Why Can’t I Be Spider-Man?

Peter Parker is black. His experience—that of an orphaned teen from Queens who moves in with his lower-middle-class Aunt and Uncle, loses his Uncle to random violence and struggles with money/employment/love after gaining new responsibilities—is uniquely, if sadly–the violence, the substitute parenting, the poor economic condition—African-American. Despite aspects Parker’s of experience that may mark it as distinctly African-American, it is still an experience that is indicative of the American middle-class—albeit lower middle—experience; an experience that, last I checked, is unattached to any one race. Which is why the current debate over a black man’s, actor-comedian Donald Glover, ability to play the iconic Spider-Man strikes me as progressive and sad.

Over the Memorial Day weekend, Glover, Troy on NBC’s Community, started a online campaign to audition for the currently vacant role of Peter Parker/Spider-Man in a Sony’s Spider-Man reboot. Glover’s campaign was a direct response to a rant on sci-fi pop culture blog io9 that stated, “the last thing Spider-Man should be is another white guy.” This statement, both timely and provocative, has met with applaud and derision. The majority of the applaud came from fans who see Spider-Man as a character beyond color: an everyman who speaks to the struggle of growing up and facing responsibility; while detractors take the stance that Spider-Man was designed as white character and should remain thus to ensure a faithful adaptation.

The fact that io9 even raised this question makes my heart glad. As a young comics reader, I always favored Spidey because there was no cowl or spit curl stopping me from thinking he could be black. Sure, I knew Peter Parker was white, but I also indulged the fantasy that a brother could easily be behind the bug eyes. Reading speculation of an African-American Spidey is simply cool. I’m so pleased to see that the world has grown tolerant enough to hear and debate this notion. However, I’m not naïve enough to believe this will be a reality, even in a world where Spidey makes deals with the devil and the first Captain America was black.

Neither Sony nor Disney nor Marvel would risk significantly altering their most bankable property, even if the best man for the job was black, brown or yellow. Donald Glover will not win this role because he is ill suited for the role in any logical way, but because he is not bankable to a mainstream audience. The next Spider-Man movie will not be anchored by a black lead for fear, however illogical, of it being viewed as a “urban” film. The realities of the film industry—of which there is one undeniable truth: what sells, rules—revolve around selling art as a product. If an African-American Peter Parker won’t sell to most audiences then the studios won’t entertain the notion. But, I don’t believe modern audiences would shun a Spider-Man of a different skin color. At least I hope they wouldn’t.

There are myriad reasons why audiences wouldn’t deny an African-American Peter Parker, especially in Glover’s case. Beyond the lively quality a lithe comedian like Glover might bring to the part—including the return of the sorely missed wisecracking—an African-American Spider-Man/Peter Parker will see a subtle ratcheting of the pathos due to the inherent social conditions facing lower-middle class African-Americans, adding even more gravitas to Parker's plight, and a lead that reflects the diversity of 21st century America, particularly that of contemporary New York, the "crossroads of the world." Most importantly, this refreshing take on Peter Parker/Spider-Man has the potential to transcend typical portrayals of African-Americans and their experience. In the past twenty years, how often have audiences seen a male African-American character who isn’t a criminal or a ne’er do well outside of a John Singleton, Spike Lee or Will Smith, Martin Lawrence or Tyler Perry movie? An African-American Spider-Man could prove that our men—those who aren’t Will Smith—could be heroes again. Audiences who voted for the first African-American President would be hard pressed to turn away from a movie that shows African-Americans in a better light. In an age where our images are tarnished by poverty, indignity and thuggish buffoonery, an African-American Spider-Man may not move mountains but it will surely knock a ton of rocks out of place.

