of Superheroes. The next generation.
By contrast, the Peter Parker of Spider-Man: Homecoming is a hyperactive dweeb whose sole motivation is to look good to his hero, Tony Stark. And Tony’s attitude towards Peter is to barely show he gives a shit. Sure, he listens to Peter when he says there’s bad people selling weapons to criminals. But he doesn’t actually engage with Peter. He doesn’t approach Peter as if he’s anything more than the annoying kid sidekick. Like if Short Round tried to call Dr. Jones for help because his wife is dealing with a crisis on infinite earths.
On that note, let’s consider the main villain of the film: Adrian Toomes. In many regards, Adrian is a common leftist baddie who is bad because he hates Tony Stark and the rich. But, much like Bane, he’s a hypocrite who uses his wealth not to uplift his fellow working class, but rather to care for his own family. But unlike The Dark Knight, the film is disinterested in the class implications of its narrative. When the class critique is posed that (upon being confronted with the fact that Adrian’s selling weapons to criminals) “How do you think your buddy Stark paid for that tower? Or any of his little toys? Those people, Pete, those people up there, the rich and the powerful. They do whatever they want. Guys like us? You and me? They don’t care about us. We build their roads, and we fight all their wars, and everything. They don’t care about us. We have to pick up after them. We have to eat their table scraps. That’s how it is,” is met with confusion about why he’s giving a long speech.
Because the purpose is, ultimately, to distract Peter from the wing glider. Because class doesn’t matter in a world of talking raccoons and genocidal purple madmen. It’ll pay lip service to class, certainly. But it doesn’t actually care. At its heart, for all that the main conflict is between a pissed off 9/11 salvage worker working outside the system to provide for his family and an Elon Musk fanboy who takes after his hero all too well, Spider-Man: Homecoming is a movie about a teen boy learning his place in the world. The villainy of Toomes is not realizing that he should be grateful that he got denied the work he did. Because little people don’t matter. It’s when the little people get uppity that things become a problem. Don’t step on the toes of giants like Tony Stark.
Peter Parker ultimately learns this lesson. Even though Tony Stark offers him a place with the Avengers, he knows Spider-Man is a low level character. He should remain on the streets along with Daredevil, Jessica Jones, and Iron Fist. Because all must bow before the majesty of Tony Stark. And what does his majesty behold? Dirt. It’s an empire of dirt. To quote Harlen Ellison™ on The Death of Superman, “Now you’ve got eight issues of Superman bashing Doomsday and Doomsday bashing him, and nothing else happens. It’s one big stupid fight. And you went for it. And the media went for it. My god, how gullible you are. Don’t you ever learn?”
These are apt words when considering the final story of Tony Stark (of which Spider-Man is a bit character within): Marvel Studios’ Avengers: Infinity War and Marvel Studios’ Avengers: Endgame. In many regards, the Spider-Man aspects of the films are among their least interesting parts. Once again, Peter is reduced to a generic teen sidekick who we’re meant to feel sad for as he dies in Tony’s arms. And then he comes back with a quip and murderous intent. Indeed, the entire five hour, thirty one minute project seems more interested in circle jerking itself over how great it is to live under the boot of the MCU than it is in little things like character or themes or decent cinematography.
But at its heart is the villainous Thanos. For want of a better term, Thanos makes a character arc throughout the film from a twisted leftist boogeyman who sees the problems of the resource scarcity resolved by killing half of the universe grow into a more generic “I will kill everyone so they will never know what freedom was” type baddie that has been haunting the MCU for its entire existence. Indeed, one could argue that this type of villainy has been haunting America for even longer than that. It is, after all, the main draw of cold war paranoia: the communist ideology is one that rejects individualism in favor of collectivism. Further still, and you’ll see the myth of America’s origin as the land of the free. We fought in the name of Freedom, while keeping men slaves. The American myth rarely, if ever, matches its reality.
As such, when considering antagonistic forces who seek to steal our freedom, to trap us in a world of terror and dread, it’s worth asking: What did they actually want? What was the actual intention of the men who concocted and enacted the events of 9/11? Certainly the motivations of the attacks themselves are explicit. In an open letter to the American people, Osama bin Laden explicitly cites America’s foreign policy activities regarding Israel, Palestine, and other nations as well as more nationalistic and reactionary beliefs.
