Over the past couple of months, I've been watching the Sam Raimi versions of the Spider-Man movies with my three boys. (Don't worry; my five-year-old covers his eyes during the "scary" parts.) We finished Spider-Man 3 last night, which reminded me of how deeply flawed it is a film, and also showed some highlights that I had either not noticed before, or had forgotten. Of Raimi's three entries into the franchise, Spider-Man 3 is universally (and rightly) considered the weakest of the trilogy. For me, there are a lot of personal connections to all of the films: I saw Spider-Man with some friends at a casual midnight showing--the friends worked at the movie theater in May 2002, so we turned it on at midnight and had a private screening; this was before movie theaters realized people would pay money to go to highly-anticipated films--and I remember stumbling out of the theater in a dazed joy for what I'd finally been treated to. I went on my mission shortly thereafter, which meant that two years passed before I could watch it again. And, much to my enjoyment, Spider-Man 2 came out in the summer of 2004--perfect timing. I saw Spider-Man 2 in California, where my family was vacationing (a tradition for when one of the boys came home from their mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) at the time, with my good childhood friend, Chris. My dad said, as we were walking out of the theater, that he felt like he was watching me and my fiancé (who is a redhead, too) the entire time. I remember being really satisfied with the film, and I watched it a lot. (I also go the video game which, up until the recent PS4 entry, was considered the best Spider-Man game of all time.) When Spider-Man 3 was on the horizon, however, things in my life had shifted a lot. I was recently graduated from college, unemployed, and spending a great deal of time in Primary Children's Medical Center, where our first born son, Puck, was being treated for a severe heart-defect. Gayle and I went to see Spider-Man 3 as a "date night", mostly because we were being kicked out of the hospital for an hour as the nurses changed shifts anyway, so we figured we could take an extra hour or so and watch a movie. Early on in the film, the bad guy, Sandman, climbs into the room of a little girl who was attached to a canula. The unexpected connection between my current plight (as Puck was on oxygen for much of his early life) made me instantly on the defensive against what might happen in the movie. As a result of that--and the overall strange narrative choices--it never really stuck with me as a film. There were the embarrassing moments (and, having seen it again, they're still quite awkward), of course, but some of the themes that it was trying to explore didn't really remain in my mind. This is the first time I've watched the film in over a decade, I'd guess, and I no longer think it's as bad as I remember. It's still not good, necessarily--the dance sequences are quite strange--but there's a lot more going for it…until Venom shows up. In fact, the whole third act isn't good at all. But the form of the movie--with everything going so well for Peter at the beginning, only to fall apart throughout--was a great decision. In Spider-Man, it starts off with Peter in a fairly neutral position; no, he didn't have the girlfriend that he wanted, but his aunt and uncle were alive and cared for him. That changes throughout the movie, so that his beginning position and ending position had shifted. Spider-Man 2 has him in a low-point at the beginning where he's lost his job, he's late for school, he's always tired--everything that could go wrong (even failing to get the hors d'oeuvres or margarita at the gala) does. So he starts low and only descends further. Then, throughout the course of the film, he learns important lessons and is able to climb up higher than he had been before. For Spider-Man 3, his starting position is at a height--things are going well and he starts to take his good luck for granted. Things unwind faster and faster and he turns to a parallel for substance abuse. The symbiote acts as a drug, something to block his pain and anger and channel it into what he thinks is cool or attractive. Part of the reason the dance moves and the finger-guns are so tacky and awkward is because we know it isn't cool, but Peter thinks it is. All of that subtext and nuance is great filmmaking, even if it is kind of hard to watch. Where the film stumbles is as soon as Venom comes on the scene. The team-up between Sandman and Venom doesn't make sense, and though the forgiveness that Peter renders Flint at the very end is impressive and necessary, the jumble of the ending makes it hard to be emotionally connected.
Everyone (who cares to, I suppose) knows that Spider-Man 3 is often held up as an example of studio meddling with the director's vision and getting a blemished product as a result. That is absolutely the case--but I don't think the error was in adding the symbiote. I think it was in adding Eddie Brock. Not only is Topher Grace a milquetoast actor (not bad, necessarily, but not the right choice here), but the character of Brock/Venom is not what the film needed. Because of what the symbiote does to Peter, the way it manipulates him and addicts him, is an excellent addition to the film. Peter defeating the symbiote in the church, where it dies (or, I guess, if it has to come back in a later film, that would be fine) so that he could focus on the Sandman issue would have made for a much stronger film. There are some moments of impressive CGI work, with a lot of great homages to the comics in it, and while it's almost completely broken at the end, I do think that, a dozen years down the line, Spider-Man 3 is a better film than I originally gave it credit for. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the name of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Yesterday, I didn't get a chance to write an essay because I had to pick between doing the dishes or writing, and the dishes won out. My dad was playing in a concert with Kurt Bestor in Salt Lake, so I had to leave Utah County early enough to survive the traffic. The concert was great, but we didn't get home until after midnight--I decided to skip the daily routine.
