“After the towers fell, we sold the dreams of children to fearful adults. The super-agents gave people something simple and strong to believe in. New times demand new strategies.”
-Grant Morrison, The Multiversity: Pax Americana
The answer, at least initially, seemed to be Superman. Or, at the very least, the conception of Superman that most people have as the American Jesus. The idea of an American Jesus was quite popular in the post-9/11 landscape. An unspoken (at least in the halls of power when the cameras were rolling) aspect of the War on Terror was the rampant Islamophobia inherent to the war. The frequency upon which racist narratives about brown savages trying to steal our freedoms who were at once more powerful than us and easily beatable[1]. And especially brown savages who didn’t believe in the right God and claimed their actions to be of a religious nature.
As such, Christianity began to frequently be invoked as the bastion of all that was good and just about the world. The emphasis on the war being a crusade from the President himself[2] was just the tip of the iceberg. That isn’t to say that the War on Terror was the first instance of the American populace being drawn into an uproar through religious zeal (indeed, Ronald Regan basically got his career in the White House through talking up the Jesus). But it cannot be understated the sheer desire for an American Jesus in an age where many saw the world functioning on religious terms.
There are many implications to the claim of being an American Jesus. Perhaps the most famous of these is in Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop. In what many consider to be the precursor to the modern superhero story, Verhoeven takes aim at the America of the 1980s and proceeds to piss all over it in such a way as to bring about the culture of the 21st century America. One where commercialism has been fetishized to the point of horror. Where the extra judicial acts of corporations are deemed necessary and good. Where corporations hold more power over government than the people.
But it’s the titular Robocop is an interesting figure. At his heart, Robocop is, quite literally, a slave who takes[3]. Someone trapped within the systems of power to such a degree as to be incapable of overthrowing it without working within its parameters. While the traditional superhero narrative leaves this to the unspoken implication of the relationship between Power and Responsibility that they all work under, Robocop literalizes this through Directive 4, which makes him incapable of doing anything against his corporate masters.
Robocop can no more overthrow capitalism, the military industrial complex, or the police than any other superhero can. He is the Jesus who wields a bloody sword, but aims it away from the systems of power. Indeed, he does so in service to power. Merely content with taking out the bad apples who crop up without ever spoiling the bunch. His freedom serves to keep the cage intact.
Though, all things considered, this is more sympathetic than the American Jesus presented by the 21st century Superman movies. The most disturbing vision comes from Bryan Singer’s Superman Returns. A truly dull and miserable movie about giving not the actual Richard Donner Superman movies a hand job, but the nostalgic memory of them. In some regards, this film acts as the blueprint for what was to come with action (and, in particular, franchise) cinema: A work that exists to remind you of previous films rather than build off of them.
And yet, there’s a lack of any attempt of being anything else such that, rather than be infuriating and grotesque as works like The Rise of Skywalker or Doctor Who and the Timeless Children, Superman Returns ends up being an extremely boring movie with nothing to say even beyond the concept that Superman is a pretty good dude and Lois Lane must suffer for our amusement. It’s a boring, forgettable movie that no one should ever have to watch.
In terms of being an example of an American Jesus, it’s perhaps the most boring one possible: The messianic figure. Specifically, one who lacks any message for the people to follow beyond “Be good.” That is to say the exact words “Be good” and nothing else. This is a common vision of the messiah amongst the more apolitical (and, subsequently, conservative) crowd: a Jesus who does nothing but claim that love is good. A Jesus who wishes us nothing more than to be good, but never once provides a vision for what goodness is beyond “obey the law.[4]”
Perhaps more interestingly is the take on the American Jesus provided by Zack Snyder’s Superman films. It is perhaps an obvious point to make when it comes to the Superman cinema of the 21st century, but Snyder’s take on the character is thoroughly influenced by the story of Jesus[5]. From the various Christ poses he makes while floating in space to standing in a Church while considering whether he should sacrifice himself to the invaders.