But why the World Trade Center specifically? It is worth noting that 9/11 was not the first instance in which members of al-Qaeda attempted to destroy the World Trade Center. In 1993, Ramzi Yousef attempted to bomb the World Trade center with a truck in the basement. Along with his fellow co-conspirators, the hope was for the first tower to topple over onto the second. As one can surmise by the shape of history, the plan failed. As with the 2001 attempt, Yousef’s motivations lay primarily with regards to America’s actions in Israel. Indeed, he went a step further and outlined the entire history of American foreign policy from Hiroshima and Tokyo to Vietnam and Cuba. In his own words, “You were the first one who killed innocent people, and you are the first one who introduced this type of terrorism to the history of mankind.” Yousef cast himself not as a religious zealot, but as a judge of History. The World Trade Center, then, is a symbolic representation of America. Of its imperialistic actions and implications.
As such, it’s worth considering what the World Trade Center was. Often referred to as the Twin Towers, the World Trade Center was a pair of buildings located in the Financial District of Lower Manhattan, New York. Though this is a mild misnomer as there was a third tower within the main complex, which housed the Marriott World Trade Center. It was 22 stories tall and housed 825. It too was destroyed on September 11, 2001. At the time, it housed 940 guests. At the time, it was housing the yearly conference for the National Association for Business Economics. The iconic image of firefighters raising the flag was reported to have been taken where the hotel once stood.
Prior to 9/11, the World Trade Center was famous for its role in the Manhattan skyline. Indeed, it was so recognizable, it appeared in 472 films including, but not limited to, American Psycho, Coming to America, Gremlins 2: The New Batch, The Hunger, Independence Day, The Matrix, Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol, and Vampire’s Kiss. Additionally, the initial marketing for Sam Rami’s Spider-Man featured a sequence where the titular hero would swoop in and foil a bank robbery, with said bank robber’s escape helicopter being left on a web in-between the main two towers of the World Trade Center.
In their book Supergods, Grant Morrison argues a mystical implication to all of this. “King Kong was the first to climb them in Dino DeLaurentis’s pointless 1976 remake of the gorilla classic. They’d been smashed by tidal waves, blasted by aliens, shattered by meteor strikes, and pulverized by rogue asteroids. The terrible fall of the World Trade Center towers on September 11 had the curious inevitability of an answered prayer or the successful result of a black magic ritual.”
To quote another magician, We made it all up, and it came true anyways.
Given this, the World Trade Center acts as a potent target for a symbolic attack on America. An object of material impact on the city of New York, one of the most iconic within the United States, as well as one with connections to both the economic and entertainment sides of the country.
In the wake of the attack, 2,753 people were killed due to the direct impact of these attacks. More would die years later due to exposure to dust by the collapsed towers. 1,402 would die on the North Tower. 614 on the south. All the people who took shelter in the World Trade Center Hotel would survive, in part due to reinforced beams installed after the 1993 bombing. My cousin was in the city at the time, not too far from the towers.
And, of course, there’s the most material of all its impacts: The War on Terror. A war concocted for the purposes of naked greed and cruelty. One of the longest and most profitable acts of liberation America ever did. Consider the price of oil and how it steadily rose from $1.50 a gallon at the start of the war and rose to $4.63 a gallon at the end. And, like its previous acts of liberation, ultimately led to the world becoming a more hostile and terrible place. The impact on the Middle East alone is shocking. The casualty list of the War on Terror is somewhere between 897,150 and 929,000. At some point you have to ask… What’s the point?
Which brings us back to Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. As discussed in Scout Tafoya and Tucker Johnson’s brilliant The End of History series, in the wake of 9/11, the US military, learning their mistakes from Vietnam, opted to co-opt the image that could spell an anti-war narrative for the War on Terror. They did this by funding numerous films in what is commonly known as the military-entertainment complex. From innocuous texts like Batman & Robin or The Next Karate Kid to more obvious militaristic texts like Tomorrow Never Dies or Silence of the Lambs.
But their massive, pre-MCU text in the wake of 9/11 was Black Hawk Down. Directed by Ridley Scott, Black Hawk Down is a movie about a troop of American soldiers forced to fend off a horde of Somalian militia members. It is as racist and jingoistic as that sentence sounds. From this, the US military would create a cinematic language for its propaganda based around this movie. From the heavy use of orange in its color pallet to the apolitical heroism of soldiers in a bad place doing right by one another.
The language would continue until it received the ultimate boon in the form of Iron Man. Subsequently, the MCU would find itself largely synonymous with the military-entertainment complex. Indeed, superhero cinema as a whole would quickly embrace military funding to the point where films like Man of Steel and Captain Marvel have entire sections dedicating to highlighting the nobility of service and have had their clips used in advertisements for the armed services.