Today, I was up early to go to the movies with my friend, his son, my wife, and my three kids--so that we could see Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. As soon as that was over, I headed to a nearby elementary school to run through a four hour space center simulator (think of it as larping through Star Trek). It was a lot of fun, and I'm glad I did it. To be honest, the week was really packed with lots of things to do, so though I was sad my writer group Christmas party ended up being canceled because of sickness, it was nice to have one less thing to worry about this weekend. Now that these fun events are over, I can focus more on the scheduling insanity that next week entails. Despite having so many options to talk about, I'm going to instead write a spoiler-filled essay on the new Spider-Man movie because it was amazing, spectacular, and sensational--much like the new Spider-Man video game, which has new DLC coming out on the 21st, which is an early Christmas present for me! So, yeah… ….spoilers ahead. I have to put this out there first and foremost: Peter Parker will always be my Spider-Man. That isn't to say I don't like having others; heck, I even like Ben Reilly. There are countless iterations of Spider-Man, but the original, Steve Ditko/Stan Lee combo creation is my favorite. The different film versions, different cartoons, and even different worlds--up to and including the Ultimate Spider-Man universe from which Miles Morales comes--are wonderful and a great addition to the canon. Spider-Gwen is, in particular, a welcome addition to the roster (and the fact that she has such a crucial purpose in the movie is also fantastic). I don't begrudge Miles' role as Spider-Man in his world, and though he isn't my favorite web-head, I don't find it worthwhile to call him an imposter or "not really Spider-Man"…he clearly is, both in the comics and in this movie. Since Into the Spider-Verse takes place in Miles Morales' reality, and he becomes the Spider-Man of that world after Peter Parker dies, the movie works really well as an origin story of Miles. The movie spends a surprisingly long time waiting to get us to the point where Miles has gained his super powers. I personally believe they only managed to pull this off because they were able to immediately drop Spider-Man (the Peter Parker of Miles' reality) into the picture. That is, we got some web-slinging done early on in the film, whetting our appetites for more, yet also allowing us to anticipate without getting anxious. There were a lot of Easter eggs that were dropped in there--to say nothing of the constant Sony product placements--so casually that it would be easy to miss them. The sight of the PlayStation 4 version of Spidey's costume got my boys particularly excited. There's also references to Miguel O'hara and the Spider-Man 2099 continuity, and other fun tidbits. My personal favorite was how Earth-616 was the label of one of the multiverses on the screen, which is the "original" world in the Marvel multiverse where the Ditko/Lee Spider-Man lives. But it wasn't just the Spider-Man story--enjoyable top to bottom, with some excellent, well-timed humor, brilliant deliveries of the entire cast, and exciting action set pieces--that makes Into the Spider-Verse so exceptional: They told an empathetic and powerful story. The interactions between Miles and his dad, Officer Jeff Davis (though I still can't figure out why they named a Black man "Jefferson Davis"), really hit home with me. Both Miles and his dad have a lot in common, and the fact that his dad is a strong influence and presence in his life is something that I found myself wishing I could aspire to. The moment when Jeff is talking to the webbed-up Miles through the dorm door was really powerful to me. Jeff's understanding that he might not be raising Miles correctly, about his own struggles to do right by his son, could easily have come out of my own heart--though I wonder if I could ever say them aloud. My own parenting history is pockmarked with enough cratered mistakes that it'd embarrass the moon, but seeing Davis try to do the right thing was inspirational. The ending monologue of Miles was particularly important, and I wish I could have it in front of me, but it was something along the lines that anyone can be Spider-Man. Some of that is a direct rebuttal against those who hate Morales' character--or any other "diversity-quota"--on the grounds that there can be only one Spider-Man. Not only that, but it was such an open affirmation of the importance that superheroes play in our modern lives. Letting others in--pushing open the doors of access, seeking out and supporting women and people of color creators--is a massive movement in the twenty-first century. Putting Miles up in the spotlight, letting his story receive so much loving attention, was fantastic: That he was willing to share that spotlight and invite everyone else in was even better. The final moment before the main credits started to roll, the filmmakers put a quote from Stan Lee: "That person who helps others simply because it should or must be done, and because it is the right thing to do, is indeed, without a doubt, a real superhero." The man's iconic glasses were seen next to them--a touching tribute to the comic book legend. The theater, which wasn't particularly full, still had a collection of families. As the words came up on the screen, and we all read them, and all realized why it was so important to have them there, a child's voice from near the front cut through the silence: "So long!" Of course, the kid was saying goodbye to the movie…but the timing couldn't have been more perfect. To celebrate our fourteenth anniversary, Gayle and I went to see the new movie, Venom. While there were some problems with it--as with any movie, I suppose--I ended up liking it a lot more than I thought I would.
Oh, and should this matter to you, I'm going to throw out a spoiler warning, as I'm talking about the movie as a whole and I'm not planning on being judicious about how I talk plot points. Part of what worked for me was turning Eddie Brock into a genuinely sympathetic character. Tom Hardy did a great job of being a pathetic loser whose hard luck had happened in large part because he did the right thing. And though the movie seems to want to say more about people who are downtrodden for doing right, the fact that Brock ends up getting superpowers somewhat undoes the criticism of a system that allows for billionaires to flex their muscles to the destruction of the "little people" who make up the world. And maybe that's what I liked about this movie. Eddie Brock tips more toward the Deadpool side of the spectrum of seriousness in superhero movies--Venom isn't trying to lampoon or satirize superhero films, but it is more than willing to point out how crazy the whole premise is. The incredulity of Eddie Brock before he bonds with the symbiote mirrors a real world response, complete with him saying things like, "This is crazy," or summing up the story thus far with a tone of disbelief. It helped make the film lighter on its feet than, say, Justice League, whose attempt at humor was…unusual, to say the least. Both films deal with dark concepts and ideas, but Venom needed the humor to keep us from feeling like this world was unremittingly dark. Justice League (from what I can remember of it) didn't manage to balance that tonal dissonance, giving a sense of funny-part/serious-part/funny-part as if the different emotions are segments to pass through. The biggest question I had going into a movie about my favorite brain-eating symbiote was, "How are they going to pull this off without Spider-Man?" In the comics--and in the forgettable Spider-Man 3--Venom's motivation comes entirely from the way both Eddie Brock and the alien symbiote are spurned and "ruined" by Spider-Man. The particular powerset and costume design are Spider-Man inspired (though we later find out that the symbiotes--a species called the Klyntar--all have the creepy eyed thing going for them, as well as the teeth/tongue combo). To make Venom his own character without the wall-crawler seemed…unruly. And, yes, the purist in me disliked the take. But I had to put my preferences to one side. They were clearly paying homage to the source material--in this case, a run of comics called Venom: Lethal Protector. I've read the trade paperback of it a dozen or so times, as it was one of my favorites as a kid. In it, Spider-Man heads out to San Francisco to try to track down Eddie Brock, only to discover that his symbiote's spawn had been removed from him and given to five volunteers. These volunteers bond with new symbiotes and attack Spider-Man, stopping only when they get their symbiotes blasted to dust by an age acceleration device (comics are weird, by the way). They don't even stick around long enough to get names. However, according to my research--and quite unsurprisingly--even though the symbiotes were dissolved