The film’s central, devastating irony is that the original Spider-Man—Peter Parker—dies trying to stop the Kingpin. Miles witnesses his hero’s death. In a stroke of narrative genius, the film then introduces a washed-up, broken, middle-aged Peter B. Parker (voiced by Jake Johnson with perfect, weary sarcasm), who has divorced Mary Jane, let himself go, and given up on being a hero. This is not a mentor; this is a cautionary tale. The relationship between Miles and this “lame” Peter is the emotional engine of the film. Peter doesn’t want to teach Miles how to be Spider-Man; he just wants to go home. And Miles doesn’t want to learn; he just wants to stop failing.
The result was a seismic break from the polished, physics-driven aesthetic of Pixar and DreamWorks. The team deliberately embraced “imperfections.” They rendered backgrounds on “twos” (12 frames per second) while keeping characters on “ones” (24 fps), creating a deliberate stutter that mimicked the feel of a printed page struggling to contain motion. They imported Ben-Day dots (the tiny colored dots used in classic comic book printing) into digital textures. They allowed lines to misregister, colors to bleed outside the lines, and “halos” of chromatic aberration to ghost around characters. Animators were encouraged to break joints, squash and stretch with cartoonish abandon, and use speed lines and onomatopoeic “POW!” and “THWIP!” graphics that exploded across the screen. spider-verse 1
Their reluctant partnership is punctuated by the arrival of a rogue’s gallery of Spider-people: Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld), a haunted Spider-Woman fleeing her own guilt; Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage), a monochromatic 1930s gumshoe; Peni Parker (Kimiko Glenn), an anime mecha-pilot with a psychic link to a radioactive spider; and Spider-Ham (John Mulaney), a Looney Tunes-style cartoon pig. In lesser hands, this would be a chaotic mess. But the film uses them as a chorus, each offering a different philosophy on the Spider-hood: Noir’s grim fatalism, Peni’s stoic acceptance, Ham’s absurdist nihilism, and Gwen’s paralyzing fear of intimacy. They are all masks for the same wound: with great power comes great responsibility, and that responsibility inevitably leads to loss. No discussion of Spider-Verse is complete without its centerpiece: the “Leap of Faith.” After being trapped in his school’s physics lab, after watching his uncle Aaron die, after being told he’s not ready, Miles finally stops trying to be Peter Parker. He abandons the baggy hoodie and ill-fitting costume. He buys a spray can of red and black paint, defaces a convenience store’s Spider-Man suit, and creates his own emblem: a crudely drawn, electric red-and-black spider on a hoodie. He climbs a skyscraper, puts on headphones, and as the beat drops on “What’s Up Danger” (Blackway & Black Cavendish’s reworking of the classic Spider-Man theme), he falls. The film’s central, devastating irony is that the
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is more than a great superhero movie. It is a great coming-of-age film, a great New York film, and a great art film disguised as a kids’ cartoon. It understood that the secret to the multiverse isn’t infinite possibilities—it’s that in every single one of them, the hardest thing to be is yourself. And that, as Miles shows us when he finally lets go of the building, is the greatest leap of faith of all. Parker (voiced by Jake Johnson with perfect, weary