Because in the wake of 9/11, we wanted to win. We wanted to win 9/11. We could not grasp that our empire was collapsing nor that, in the words of Indrajit Samarajiva, “Collapse is just a series of ordinary days in between extraordinary bullshit, most of it happening to someone else.” So we created fictions where our heroes could win. Where the threats were as absurd and horrific as they felt at the time. An evil who fights in the name of terror rather than any actual ideologies. Because evil has no ideology. And when it does, it’s antithetical to life. We don’t have ideologies, but we’re good. We’re the United States of Goddamn America. If we do it, it must be good. The superhero, especially in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, is a super soldier, fighting the good fight. If we couldn’t win in the real world, we would win in the fictional one.
And so we have Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. Two movie length ads for themselves and the previous films within about an evil monster from beyond and his army of faceless monsters. A horde who will kill everyone and everything we love. Who can only be stopped by one means: Exterminate all the brutes.
That’s why Peter Parker—a character who, even as recently as the previous film, was trying to prevent the deaths of his baddies—is killing people in the climax of Avengers: Endgame. At the end of Spider-Man: Homecoming, there’s a toothless scene where Spider-Man saves the Vulture from a karmic death. It’s toothless in the context of the cinema of Spider-Man because previous Spider-Man films have featured antagonistic figures meeting karmic or redemptive deaths. It’s toothless within the context of the film itself because Peter lacks any moral center beyond merely doing good.
But most of all, it’s damning towards the context of the two succeeding Avengers films. Because it reveals the lie we all knew about Superheroes and Killing. They’re perfectly fine with killing. Provided what they’re killing isn’t people. Because, as with the stories of many a soldier on the field of battle, the enemy isn’t people. What they are has had many names over the years: Barbarian, Sand People, Chitauri, Dominion, Mekon, Bug. Whatever the name, it carries the same meaning: You aren’t people. So it’s ok that you die.
You can speak like a person, look like a person, it doesn’t matter. If the powers that be decide you aren’t a person, then you aren’t. It’s been true all the way since before the 20th century. Before America even. You aren’t people unless we say you are. Because personhood, when it comes from an out-group, is determined by those in the in-group. One infamous story was the proliferation of the Red Baron in Nazi Germany, despite being of half Jewish ancestry. At the end of the day, the system is designed to see people as nothing more than white blobs on a screen.
Which brings us to Spider-Man: Far From Home. There are two aspects of note to go over when it comes to Spider-Man: Far From Home. The second most important aspect is the casting of Zach Barack as the minor character of Zach Cooper. The character of Zach is the first trans character to appear in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. For the majority of the MCU, queerness is depicted as something that certainly exists. But it never actually engages with queer characters. When it does, it’s often in the form of rather uncomfortable jokes. Most notably in Thor: Love and Thunder, wherein the introduction of supporting character Axl Heimdallson (who is cis) is played as a transphobic “gag” about how Axl isn’t his real name and his father would be ashamed of him for rejecting his “real name.”
More often, however, it’s in a form similar to Zach, where queer people exist, but they aren’t actual characters within the narrative. They’re part of the background, easily edited out so as to appease the censors of nations that would see people like myself murdered for the crime of being alive. Even then, Zach largely exists as a glorified background extra whose queerness is only notable for marketing purposes.
Of course, it’s also notable with regards discourse surrounding Spider-Man in the MCU. When discussing Peter Parker in a modern context, many people have argued that the character should be queer. Most notably, Andrew Garfield mused that a potential third Amazing Spider-Man movie could’ve had Peter date a male MJ Watson, to which he was forced to retract the statement. Many fan circles have read the character of Peter Parker as being trans, frequently drawing fan art of him wearing a binder and waving the trans flag.
This, however, begs the question: How does this impact the most important part of Spider-Man: Far From Home? That being the fact that the film is about the ethics of drone warfare. Not even in the sense of most superheroic fiction where the Superhero is a metaphor for a drone, but literal, actual drones. Tony Stark created a drone army and willed it to a 15 year old, who immediately used it to attack one of his fellow students. But rather than engage with the ethics of drones actually existing, the film engages in the ethical question at the heart of Iron Man: What if the bad guys got the drones? Its argument is largely that drones that could exterminate a vast number of people in a single instant aren’t the problem. It’s the people who use them. And the only thing that can stop a bad man with a drone is a good man with a drone.