and the headquarters where they were left behind detonated, the five volunteers managed to survive and keep their symbiotes. So that way more comics about symbiotes could abound. I've lost the thread of most of the comics that I read when I was in high school, so I don't know all the ins-and-outs of symbiote lore (though I recently learned that Knull is the god of the Klyntars, which is…cool? I guess?). Nevertheless, they always tie back to Venom who then ties back to Spider-Man. They made a few wise decisions when making this story their own. One, they made sure that Venom didn't have the iconic spider on his chest. I was saddened by that, but it makes sense: There was no reason for that part of the costume to transfer over. So though I missed seeing the splash of white across the broad, black chest, it was a good choice. They also gave us San Francisco as the backdrop, which fits in with Brock's comic past--at least, from the source material they were using. From what I can recall, only two other superhero movies in the recent past (Hulk and X-Men 3) have taken place in San Francisco, and since the place has such a distinct visual style, it was fun to see the chaos of a superpowered being wreaking havoc in a new city. (At one point during the Clone Saga of Spider-Man, one of Peter Parker's clones ends up in Salt Lake City. Maybe one day we'll have a superhero battle here in SL,UT?) The film was pretty violent and it had quite a few swear words--clearly aiming for the PG-13 rating--but it was remarkably bloodless for a creature who likes to eat human brains (and everything that surrounds them). One of the aspects that stands out about Carnage and Venom has always been their brutal ferocity. The novels I read are particularly violent, complete with dismemberments and gruesome deaths on all sorts of levels. The filmmakers decided to tone down the consequences of that kind of violence, giving us the stereotypical flying-bodies-crashing-glass-and-no-real-repercussions type of "action" that is a hallmark of PG-13 superhero films. Despite not being explicitly gruesome, there's enough frightening images that I was glad I didn't bring my kids along with. The music was forgettable or bad, I felt--loud, brassy exclamation marks aren't my favorite musical genre--and the special effects are what one would expect from a movie like this. Tom Hardy's acting was very enjoyable, and the interplay between him and his symbiote was a lot of fun. I genuinely felt bad for the guy as his life dissolved, and his decision to become a "hero" of sorts comes out of the fact that, though he doesn't want to care about others, he still does. There's one scene that surprised me: When Ann is driving Eddie to the hospital, Venom says--inside Eddie's head--that he needs to apologize to Ann for what he'd done to ruin her career. Eddie then gives a heartfelt apology. What surprised me was that 1) the symbiote was the one sensitive enough to her emotions to recommend the move, and 2) Eddie was genuine in what he said. That was the moment that I realized the difference between Venom and all of the other versions of the man/monster that I've seen before. Venom always had a thing about "protecting innocents", which was really more of a backdoor for the writers to exploit whenever they wanted Spider-Man to team up with the hugely popular character. But an entire movie about him meant that he couldn't be all teeth and drool. Brock had to be a genuine character with growth and change, motivations and desires. In fact, they spend probably forty of the 112 minute run time without Eddie and the symbiote being together. That, in my mind, shows a lot of restraint. The filmmakers knew that people were there to see the monster. But they did the right thing by delaying that moment until it made sense for it to actually transpire. So, yeah: I ended up really liking the movie much more than I thought. While it's no contender for best superhero movie, it was an enjoyable romp through one of the cooler (in my opinion) super-beings in the Marvel canon. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Ever since about the sixth grade, when the Spider-Man: The Animated Series debuted, I've been a web-head. Yeah, my involvement with reading Spider-Man stories has waxed and waned over the years. I have a couple dozen Spider-Man novels, countless comics, as well as trades featuring the web-slinger. I put a lot of money into the action figures-- --and I played the video games. Back in 2000, Activision released Spider-Man for the PlayStation. I remember being so excited to play the game that a couple of times I drove myself down to Media Play exclusively to try the demo that they had on display (I didn't bother tracking down my own copy of the demo disc to play the first level at home). I counted down the days and bought Spider-Man the day it released from a Babbages in the nearby mall. I didn't lollygag after my purchase: I got right back into my car and drove home so that I could spend the day playing the game. I loved it. For the first time, I really felt like I was web-swinging through the fog-drenched cities. I became proficient at all aspects of the game, eventually getting good enough to unlock every costume. I bought the guide (it was worthless, honestly) just to be sure I got everything the game had to offer. I even used the music and some of the Stan Lee voiceover parts in one of my school assignments. In short, I was one happy customer. Sequels were released, new consoles came about, and Spider-Man kept showing up in different types of games. Gone were the days where I would play Marvel vs. Capcom for the only video game connection I could get with Spidey. Shortly before I left for my mission, I picked up the Spider-Man game that was the official movie tie-in. I played through that whole thing a couple of different times before I had to leave for Florida. By the time I returned, two years later, Spider-Man had a new movie on the horizon…and a new game. Most gamers--Spider-Man fans or not--will say that one of the best action games on the PlayStation 2/Xbox generation of consoles was Spider-Man 2. It hit the plot points (and character design) of the movie and had some additional content to spread it into a video game-length endeavor. By this time in my life (we're talking mid-2004) I had moved over to the Xbox for my video gaming needs, so I was able to play Spider-Man 2 on the then-superior system. I was entranced. Web-slinging through the city was a natural and thrilling experience. The first game I played only needed Spider-Man to ever swing on two webs at a time before arriving at the right place. This game, though? Its main purpose was to give players a chance to use New York city as a playground for a guy who can bench press a pickup truck. Fun moves, upgradable powers, and constant challenges made the game a delight. There were some bugs, of course: The quantity of missions to accomplish became repetitive after too long, the voice acting was tinny and poor, and the NPCs were horrible to look at. The studio had obviously put all of its effort into the web-slinging mechanics and Spider-Man's move-set--a logical choice that I don't fault. But it did leave the game feeling, in retrospect, somewhat incomplete. Those flaws aside, Spider-Man 2 remained my favorite Spider-Man game for years. I bought the third installment for the PlayStation 2 when the third movie came out, but that was an inferior product to the one on the PlayStation 3. I picked up the Ultimate Spider-Man game for Xbox (I think?) and was confused why Spider-Man only had one web-shooter. Once I switched back to Sony products, I picked up some Marvel: Ultimate Alliance 2 which allowed me to play a team-based Spider-Man in a fairly enjoyable hack-and-slash game. I almost earned every trophy in the Spider-Man: Web of Shadows game, Spider-Man: Edge of Time, and I even played Spider-Man: Shattered Dimensions thoroughly. I even threw down some cash for The Amazing Spider-Man 2 movie tie-in. (This game had my favorite inclusion to a Spider-Man game--the no-brainer concept of having a web-shooter assigned to each trigger, thus allowing a natural rhythm to swinging around New York--a feature that, lamentably, has not been emulated in the newest game.) In short, I've played a lot of Spider-Man games over the years. Marvel's Spider-Man, the recently released, incredibly hyped, PlayStation 4 exclusive title, is--by far--the best one that I've ever played. If you're one of those who's planning on playing the game and you'd like to stop reading now, that's fine. I'm going to talk about why I liked the game so much, but a huge part of it is that the story really worked for me. As a result, I'm throwing down a spoiler warning. If you're not reading on, let me just say, the game is A+ and you should play it. Spoilers after the picture. Okay, so here's part of what makes Marvel's Spider-Man so enjoyable from a story perspective: They're highly allusive.
