The appeal of Spider-Man that was destroyed by propagandists who won't defend the hero's dignity

The Conversation wrote a stupefyingly fawning "history" of Spider-Man (via Hip Hop Canada), supposedly to celebrate the non-landmark 1000th issue. Near the start:

This autumn marks a special occasion in the Marvel universe: Spider-Man, perhaps the most popular superhero of all time, has reached issue #1,000 in the comics series.

The tale of a scrawny teen from Queens who was bitten by a radioactive spider at 15, Spider-Man premiered in Marvel’s Amazing Fantasy #15 in August 1962 as a last-ditch attempt to save the dying series. The story of Peter Parker’s witty, agile alter ego quickly became an international sensation.

The defining hero of our times, this 1,000th edition also begs the question: what is it about superheroes that make them routinely outlive almost every other cultural property out there – regular heroes included?

My ongoing research into the world of superhero franchises may present a partial answer. Over the past several years, I have read a few thousand comic books, seen most (if not all) superhero films ever released, and interviewed dozens of superfans across the globe. I believe the secret to the longevity of Spider-Man (as well as countless other superheroes) lies at the nexus of four qualities cultivated over many decades within Marvel and DC, the two largest names in superhero entertainment for almost a century.

Those qualities were destroyed years ago, no thanks to these very same apologists for the publishers and editors, and where they go at the expense of the creations. I'm sure they'd do the same with Daredevil if they thought it made a great target. Does he really think Spidey and other superheroes are outliving other products at this point when they're in such dire artistic straits, and have lost sales and audience as a result?

1. Spider-Man is unreliable

Heroes are heroes because we always know where they stand. From Hercules to Luke Skywalker, a hero is a person of generally high principles and integrity. Heroes are reassuringly reliable, almost by definition.

In contrast, superheroes are compelling because they are unreliable, even to themselves. For instance, Spider-Man quits being Spider-Man altogether in The Amazing Spider-Man #50, and publicly unmasks in the Civil War comic book series (which undermines the character’s long-established anonymity). He is actually replaced in The Amazing Spider-Man #698-700 by arch-villain Doctor Octopus, who for a while becomes a harsher, more violent “superior” Spider-Man.

Across these stories, Spider-Man is never just a fixed moral archetype. Instead, he is a character whose very meaning can be repeatedly unsettled. And, comparing Spider-Man across different eras and manifestations fascinates the fans, who can never agree on what Spider-Man actually is outside of the name and a now-canonised origin story.

Look who's talking. A so-called "researcher" who's proven he's utterly unreliable if he brings this up entirely sans objectivity. He doesn't see anything wrong with Civil War, whose divisive politics were one of the worst things about it, in addition to its being an example of heroes fighting each other more than villains? And he doesn't see anything wrong with the Doc Ock switcheroo story from over a decade ago, one of the most atrocious tales turned out by Dan Slott? The way the Conversation's writer brings that up almost makes it sound like this happened in real life. It didn't, and it's not above criticism, yet no objective approach is taken to referencing it at all. Besides, if superheroes aren't reliable, can't that actually imply they're not so admirable at all?

The writer evidently isn't a Spider-fan, or he'd admit it's regrettable Spidey - and Mary Jane Watson - had to be subject to only many increasingly bad storylines ever since the Clone Saga first came about, though it was with J. Michael Straczynski's run that continuity really got derailed. We could even say it's also where John Romita Jr's artwork started becoming seriously mediocre, which, now that I think of it, is also what the late Darwyn Cooke's artwork could be described as. The Clone Saga is also brought up in the following "point":

2. Spider-Man is actually Spider-People

At first, Spider-Man was just Peter Parker. Over time, however, Spider-Man stopped being a single character and became a narrative role that different characters could inhabit together and in parallel.

For instance, Ben Reilly, introduced as Peter’s clone in The Amazing Spider-Man #149, eventually takes over and becomes Spider-Man during the 1990s Clone Saga. Miguel O’Hara, a brilliant scientist, then reimagines the character for the future in Spider-Man 2099. There are several more incarnations too, including Peter Porker (aka Spider-Ham), a pig bitten by a radioactive spider, Spider-Spider (a spider in the Spider-Man costume), and even a medieval British version called Peter Parquagh.

Over time, Spider-Man no longer describes one biography so much as a portable combination of recognisable powers, a loose moral compass and visual codes. For fans, this makes the brand unusually elastic. As they do not have to agree on a single definitive Spider-Man, they can attach themselves to the version that best fits their tastes.

Gee, doesn't this make clear Spidey's uniqueness has been effectively drained by too many imitations that ultimately don't add up to anything merit-based in terms of writing? This is stupid, and it's practically the reason why the premise of passing the mantle may have only worked with the Flash in the DCU, when Wally West took over where Barry Allen left off, and might've worked far better with the 2nd to 3rd Robin if it hadn't been for how the death of Jason Todd in 1988 was turned into a telephone poll. The Spider-verse cartoon from several years ago is where Peter Parker's uniqueness really got turned meaningless, and does anybody actually talk about it today? At this point, you don't really even hear about it anymore, and decidedly for good reason.