So then, would this be improved by having Peter Parker be queer? Hollywood has a history of using diversity to make the military appear more appealing to those who would normally be opposed to it. Examples of this include GI Jane, Courage Under Fire, A Soldier’s Story, The Hurt Locker, and Top Gun. Indeed, military advertisement in the modern age highlights the diversity of the military and how it transcends all racial, sexual, and gendered implications. This is, of course, complete horseshit.
As Scout Tafoya notes, “Entertainment companies like Disney have been feeding people micro doses of their own identity to keep with having to reckon with larger ethical issues like cooperation with the US Military or their headlong drive towards an unregulated monopoly. If you can feed people some sense that they are being listened to and recognized by heartless companies, Disney can get away with, for instance, support of homophobic legislation and unspeakable labor conditions.”
That isn’t to say one should reject diversity in and of itself. Quoting Derek Jarman, “Consider the world’s diversity and worship it. By denying its multiplicity, you deny your own true nature. Equality prevails not for the God’s sake, but for man’s. Men are weak and cannot endure their manifold nature.” Rather, the content of the diversity is key. There’s a key difference between discussing the implications of the world’s first female drone pilot and the working class lesbian barely making ends meet. The stories they tell share with us a world of difference.
However, it’s worth noting that Peter Parker not only isn’t queer, he will never be queer under the current conditions of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, nor, for that matter, will any incarnation of Spider-Man be queer. Among the several leaked documents from the Sony Archives was the 2011 licensing agreement between Sony and Marvel with regards to the Spider-Man character. Among the specific details regarding said character, one of the explicit statements was that Spider-Man is “Not a homosexual (unless Marvel has portrayed that alter ego as a homosexual” and Peter Parker specifically is “Caucasian and heterosexual.” The limitations provided highlight the degree to which representation in mass cultural media, while important, can nevertheless have any context, implication, or meaning stripped away into pure nothingness. Yes, it is important to see one’s self in works of fiction to normalize one’s existence. But to limit all progress to mere representation leaves one a hollow shell of their former self.
In many regards, the limitations highlight the ultimate failing of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It is a view of the world trapped eternally in the dying embers of the Bush administration. Though Spider-Man: Far From Home tries to engage with the post truth nature of the world with the villainous Mysterio, its approach is akin to his approach towards reality breaking. The film presents him as this cinematic force. In practice, his villainy is akin to the approach the MCU typically has towards CGI: a vapid, meaningless spectacle that approaches the strangeness of existence with the bluntness of mere CGI. He proports himself to being a multiversial hero, and the best he can offer is green circles. The multiverse provides us with a nigh infinite well of ideas. The potential to do anything we want. And yet, at best, all we can imagine is a talking raccoon voiced by Bradly Cooper or Randy Newman. At worst…
Spider-Man: No Way Home is an unwatchable shitshow of moving images that makes me want to plunge daggers into my eyes before gazing at another frame of its existence. It is also a movie about refugees. More specifically, the various villains from the previous two incarnations of Spider-Man movies who died in their respective films find themselves in the MCU due to magic bullshit that exists so the world forgets Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Peter, feeling responsible for the baddies after some prodding from Aunt May and finding out that they’re going to die, tries to save them.
In practice, the film is more interested in making call backs to the previous Spider-Man films, making jokes at the expense of those previous Spider-Man films, and also providing the MCU Peter with an Uncle Ben moment in the form of Aunt May being murdered by Norman Osborn. The film’s investment in refugees and the implications of having them be murderous lying bastards who should be sent back to where they came from so they can all die the deaths they so desperately need is merely surface level. It’s most substantial engagement with it is setting the climax of the film at the Statue of Liberty and calling it “a place that represents second chances.” But even that’s surface level shit as it doesn’t connect that aspect to the refugee part, only the “curing people of being neurodivergent” part. The whole film is surface level. The whole MCU Spider-Man is nothing but surface level. There’s nothing here.
Consider the scene where the two alternate Peter Parkers talk to the MCU Peter Parker about the people they’ve lost. The ultimate crux of the scene is to attempt to dissuade MCU Spider-Man from seeking vengeance against Norman Osborn. They do this by suggesting that there’s a cosmic purpose to Aunt May’s death: to give MCU Peter his Uncle Ben. Because the Intellectual Property known as Spider-Man requires an Uncle Ben. Because that’s all Spider-Man is at the end of the day: Intellectual Property. Who needs things like character or themes or politics or queerness when you can have Intellectual Property. It hits all the right check boxes too. You have:
· Peter Parker is a sad, miserable loser who sucks.
· Peter Parker has no friends.
· Peter Parker is white.
· Spider-Man occasionally tells jokes.