The Peter Parker we meet in MSM is a university graduate who has been Spider-Man for quite some time. Early on in the game, one of the many, many things to do in the city is find his old backpacks from when he was a teenager and college student. There are over fifty of them to discover, and each one has a single item in it that Peter contextualizes. The items vary, from leftover pieces of enemies' suits to fanart to vestiges of Peter's life with Mary Jane. And that's what's so cool about finding these pieces: It gives me an understanding about their relationship through internal thoughts and fragments, rather than laying it all out. This allows me to feel like a relationship detective and put the puzzle together as the game plays out. Later, Peter--after fumbling a lot in trying to get things to work out--goes to dinner with MJ. We learn that they broke up six months before, but the reason remains out of reach. One good storytelling trick is to dole out important tidbits, like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs, letting the audience experience each piece and consider it before handing out another one. MSM does that masterfully, showing the audience the results of an action that we have yet to see. Additionally, there are a handful of sequences where I stop playing as Spider-Man. Sometimes it's to play as Peter Parker, helping a mentor and friend, Otto Octavius, to improve his prosthetic experimentations. This is excellent characterization, because Peter Parker's genius is one of the highest in the Marvel canon--not on the same level as Reed Richards or Tony Stark, but he's no slouch, either--and the video games have only ever paid lip-service to Parker's abilities. In the game, I got to do a couple of mini-games that involved increasingly complex puzzles that were "used" to help Octavius. Sometimes these mini-games were ways of advancing the plot, sometimes not. But the point is, Peter's intelligence was highlighted and I got to interact with that aspect of the character's, well, character. Another time where I relinquished Spider-Man's wall-crawling in favor of something of a different stripe was during the Mary Jane episodes. There are only three or four of them, but they're a nice break from the normal formula the game had set up. Because she doesn't have super powers, Mary Jane goes Solid Snake on the levels, sneaking past obstacles, throwing out distractions, and--by the end--even tazing bad guys in her way. The entire time, Mary Jane's character is established, not as a dazzling supermodel, but instead an intelligent, resolute, and brave reporter for The Daily Bugle--the old newspaper that Peter has, at this point, left behind in order to pursue his science career. Having Mary Jane be her own character, capable of solving her own problems, makes it feel--during the Grand Central Station mission especially--like her partnership with Spider-Man is a natural outgrowth of their relationship and burgeoning respect, rather than an escort-mission style of gameplay. In other words, because of the way that I got to interact with Mary Jane--not simply as a character in cutscenes, but as a playable character whose skillset was quite different than the main character's--I was able to better appreciate the way their storylines interacted with each other. Mary Jane flat out says, at one point, that she was glad she could save Peter once, considering how many times he has to save her--which he does, though it's less a damsel in distress and more of a friend in trouble (and there's a difference in those tropes, I should add)--which meant so much more to me as a player because Mary Jane really did feel like she was contributing to the conflict that was consuming the city. The last character I got to play through the course of the game was Miles Morales. His skillset is essentially the same as Mary Jane's, and though his character arc isn't as well developed, its placement in the game really does open up the video game franchise to make future, bolder, more risky decisions. I think they should kill off Peter Parker in the next Spider-Man game. See, they show Peter being forced to choose between saving the countless sick in the city or selfishly using up a cure to save Aunt May. This sort of dilemma shows up in a lot of Spider-Man comics, but the video game format lets this version of Spider-Man stand independent of continuity and to devise its own alternative history--and future. And though the moment of May Parker's death is quite similar to the Amazing Spider-Man #400 "A Death in the Family", the emotional power of the moment of seeing Peter having to do something for "the greater good"--of choosing to save the city, rather than his beloved aunt--was genuinely gratifying. Sad, of course--in fact, I think my wife might have been getting a little misty eyed at that part--but powerful. And that's the thing about this game: It's emotionally satisfying in more than just the "I can't believe I'm web-slinging through New York!" kind of feeling. The gameplay is immaculate--the ability to change costumes with a couple of clicks, the customization of your suit to fit the kind of play style you're interested in, the ease of going from web-swinging to fighting and back again--but that's only one of the components that makes this game good. The story is solid--despite some weird comic book/video game concessions that one learns to simply take in stride--and it's nuanced. I honestly could continue to rave about this game, but I'm running low on time and I have to explain my earlier comment about thinking they should kill off Peter. One of the hardest things about superhero comics and movies is that the stakes never feel real because the hero always wins. (Hence the emotional trauma of Infinity War.) Video games are fortunate in that they can circumvent the laborious process of getting to love a character because the interaction of the gamer to the game forges that affinity faster. In comics, it takes tons of issues for a character to form in a reader's mind. In the case of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, they've dedicated dozens of hours to the characters that are in Infinity War. But video games put the gamer into the character's boots and a natural possession--on many levels--occurs. The advantage of this is that characters can die and it can feel like it means something: Batman: Arkham City is an excellent example of this. Why did they kill Joker at the end of the game? Because they could. And not just because they could, but because it was powerful--it was the right ending to the story. The same could happen in the next Spider-Man game, except they could kill off Peter Parker, making room for Miles Morales to assume the role and accept the responsibility. Done correctly, that could be the "Aerith moment" of a whole new generation of gamers. Especially in a medium where death is a minor setback for the majority of the time a player is involved with the game, killing off Peter Parker could really make for a powerful experience. And, since they so carefully set up Miles' character in this game, there's a lot that they can exploit. Or…since there are two Spider-Men, they could just have the next game be two player! That would be awesome. Anyway, the game is incredible. It's gorgeous to look at, and the digital actors and animations are so well rendered that, though I always know I'm looking at a video game, I'm convinced of their emotions in the same way I am when I watch a Pixar film. The gameplay is almost perfect (not having two buttons for the web-shooters was a sad decision, if you ask me, and I wish I could've fought the Sinister Six the first time they showed up, even if it was only so that I could get the crap kicked out of me), and the characterization and world they've cooked up are immensely satisfying and memorable. It's a sensational, spectacular, amazing Spider-Man game. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Note: I wrote a similar concept about Steampunk Batgirl as a backstory for my wife's costume that she's making for a convention this fall (and, also, Halloween). While I like Batman, I main Spider-Man. I thought I'd take a chance to flesh out some of the ideas that I have about the steampunk Spider-Man character that my wife and I have made to explain my steampunk costume. I should also point out that it's technically crystalpunk, since we don't really use steam, but that's an even more esoteric genre. So: Steampunk it is.