And yet, when looking at the specific vision of Christ provided by Snyder’s Superman, it doesn’t feel like the Jesuses we’ve been provided by previous Superman movies. Indeed, out of all the attempts by 21st century Superhero cinema, it is perhaps the closest to Paul Verhoeven’s take on the idea. Snyder’s Superman did not come to bring peace, but a sword. He is an avenging angel who leaves mass destruction and devastation in his wake.
This is perhaps best exemplified by the 9/11 inspired climax to Man of Steel and, subsequently, the opening of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice[6]. Here, we are presented with a vision of what a superhero fight would feel like both from the perspective of the people combating and from those on the ground trying to escape. Indeed, Snyder’s core investment is in the suffering of those living in a world with a Superman in it.
And yet, there is still an almost religious awe beheld for this American Jesus. Even as early as Man of Steel, there is an understanding that Superman is a heroic figure who, even as the ruin of a man hovers above the ruin of the city, will always save the day. He is looked upon with awe and wonder as much as horror and fear.
Perhaps, then, it is inaccurate to consider Snyder’s Superman as an American Jesus. It might be more accurate to claim him as an avenging angel, out to burn the world to make a better one[7]. Be not afraid. Superman is here![8]
So then, what do the Spider-Man films directed by Sam Rami bring to the concept of the American Jesus? Perhaps it is best to look at things from the most obvious Jesus symbolism in these films. Many fans of these films consider the sequence in Spider-Man 2 where Spider-Man saves a train to be the highlight of the entire series. And it is certainly an exciting sequence of deft defying action that highlights Rami’s skills as a director.
And yet, less talked about is the immediate aftermath of the scene, where Spider-Man is carried off in the Christ pose. It’s a rather small, unremarked upon moment within the film[9], and yet it’s one of great implication.
To fully grasp these implications, we need to examine the overall characterization of Peter Parker within these films. In many regards, the Peter Parker of the Rami films defined the character after that point (largely for the worse). A shy, nervous man who can’t get his life in order. Someone who tries his hardest to do the right thing, but who often finds such things at odds with actually being able to live a good life.
There are many factors upon which Peter’s life is hurt by his desire to do good, from an inability to keep up with studies to an unsympathetic, antisemitic caricature of a landlord[10]. But chief among them is his love life with Mary Jane Watson. Frequently, there is a lack of communication between the two of them over their needs and wants such that it’s hard to see the chemistry between the two of them.
Indeed, it’s hard to understand why, exactly, this take on Peter Parker became Spider-Man. We can see the reasoning functionally: Uncle Ben Died, It Was His Fault, Spider-Man. But there’s no sense in his characterization that he would go this route. Throughout the films, Peter comes across as a wet blanket too meek to do anything about his station in life. He doesn’t feel like the sort who would respond to “my Uncle was murdered because of me” with “therefore I shall fight crime.” Rather, he feels like someone who would turn inward upon himself rather than outward.
And yet, the films nevertheless give him opportunities to react outwardly in his dismay about the state of his life. And every time, these are framed as the wrong thing to do. The most notable of these occurring during the Black Suit period of Spider-Man 3. Here, we are meant to see Peter as a contemptable jerk (which, in fairness, he absolutely is). And yet, these are the only times in the movies where he stands up to J. Jonah Jameson about getting a raise and his significantly toned down antisemitic caricature of a landlord about the rent.
He challenges the system for being cruel and unjust, and we are meant to be perturbed by his actions. We are not meant to raise a fist in solidarity for a freelancer wanting to be paid what he is owed. We are meant to see this happy piece of shit with nothing but contempt. Indeed, it is this sequence and this sequence alone where Peter Parker actually seems happy. There is a joy in his heart as he dances on the streets of New York in his black suit that is absent in any other moment of these films.
And herein lies the nature of this American Jesus. Consider the main moralistic thrust of the second Rami film, wherein the take is brought to its breaking point such that anything that follows can be nothing more than diminishing returns. Near the midpoint of the film, Aunt May delivers a monologue about the nature of heroism. In it, she notes, “I believe there’s a hero in all of us…that keeps us honest…gives us strength…makes us noble…and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady and give up the thing we want the most – even our dreams.”