Sadly, this may never come to pass, and, if it does, it will be a long ways down the road. But, more unlikely things have happened (looking at you Mr. Obama). And if the unlikely were to occur, it would be fraught with an ungodly level of resistance—racist, traditionalist and irrational—as evident in a fair amount of the early reactions to Glover’s campaign (a fact our President knows about first-hand). Much as I’d love to see an African-American Peter Parker/Spidey, I’ve resigned myself to knowing I will likely never see it happen. But, I also thought I’d never see an African-American president. So, I ask: In a world where it’s viable for one African-American to be elected president, why can’t one be Spider-Man?

Splice - Review

** out of five stars

Rule 34 states, “if it exists, there’s porn of it.” After catching a preview screening of writer-director Vincenzo Natali’s new sci-fi/horror thriller Splice, I’m positive that a new type of niche internet porn will arise: gene-spliced human-mutant tongue/human porn. Then again, that may already exist.

My girlfriend called it disturbing; I just thought it was silly and pretentious. Splice is the “cautionary tale” of gene-splicing biologists, Clive (Adrien Brody) and Elsa (Sarah Polley), who, in their quest to create a cure-all protein for a “evil” pharmaceutical company, create a mutant spliced from animal and human DNA. Of course, their project goes south when their mad scientist tendencies flare and they choose to raise the mutant, named Dren (Delphine Chanéac)—nerd backwards, how cute—as a pet/child. Complications ensue when Dren, who grows at an accelerated rate, matures to roughly age 16 in a matter of weeks and faces a sexual awakening that will make audiences cringe or chuckle. Splice culminates with a disturbingly gruesome and silly denouement that ranks as one of the most ludicrous “now, I’ve seen it all” moments ever.

Splice lives or dies by the audience’s willingness to buy into its premise because beyond that there’s nothing spectacular or clever about this flick. The plot is a stale rehash of the age-old “scientist push boundaries and pay for it” construct, dashed with a bit of moral hand-wringing over the ethical concerns of cloning and “animal” testing. The pacing is atrocious. 90% of Splice is setup, with only the last half-hour registering any active development of character or plot. At least an 75 minutes of the film consists of Brody and Polley’s characters bickering over the “morality” of their experiment then struggling with their twisted parenthood, which would be acceptable if the characters were relatable or intelligent. Where Brody’s Clive is a optimistic, if weak-willed, hipster scientist, Polley’s Elsa is a particularly unlikeable mix of a damaged abuse survivor and smug mad scientist. Despite their advanced education, both lack any semblance of common sense when it comes to raising a human/animal mutant hybrid pet/child like Dren. Dren her/itself becomes a more defined character near the films conclusion, but—due to a lack of language, weird spasms and creepy glares—mostly comes off as more of a creepy, horny pet than anything resembling a human.

Despite the issues with plot, pacing and character, atmosphere in Splice is top notch. The camera filter gives the film a blue-green tint that makes the audience feel like they’re submerged in a deep-sea sensory deprivation tank. Also, the limited cast and empty locales, such as the lab and Elsa’s farm, contribute to a foreboding sense of isolation that enhances the notion of hidden shame running through Splice. In addition to atmosphere, easily the film’s greatest achievement was Dren. As a mix of animal human DNA that is 75% human, 5% rat, 5% scorpion, 5% fish, 5% bat/bird and 5% gargoyle, Dren is suitably creepy and oddly alluring. Dren is designed as a sexy manticore, with enough humanity—of course, in the supple female form a la Species—to somehow seduce but lacking enough to make even the most open mind think twice. If Natali’s goal was to achieve the balance between seductive and unnerving, he succeeded ably with Dren.

If Dren and her “parents” exploits prove less then disturbing then this may be the flick for you. Otherwise, it is an acquired taste that most audiences won’t want to sample. Splice may have a wonderfully speculative, if creepy, moral conundrum at heart, but its stale plot, turgid pacing and distasteful characters will keep audiences at a distance. While it succeeds on atmosphere and “creature” effects, Splice tries to hard to ask questions that have been asked before while trying to creep its audience out. It succeeds more in the latter than the former, because I felt pretty slimy after leaving the theater.