A young Peter Parker moved into a mid-nineteenth century New York replete with crime when he and his guardians, Uncle Ben and Aunt May, left their home in Dublin in the hopes of encouraging Peter's interest: crystal- and steam-tech. New York, by this time, was the hotbed for inventions and applications of crystal-powered technology, and its frequent cousin, steam-tech. These twin power sources thrust New York into the forefront of world technology. Crystal-powered skyships cruised through the skies, a swarm above the city as thick as the traffic within. Moving to Kings, a suburb of the city, the Parkers were reviled. Though their family line came from England, no one could doubt their Irish roots. Forced into a demeaning textile job in a factory owned by the Manfredi, an Italian mob family, Uncle Ben began to waste away. Meanwhile, Peter--a scrawny kid with more interest in the natural philosophy of crystal-tech--had his own struggles. Trying to fit in with the local kids was easy--provided they were of an Irish background, like him. The New York natives would ridicule him, and more than once he came home with a bloody lip or a blackened eye thanks to bigots who overheard his accent. When Ben noticed Peter's condition, he pulled the boy aside. "What's happening Peter?" he asked with his rich Irish accent. "They're beating me, Uncle Ben. For no reason but how I talk." "You're gonna have to learn to stand up for yourself," Uncle Ben had replied. "And then, once you know how to do that, you have to learn to stand up for those who can't. That's what we Irish do. It's what we Americans do. It's what we Parkers do. Be strong, lad, and you'll pull along all right." Peter, thoughtful, nodded at his uncle. It was true that they had moved to America in order to have a better life, but that didn't mean they would have an easier life. For Peter, this was a small price to pay to be a part of Smythe's Crystal Mercantile, the outlet of the unique crystal-tech creations of the Smythe Science Corporation. Though young, Peter managed to get himself a job at the Mercantile by helping haul the crates and stock the shelves so that well-to-do New Yorkers could purchase their crystal devices. Everything from pocket watches to laundry machines was available to those who had the cash, the intricate gears and gauges needed to utilize the crystal-tech only one aspect of what Peter loved about the technology. His meager earnings were added to Aunt May's seamstress work and Uncle Ben's factory pay. With all three jobs, they managed to make ends meet. Peter studied as much as he could in the evenings, but resources were scarce and hard to come by. Plus the cost of burning a lantern by which to read could sometimes be too much for them to afford. Hunger pinched his belly. His hair grew long and greasy. And yet, Peter was happy. He was close to crystal-tech. He was in America. He had a job at a worthwhile company. What could go wrong? The truth about Smythe's Crystal Mercantile was simple: It was a front. The Smythe family's hands were just as dirty as the Manfredi's, dealing in all sorts of illegal activities, including slave-hunting, gambling, prostitution, and dreg distribution (dregs being ingestible remains of crystal-tech, a dangerous way of enhancing human strength, endurance, and other capabilities--with a downside of addiction, violence, and even death as a potential price addicts might pay). On one side, the Smythes were into the worst, darkest dealings of a rotten city. On the other, they provided steady work and valuable products. Peter knew nothing of this. He only knew that he'd been given a job, despite only being fifteen. Granted, it wasn't the same as building crystal-tech--his true dream--but he was around crystal-tech, and that was something. It was much cleaner, more efficient, and less greasy than steam-tech, which was the primary power of the Manfredi's operations. And, much as Peter didn't know of the Smythe's real dealings, he didn't know that the Manfredi family and the Smythe family were long-standing rivals, both anxious to destroy the other, but unable to determine a way of doing it that didn't turn into a full-scale mob war. One day, Peter was ordered to accompany a shipment of a newly-created, experimental crystal-tech weapons to one of the Smythe's cronies, a man named Hammerhead. When Peter and the other workers arrived in their crystal-powered wagon, Hammerhead stepped out to inspect the merchandise. They were in a seedy part of town, but one known to everyone. Hammerhead was one of Smythe's best customers--and he was also a target for the Manfredi family, too. Unluckily for Peter and his coworkers, the Manfredi had dispatched an assassin named Tombstone to eliminate Hammerhead, and the attack happened just as Hammerhead left his hideout to inspect the buckboard filled with weapons. Men fired on each other, their guns sparking the night with their crystal- and steam-powered flashes. Cries of pain and groans of death filled the air. For his part, Peter had taken shelter in the dilapidated warehouse that Hammerhead used as his home base. The two men, obviously enhanced by dregs, punched and wrestled with each other as gunfire peppered the area. One bullet flew through the flimsy wall near where Peter was hiding. Smashing into the upright containers of an experimental dreg, the bullet caused a sudden rush of the chemical to spray all over. Peter, cowering nearby, was drenched in the dregs. Coughing and spluttering, Peter lurched toward an exit, an old door that was on the far end of the warehouse. A massive padlock kept the chains on it, a detail that Peter would have noticed earlier were it not for his panic. Grabbing the handle in a futile attempt to get free, he shook the door. As he did, he accidentally disturbed a nest of spiders. Each bite was a tiny flame, where not only did the creatures' venom enter him, but the dregs that was outside of his body now was coming inside of it. Screaming in pain and terror, Peter thrashed his way toward the only exit he knew worked: The one he'd ducked into when the bullets started flying. Just as he got out of the building, an ill-timed explosion of the weapons threw him and the still-fighting Tombstone and Hammerhead in different directions. For Peter, he landed in the nearby river, the water washing off some of the dregs and all of the spiders. Floating downstream, barely conscious for the pain and trauma, Peter eventually managed to drag himself home. When he arrived, Aunt May, terrified at what had happened, pulled him to bed and began nursing him. Peter was sick for a week. By the time he felt better, everything else had gotten worse. Without the income of Peter's work, Uncle Ben had to put even more time into his job. In an exhaustion-fueled slip, he had dropped an important piece of equipment, causing the entire factory to shut down for a few hours while engineers fixed the problem. Silvio Manfredi had promptly fired Uncle Ben, who was now scouring the city for work. Additionally, some strange men had been stopping by frequently, trying to talk to Peter. Aunt May was scared, as