But this does indicate the writer's basically saying that whoever makes a big deal out of characters like Miles Morales at Peter Parker's expense isn't really a fan of the latter's creation in 1962. And it's sad how the creation of a mask that covers the entire head and face wound up being exploited as a way to push social justice propaganda. The columnist doesn't find it even the least bit sad how Stan Lee's creation was diminished by absurd "commercialization" that only makes the whole product pointless? Says all you need to know about what kind of phonies are writing these superficial puff pieces.

3. Spider-Man: no way home

Almost by definition, heroes must undergo the hero’s journey: they are called to an adventure, transformed by an ordeal and eventually return home as changed people. This has been a consistent pattern since Odysseus at least.

In contrast, Spider-Man never really gets to go home, as his supposedly formative experiences simply become the beginning of further experiences. For instance, in The Amazing Spider-Man ##121-122, the death of Gwen Stacy, Peter’s friend and first love, permanently upends the emotional stakes of his life – a fact that reverberates in Spider-Man #1000.

Decades later, however, he marries Mary Jane Watson. But The Amazing Spider-Man #544-545 dissolves this marriage and resets much of his adult existence again. That is, before Brand New Day begins yet another personally tumultuous phase in #546.

None of these moments supply a final transformation. Spider-Man simply can never graduate from being Spider-Man, the tortured Hamlet of superheroes. Therefore, his journey becomes less a cycle and more a never-ending life story in which apparent endings are continuously folded into new beginnings. For fans, this constant regenerativity creates a peculiar promise: older fans can “grow old” with Spider-Man, while new readers always encounter what feels like a brand new beginning.

I guess the writer's saying he absolutely loved One More/Brand New Day, and the embarrassments it led to. He doesn't approach the subject through a critical lens, and worst, makes it sound almost like all this happened in real life. He's obviously not a fan of MJ either, or he would've noted how repellent her treatment as a character's become ever since. And now former editor C.B. Cebulski did no favors by overseeing what looked like a long-called-for reunion between Peter and MJ in 2018, only to break it up shortly afterwards.

The writer sounds like he literally believes Spidey should never have true, organic success at anything, as though every such creation's writing paths should be even more extreme than how Charlie Brown's portrayed in Peanuts. As a result, the Conversation writer only ends up devaluing MJ by extension, and fascinating how he doesn't see anything wrong with Peter making a faustian pact with Mephisto. Even if that's not as abominable as how DC's Identity Crisis played out, it's still very reprehensible and contradicts how Peter was written years before. Even during the Clone Saga, Spidey was never written that absurdly.

4. Spider-Man remembers everything

Traditional heroes usually arrive with relatively little narrative baggage, and their defining trials and transformations are contained within finite and carefully staged stories.

Every new Spider-Man story, however, enters a world already crowded with previous stories. Spider-Man does not merely accumulate stories. Instead, later stories continually reactivate, reinterpret and cross-reference earlier ones.

This accumulated baggage can surely make the Spider-verse difficult to navigate for some. But it also rewards familiarity and time investment: the more Spider-Man you consume, the more meanings, references and connections become visible, turning laborious research into a source of pleasure and expertise.

Spider-Man’s longevity is the product of a highly specific narrative architecture. Spider-Man can contradict himself, multiply into different people, begin again after apparent endings and continuously mine his own past for new stories. These qualities make Spidey unusually difficult to exhaust, as each new generation of fans inherits a Spider-Man that is both recognisably old and strangely new.

Issue #1,000 is therefore less a culmination than a proof of concept. Looking back at more than 60 years of constant reinvention, Spider-Man’s greatest superpower may simply be his ability to go on despite all odds.

I think "remembering everything" is the problem. There's no distinguishing between good and bad storylines here, yet noticeably no mention of Straczynski's Sins Past storyline from 2004, which is where his shoddy run on Spidey really became a serious disaster. Those who initially acted as apologists for JMS and Marvel's mandates should be ashamed of themselves. What's so "carefully staged" about a story where Gwen was made to look dreadful by having sex with Norman Osborn, which she was never overly depicted doing with Peter back in the day?

And the 1000th issue doesn't "prove" anything, save for how badly worn out classic properties have become as a result of all these pointless boomerangs to "grudge matches" between heroes and recurring villains. To keep strip-mining older stories is something that could even be said about various other superhero creations like Superman, Avengers, Iron Man, Batman, and Justice League, but the reason these modern minings fall flat is because they're not done with respect for past continuities up to the turn of the century, and they're not done with respect for the personalities originally attached to the superheroes and co-stars. The writers and upper echelons may claim there's "humanity" and "reality" in these shoddy PC stories of theirs, but it's not organic or plausible so much as it's phony, and only makes the heroes look more like scumbags and idiots than flawed individuals.

And then some propagandists whose fandom is questionable and put words in actual fandom's mouths have the gall to come along and defend the worst directions taken by the writers and editors. To say nothing of acting as apologists for the entire publishing company themselves. If they don't have the courage to admit they're on the side of the company, that's precisely the problem.