· Peter Parker fights baddies.
· Spider-Man deals with Real Issues™.
· Peter Parker is Spider-Man.
Because who cares about making art. Superheroes aren’t art. They’re commerce. They’re product to churn out year after soul crushing year. An opiate to distract from and/or advertise the forever war occurring in the background that thinks doing significantly less than the bare minimum is enough and should be lauded. Even characters and ideas that provide some merit are ultimately whittled down to the barest essentials. Consider the film’s approach to the Spider-Men from the Rami and Webb movies. There’s nothing recognizable about them. There’s just the vague nostalgic memory of what they were like. As with Superman Returns, the importance lies more in the image of the thing than its reality.
This, of course, highlights the core failing at the heart of the MCU Spider-Man: there’s no throughline between any of his appearances save being a teenager. The films lack the moral, post 9/11 Christian zeal of Rami’s take on the character as well as the chaotic, problematic, romantic conspiracy vibes of the Webb films. They just have Peter Parker interact with people from the Marvel Cinematic Universe because he can’t actually stand on his own two feet. Spider-Man is treated not as fiction, but as product being churned off of a production line one after another after another. Nothing comes from this. Because there’s nothing here.
Is there hope for us?
I’m reminded of the words of one of my earliest and favorite Spider-Man stories: Spider-Man: Reign. Written and drawn by Kaare Andrews, the story was written in response to the growing horror of the post-9/11 America where monsters were running the world with the help of their useful idiots. Where the police grew increasingly heavily armed and militarized to the point where they act like it’s ok to lock up and murder children. Where the old men and heroes like Spider-Man have failed the younger generation.
Towards the end of the story, the children of the city decide to don masks and stand up to the militarized police force that has declared martial law as the citizens of New York are being devoured. The head cop sneers that the kids don’t have any hope of success, to which the head kid (a girl with no name) responds, “Let me tell youa thing about hope! Hope has three daughters: Anger at the state things have fallen into. Courage to make things right. And the third daughter is truth. And she won’t hide her face any longer.”
I often think about this moment from a very flawed, very dated, very prescient Spider-Man comic. Oftentimes, the concept of “hope” is phrased in such a way as to be contentless. Obama, notably, ran a campaign on Hope and treated it as a marketing tool. Just the word hope contrasted with Obama’s face. Nothing specific to hope for, just have hope. Indeed, many of the Spider-Man films have the titular hero claim to be all about hope.
By contrast, the MCU Spider-Man is not hopeful. Putting aside the bleak ending of Peter Parker literally writing himself out of everyone’s lives, ending up alone in a dilapidated apartment, the MCU’s Spider-Man isn’t interested in changing the world. Because that’s, ultimately, what hope is about: a desired effect. You hope it won’t rain or you hope people will do something about Roe V Wade being annulled or, to choose an evil option, you hope the queers die of a plague. We hope the world will be better. And we fuel our hope through active change. Because what’s the point of hoping for something we know is never going to happen?
Spider-Man, too, is a character who is about change. Yes, he talks about the relationship between great power and great responsibility, but his story is about change. He started out as a teenage superhero and since graduate High School and College, got married, had a miscarriage, traveled the world, got divorced, and kept doing new and sometimes interesting things. The way forward for Spider-Man is to actively change everything about him. Make him new.
This, too, is the nature of History. Yes, we have reached the ending of the History of Spider-Man live action cinema and it is indeed a bleak one. But the thing about history is that it never ends. Nothing ever ends. To quote Walter Benjamin, “A historical materialist cannot do without the notion of a present which is not a transition, but in which time stands still and has come to a stop. For this notion defines the present in which he himself is writing history. Historicism gives the ‘eternal’ image of the past; historical materialism supplies a unique experience with the past. The historical materialist leaves it to others to be drained by the whore called ‘Once upon a time’ in historicism’s bordello. He remains in control of his powers, man enough to blast open the continuum of history.”
Where do I find hope, then? I find hope in the possible. In the stories I come up with. History will march onwards, the Great Men will fight the good fight. But the story of History, if it is an honest history, is about the little people. The people often ignored by Great Men until they rebel. Be it hindering the ascent of villainy while declaring “You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us” or wearing a mask to stand up to a monster, knowing it’s not going to end well but doing it anyways.
As I’ve said, the MCU has no people in it. It is a universe filled to the brim with Great Men. But the people are out there, watching. And they’re starting to get bored of the nothingness they’re being fed. Pretty soon, they’ll find something else to do. Something new. I hope.