they gave the impression of someone who didn't like being told no. Now that Peter was recovered, he was feeling good. Better than that--he felt amazing. Sensational. He'd never felt so good. Peter headed into the city to try to find Uncle Ben, who had been gone for two days at this point. As he went around, he kept feeling as if something were tickling the back of his neck--like a web that clung to his skin but couldn't be brushed away. At last, the feeling was so pronounced it almost hurt him, and he involuntarily dove to one side, down an alleyway. But instead of going a step or two, he only landed after sailing nearly fifteen feet from where he'd been standing. Shocked, he turned to look at where he'd been, only to see two men staring at him, their eyes wide and angry. "Who are you? What do you want?" "Mr. Manfredi sent us to ask you some questions," said man. He and his partner began walking down the alleyway, blocking the exit. Peter backed up until he bumped into the brick of the building behind him. "I don't have anything to say to him," said Peter, putting one of his hands up on the wall, more out of instinct than purpose. "I don't know him at all." "Well, he's curious what happened last week. He wants information that only you can give him." "We got attacked. He already knows that." "But we only have a couple of men who survived. And a little boy like you? A slip of a lad--a Smythe boy if ever I saw one--making it through? Surviving that kind of a firefight?" The thug shrugged and nudged his partner. "That seems suspicious, wouldn't you say?" They continued to approach. "Yeah," said the partner. "I should say so." "Stay away!" "What are you going to do, kid? Climb the wall?" The men laughed and then, as one, jumped forward to grab him. The web in the back of his neck buzzed and he jumped, scrambling against the sheer wall for any sort of grip. To his surprise--and the obvious surprise of the men beneath him--Peter only stopped once he'd palmed his way twenty feet above the street. Uncertain of what was happening, Peter decided that he was better off not talking to the men, swarmed up the side of the building, and ran home. When he arrived, the thugs had beaten him to it. Heart in his guts, Peter pushed open the wrecked pieces of the door. The two men from the alleyway turned around, their bloody fists curled. Ben lay on the floor, unmoving. Aunt May sobbed over the body. "You should've talked to us, kid," said the first thug, turning his attention to Peter. "It would've saved us all a lot of pain." Peter's rage sparked inside of him, and the humiliation and pain that he'd suffered through the sundry beatings all surfaced simultaneously. Charging forward faster than they had time to anticipate, he punched the thug in the chest. He heard snapping beneath his knuckles and he knew he'd broken the man's sternum. The other thug grabbed him, only to have his arms broken and then be bodily thrown across the room. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. Peter looked at his trembling hands. He hadn't meant to hit them so hard. How had this happened? Then he faced Aunt May, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Peter? Wha--" Before she could say anything, Uncle Ben stirred. Peter dropped to his side. He could tell by the severity of the pummeling Ben had taken that he wouldn't survive. He was dying. "Peter," said Ben through broken teeth. "Don't carry anger. Don't carry hatred. Show how you're a good person by what you do. Make me proud, lad." His bleary eyes flickered to May. "I love you, May O'Reilly." Then he slipped away. May and Peter didn't have any money to have Ben be buried in anything other than a pauper's grave. Shortly thereafter, they lost their small apartment. One of May's clients took pity on them and let the Parkers sleep in the cellar of her brownstone. Peter didn't dare return to Smythe's Mercantile, and the anger he felt toward Manfredi for having fired Uncle Ben, then sending his goons to attack his family. Unable to settle down, Peter decided he needed to do something. His powers made it easy for him to slip into Smythe's Mercantile and pick up a device that he'd noticed before: a wrist-mounted water nozzle. It had a lot of purported uses--help with ironing, ease of cleaning windows, and even for practical jokes--but Peter thought he could do something different with it. By combining some of the other available products at the Mercantile, Peter assembled a contraption that could fit on his arm and would allow him to fire a length of sticky glue that would harden incredibly fast and had a great sticking power. He dubbed them his "webshooters", then disguised them by getting the entire thing to fit inside of some empty whiskey flasks that he'd found in the garbage. Knowing what happened when someone knew who he was, Peter took an old bandana from a clothesline three stories above the New York streets, wrapped it around his face, and pulled a cap low over his ears. Then he went to pay the Manfredi family a visit. Climbing up to the topmost floor of the Manfredi's high-rise, Peter arrived in time to see Alistair Smythe, the heir-apparent to the Smythe family name and fortune. Peter's jaw dropped as he overheard the heated argument, of how Manfredi had sent the assassin after Hammerhead, Smythe's right-hand-man, and how it would now be war between the two crime families. Peter's sense of abuse at having been a part of a criminal enterprise and his rage at having lost Uncle Ben because of these men made him act rashly, and he burst in on the two men. Surprised at the scrawny person breaking through the windows, neither man moved at first. "Who the devil do you think you are?" asked Manfredi. Peter hesitated only a moment. He hadn't thought of that. Deepening his voice, he said, "I'm a Spider-Man. And I'm here to stop you." Smythe opened fire, but his spider-sense kept him safe. The sound of breaking glass, shouting, and firing of weapons let the men outside know something bad was happening, and the suspicious mobsters began shooting at each other. In the chaos of a sudden mob war, Peter managed to escape. When he got home, May was waiting for him. She asked him what he was doing and what he was thinking. He explained that he'd learned that both Smythe and Manfredi were corrupt and that their exploits and rivalries were part of what was keeping the city rotten. "I have to help, May," said Peter. "I have to do something. It's what Uncle Ben would want." "Well," said May after some thinking, "I can't let you out looking like that." Taking many of the pilfered pieces that Peter managed to get, she sewed him a costume and with it, Peter Parker began his career as Steampunk Spider-Man. I've been writing since I was little. Like, soon after I learned how to read. I wouldn't say that I'm a natural-born storyteller, but I do love to tell stories, even if I'm not particularly good at them. When I was in elementary school, I started writing a piece of Spider-Man fanfic that was based upon what I knew about the Maximum Carnage video game (which was probably about three or four levels, if we're being