Heroism, then, is defined in these films by a need to sacrifice everything for the greater good. To be the one who does the right thing, regardless of the personal cost. Whether that’s happiness, one’s life, or not having your arms broken. It’s not the anger or guilt that drives Peter to become Spider-Man, but rather his capacity for suffering. To be a hero is to suffer.
And here we return to the train sequence and the conception of the American Jesus. He exists not to inspire awe or serve the system or even to be a nebulous good. But rather, the Rami vision of an American Jesus exists to suffer. He exists to suffer and die and be reborn to suffer again and again. He is the Jesus of the cross, who is eternally dying upon it, eternally suffering. All for a world that will hate him and love him. All for a world that will obey him.
And yet, there’s as degree to which such a Jesus can bring people together. After all, many people were brought together in faith after the fall of the Twin Towers. Indeed, one of the truly life affirming aspects of the early 21st century was the way in which the people of New York came together to help one another in the wake of the towers falling. Firefighters, long out of retirement, returned to service to pull people out of the wreckage. Strangers gave aid to those who were suffering. Even the unspoken stories of the dead who only had each other in their final moments spoke of this comradery. If there was one thing we should have taken out of the fall of the twin towers, it wasn’t a desire for an enemy, someone to get revenge upon whom we happened to create. It was a sense of responsibility we have to each other. Because living is a great power we all have.
The Rami films reflect this in an interesting manner. In the first film, we get a sequence that many write off with cynicism and bitterness where the citizens of New York come together to help Spider-Man fight the Green Goblin. As one puts it, “You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us!” It’s an extremely goofy sequence, and yet it’s extremely earnest. The kind of “New York is great” moment that couldn’t work before or after the immediate aftermath of 9/11. A moment where the people come together and save the day.
A similar sequence occurs shortly after the famous train sequence of Spider-Man 2. Here, the people of New York, whom Spider-Man has just saved, look at the kid who risked his life for them, who is suffering for them, who is about to be taken away by the sinister Doctor Octopus, and decide to save him. They are going to stand up to Doc Ock and protect their hero. This moment of solidarity showcases the inspiration Spider-Man has given the people. That they don’t need to be afraid, don’t necessarily need a man with the proportional strength of a Spider. They can save the day themselves.
And then Doctor Octopus pushes them away as if they’re nothing.
There is no such sequence in the third film. Indeed, throughout the film, the people of New York cheer Spider-Man on as he saves the day, never once interacting with the web slinger. Because they know their place. It isn’t to stand tall with the heroes of the world, to save the day. That’s what heroes are for. Theirs is to stand in awe as heroism is done. They can no more rebel against evil than the heroes they cheer on can. They kneel to the same power as the heroes do. The question is, what is the name of that power?
[1] Among these was the motion picture 300, which the US military used during training and recruitment.
[3] The root words of Robocop being “Robota” (Slave) and “Capere” (To Take).
[4] In contrast, the film is easily capable of conveying what evil is: Muslims and the so-called bad capitalists who are invested in their hair looking real and real estate. The film is too boring to make it about Donald Trump.
[5] This is a slight misnomer. It’s more accurate to say Snyder is inspired by the myth of King Arthur and specifically John Boorman’s Excalibur. Notably, Boorman’s film features a sequence wherein Arthur stands in front of a glass pane of Jesus.
[6] Hereon referred to as Batman v Superman.
[7] This is further supported by the manner in which Superman dies in Batman v Superman: a piercing of the chest via a spear while slaying the monster Doomsday, as was the fate of the angel Michael whilst fighting the Great Red Dragon in the Book of Revelation.
[9] Such that one could see it as mere happenstance rather than intent. But then, intent isn’t always important to analysis.
[10] Spider-Man 2 is loaded with racial caricatures, not the least of which being a running “gag” involving a Chinese woman who can’t sing.
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