honest). As I was writing it on my dad's Macintosh computer, I accidentally clicked the desktop behind the word processor window. I thought I had accidentally deleted my story. Upset that I would have to rewrite the whole thing (it was something in the neighborhood of seven pages, which represented a couple of days' work, if I remember rightly), I went away in a huff. Later, I learned my mistake, but had already rewritten the thing anyway. The only part of it that I remember was I wrote "plaque" instead of "plague" and I'm still kind of embarrassed about that. The next time I tackled a Spider-Man story, it was in middle school. I wrote it about Venom (of course), and it clocked in at maybe fifty or so pages. I believe I've even written about this before, so I won't go into details. I do remember, quite vividly, going to a Kinko's with my mom to print out, photocopy the drawings I had done for each chapter, and bind my story, the title of which I can't recall right now. By the time I reached high school, I was going full-bore. I started with a short story about Cletus Kasady having an interview with Ben Ulrich, his photo-journalist friend Peter Parker in tow. I wrote it from the point of view of Cletus and Ben. It was my attempt to write from an unexpected main character, as well as putting in copious amounts of detail--since I wasn't writing a whole novel, I could do a bit of a verbal splurge.* I finished that short story and was struck by one of the images I conjured: Spider-Man perched on top of a beat-up old motel marquee in the middle of rural Colorado, thinking. It was such a different type of setting for Peter to be in, and though the rest of the novel took place in an imaginary** New York, I couldn't quite get the conversation between the mass-murderer Kasady and Ulrich, complete with a contemplative Spider-Man at the end, out of my mind. At the time, I was a pantser (meaning I wrote as I went along, not relying on an outline and trying to keep all of the threads together). I had some vague conspiracy about a company that was trying to make a synthetic Venom symbiote, which Spider-Man was opposed to on moral and not-wanting-to-die grounds, and there was something about a cult that worshiped Carnage (Cletus Kasady's symbiotic alter ego). I remember having Mary Jane and Peter do their own "keeping the Sabbath day holy" kind of thing by not having either of them work when Sunday came around. Evil took the day off, I guess. I also can recall the times when certain aspects of my life started leaking into the text: I added a prototype Venom symbiote to the mix that was basically the Licker from Resident Evil 2, but fighting Spider-Man.
I also remember doing calculations on the foot speed of your friendly neighborhood wall-crawler--about 45 miles per hour, I believe--in order to explain how he managed to escape a building that was exploding. In fact, it was right after that moment of escape when an injured Spider-Man landed on the roof of a retired priest's apartment (I was less subtle about my religious leanings in those days) that I was thinking of the other day when I was talking about Spider-Man. Peter Parker has a tendency to wander, and he always relies on the sagacity of older generations to help him along. This began, of course, with Uncle Ben, but Aunt May provides that role on occasion, as does Captain America and Ezekiel, among many others. In that same tradition, I put Spider-Man on the couch of a priest to talk for a while so that his hurts could heal a bit. Over the course of the conversation, the priest says something along the lines of the power of sacrifice, and how admirable it is that people try to help others, even at personal cost. Whatever the specifics were, Spider-Man sees his behavior as worthwhile sacrifice, which galvanizes him to push onward until the final, climactic battle (at a construction site because of course a Spider-Man novel should end in a construction site). At one point, a civilian is thrown into oncoming traffic. Spidey doesn't have a chance to do anything but throw himself in the way of the bus (or taxi? Something like that.) and take the hit for the person. Now, Spider-Man takes hits a lot worse than being smacked by a taxi--or a bus, for that matter--so it was less about the damage that was dealt him and more the banality of it. I mean, the idea of being hit by a vehicle is enough to make everyone cautious and maybe even paranoid, yet Spidey did it without thinking. It wasn't an "only Spider-Man can stop this!" kind of moment--it was one in which Peter Parker threw himself into danger that surprised him. It wasn't a superhuman moment, it was a human moment. And that was the reminder he needed to stay in the fight and save the day. I wouldn't say that the novel is much to thrill at--I don't even know what it's titled, and I don't know where the file is--nor do I think that there's much that happens there, save a straightforward, run-of-the-mill Spider-Man story. But it was something that I worked hard on and I look back at with pride. Not only do I consider this my very first novel--all the rest being prologue--but I also like to think of it as my first attempt to use fiction to explore something real, something important, something lasting. Even if it was through the point of view of a guy who dresses in Spandex in order to fight crime. --- * I have a handful of things that I do as a writer. Quirks, if you will. One, I say "a little" a lot (I'm trying to change this one). Two, I tend to write slow-burn stories, with the action of the plot pushing toward a large climax, and small things in the beginning having greater emphasis and importance at the end. Three, I like to set up an idea, then contradict or qualify it with the conjunction but. I do this all of the time. Four, I write with a slower, more deliberate pace at the beginning, incorporating details move vividly in the beginning of my novels. I think that comes from the idea that the images are clearer for the reader? I'm not certain, since the descriptions ought to be consistent. It's another thing that I'm working on. I can see this sort of tendency in my writings going all the way back to this first "real" Spider-Man novel. ** I've never been to New York City, though I did see Staten Island from the air once. Since I've yet to traverse that concrete jungle, all of my assumptions about what the Big Apple is like comes from pied impressions via movies, comic books, and Spider-Man novels. I have no sense how long it would take to get from Midtown to the Bowery, or how those two places interconnect. The Spider-Man video games have helped with visualization, to a certain extent, but it's better to say that I have an invented New York City that I've put my characters into. I don't mind doing the dishes or folding laundry, at least not very much. Sure, there are other things with which I'd rather pass my time, including reading, writing, playing video games, sleeping, or basically doing anything other than dishes or folding laundry. But as far as chores go, folding (not changing it--I hate that) and dishes stacking aren't bad.
To help wile away the time, I often listen to podcasts, audiobooks, or, depending on my mood, video essays on YouTube. These tend to be--though aren't always--bite-sized so that I can slam a few of them during the mindless chores. I've watched way too many Cracked videos, and I also have soaked in a lot about film criticism, as well as some of the unique vocabulary of cinema. One thing that I watch a lot are videos about comic books, as well as critiques of a lot of the Batman movies. Yesterday I realized: I don't watch a lot (read: any) videos about my friendly neighborhood wall-crawler. I took some time and enjoyed a handful of them before retiring to bed. The idea that Spider-Man doesn't have as much to say--or, rather, that there is less to say about Spider-Man--is one that I've sort of struggled with. I mentioned before that I main Spidey, but there always seemed to be something realer about the Dark Knight than the web-head. Maybe it's the hyphen. But that doesn't make a lot of sense, when I look more closely at it. Spidey has had his fair share of bizarre and bad stories--as has any character who has been around for the better part of a century--so it certainly isn't the idea that there's something too childish or campy (a la the Adam West version of Batman or the Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends cartoons) inherent in either property to dismiss Spidey as too kiddy without doing the same for Bats. If Spider-Man's more lighthearted tone--his constant quips and his (dare I say?) even more colorful costumed villains--preclude him from more serious/somber/insightful criticism, then there's a real problem there. Part of this likely stems from the idea that comedy can't be profound (something seen in literary criticism about Shakespeare, whose tragedies get all the essays and the tragedies make all the money). And there's definitely the concept of Spider-Man as an inheritor of power--utterly useless without the spider bite. That argument doesn't hold a lot of water for me, though, especially in comparison to Batman. Bruce Wayne is an inheritor of immense financial power, and is useless without his dead parents. More than that, though, is a dismissal of Peter Parker. If you think about DC's Trinity, Superman is--for a long run of his career, at least--unwilling to share his secret identity. Batman never wants to, guarding it violently throughout the decades. Wonder Woman has an alter ego as a comic book trope, but she's easily Diana Prince as much as she's Wonder Woman. If alter egos are a spectrum, Superman is on the far left with his secret identity a foundational, but less significant aspect of his personality. Batman is on the far right with his secret identity being Bruce Wayne. Diana is more in the middle. So is Spider-Man. Peter Parker's character is part of what makes Spider-Man so interesting. (The fact that, with the exception of Miles Morales, no other Spider-Man alter ego has had as much depth and popularity is telling.) Divorcing Spidey from Peter is essentially impossible, as the two sides of his personality are intertwined. While there's definitely some wiggle room, Peter is Spider-Man and Spider-Man is Peter. That sort of connection is part of why the recent Amazing Spider-Man movies were falling short: Peter Parker was an obnoxious, selfish teenager with a quick wit, and only half of that equation is correct. The Peter Parker we see in Homecoming is much more in line with who Peter is, though my own personal preference is a slightly older Peter--one stuck in his mid-twenties and still trying to balance everything. My point is that a good Spider-Man story is a good Peter Parker story first: Spidey will come in line pretty easily. And that, as a writer, is a more challenging task than it sounds like. There's continuity and homeostasis to deal with when one is writing a Spider-Man story arc, but more than that there is a problem with getting Peter into the mode that he needs to be in for the story to actually work. Tackling Peter's problems is what gives Spider-Man stories their unique flavors: It isn't enough for New York to be threatened (yet again) by Doctor Octopus; it needs to happen on the one night when he promised MJ that he'd meet her for dinner. That's hitting both characters, both sides of Peter's life, in a one-two combo. But, because that's the formula, the writing can maybe become stale or less exciting. The Bard knows that I don't read Spidey comics any more, and I think a big part of that reason (time and money being the larger ones) would have to be because of a feeling of obligation. I abandoned ship right around the Brand New Day storyline a few years back, so I don't know what Spidey is up to these days, but I remember feeling like "Old Spider-Man is back!" really summed up the vibe they were going for. By forcing Peter and MJ to divorce (it's a long story), the comics were able to go back to the old formula of a frazzled, single Peter who was trying to make it all work somehow. And I think I got tired of that. This, naturally enough, leads to asking the question: What does a good Spider-Man story look like, then? If it can't be the old style because that's what's been done before, and the new stuff is, apparently, trying too hard to be like the old stuff, what's to do? Well, I'm not really sure. I would say that there isn't anything wrong with the Peter Parker/Spider-Man formula, necessarily. It can be done correctly and incorrectly, and I think, so far as recent iterations of the character (mostly of the film variety) are concerned, it's been done incorrectly. What would a Spider-Man story look like if I were in charge? Hmm. That's a fun question. Maybe I'll tackle that… ….another time. |
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