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2007-05-15 issue:

WEB EXCLUSIVE: Spider-Man and the myth of redemptive violence

by Jeremy Garber

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Jeremy Garber is in the University of Denver/Iliff School of Theology Joint Ph.D. program in theology, philosophy and cultural studies.

I’ll confess: I went out to see Spider-Man 3 on its opening weekend. I went not only in my geek capacity but also as a scholar of religion in popular culture, and I brought my friend who studies New Testament narrative along; it’s important for theologians and biblical scholars to stay in dialogue. My surprise at the film’s treatment of the classic superhero myth – and the audience’s reaction to that treatment – prompted me to think about the portrayal of the myth of redemptive violence in 21st century North America.

Why would a wannabe Mennonite theologian want to watch a punch-em-up brawl between guys in silly tights? We expect a superhero movie to be a battle of brawn vs. brawn, the “good guy” winning out over the “bad guy” only by stronger force. Walter Wink specifically noticed this tendency in comics in his work Engaging the Powers, labeling the idea that superior coercive force can serve good the “myth of redemptive violence.” Wink commented, “Cartoon and comic heroes cast no shadows. They are immortals; they cannot be killed. They are not beset by the ordinary temptations, never take advantage of damsels in distress, accept no bribes, usually receive no remuneration, and generally live above the realm of sin.

Repentance and confession are as alien to them as the love of enemies and nonviolence.” Wink sees comic book stores as “devoted to the promulgation of a paranoid view of reality” where boys in particular are drawn to emulate the learned behavior of violence they see in these unredemptive texts.

Spider-Man from his inception, however, has never fit Wink’s comic-book caricature of the comic-book superhero. Despite his superhuman strength, incredible intelligence, and preternatural senses, Peter regularly had trouble paying the rent and getting along with his girlfriend. He often anguished over the right thing to do, and often made the wrong decision with tragic consequences. Raimi’s portrayal of this character and his ethical struggle in the Spider-Man films has consistently interested me because of the films’ implicitly religious message, especially the relationship of morality to power and violence. Peter Parker (Spider-Man’s nerdy alter ego) begins the first film with his aunt and uncle who regularly pray, and his uncle cautions him about the dangerous cycle of revenge. Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin of the first film, is a defense contractor who develops deadly weaponry and a psychologically dangerous chemical in an attempt to maintain his military contract.

Spider-Man’s use of force almost always makes things worse rather than better, and it is his creative use of alternative methods of engaging his foes that bring him the most success.
Spider-Man 3 was an even sharper critique of the traditional superhero myth of redemptive violence in a specifically religious way. Aunt May consistently counsels Peter to resist the urge to avenge his uncle’s death, reminding him that his uncle’s faith asks for forgiveness and understanding. When Peter realizes his new costume is an alien parasite that is driving him to lust and anger, he swings into the rooftops and begins to wrestle with his possessing demon, which is eventually driven off by the tolling of a cathedral bell. Eddie Brock Jr., Peter Parker’s rival who has been humiliated by the alien-driven Parker, prays in the same cathedral to a crucified Christ, “I have just one request, sir. Kill Spider-Man”: a prayer too often tragically echoed in our churches today who see vengeance in a bloodily atoned Christ rather than a tool for healing and forgiveness. Brock’s unholy prayer is granted when the alien bonds with him and creates the demonic Venom. Brock’s lust for violence and revenge is so great that even when Peter saves him from the symbiote, he cannot abandon its siren call, and dies rather than give up his anger.

Most significantly, Harry Osborne returns to work alongside Peter to save both his former friend’s life and the life of Mary Jane. Harry’s father returns to him in a mirage and urges him to seek revenge on Spider-Man by destroying everything he loves. Osborne eventually turns from the cycle of vengeance, however, when the befuddled family butler reveals to him that it was his father’s own crazed violence that led to his own death, not Spider-Man’s active intervention. In a crucial moment when Venom is about to impale Spider-Man on a broken construction girder, Harry saves Peter’s life not by blasting Venom out of the building but by interposing himself between the two and receiving the deadly blow intended for his friend. My friend and I later said that we had both thought at the same time, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). Even though Harry has been chucking heat-seeking missiles and throwing daggers all film long, at the ultimate moment he sacrifices his own life rather than take the life of his enemy.

I was surprised by the nuances of SM3’s superhero myth, but I was horrified by the audience’s response. After Harry’s sacrifice, Peter and Mary Jane comfort him in his dying moments. They recall their love for each other and Harry’s father’s love for him. Harry slips away; we see Mary Jane’s sobbing face, and then Peter’s as well. And then the audience laughed. Why would people giggle at this moment of loss and pain? Are Americans as callous as Wink thinks they are? I began to fear for the soul of this country’s populace – and quite a few patrons must have heard my diatribe beginning as we exited into the parking lot.

There are several answers to why people might laugh at Harry Osborne’s death. Critics panned Spider-Man 3 for being too flashy without enough heart, for having too many villains and not enough exposition, for the emotional moments of the film feeling much less authentic then the other two. I don’t agree; I think the answer lies somewhere deeper. One might argue that the myth of redemptive violence is so ingrained in our culture that any attempt to portray sincere contrition or sorrow will only result in mockery from a postmodern audience.

Certainly, the Spider-Man series is certainly far from a purely nonviolent argument. However, laughter can also come from shock. I believe the audience laughed because they expected the myth of redemptive violence and they got something else – Harry Osborne turned from vengeful maniac into self-sacrificing hero, Eddie Brock’s desire to maintain the myth resulting in his own self-destruction, and just as shocking as Harry’s sacrifice, Peter’s forgiveness.

After Venom and Harry’s death, the Sandman, Uncle Ben’s accidental killer who robs banks to get the money to provide medical care for his daughter, stands in front of Spider-Man and says, “I didn’t ask to be this way.” Spider-Man smiles at him and says, “I forgive you.” To my knowledge, this is the only instance of a superhero forgiving a supervillain for their mistakes in the history of superhero film, if not comics themselves. If the gospel was not revealed in Harry Osborne’s sacrifice, it is certainly revealed in forgiveness rather than destruction, in a smile rather than a fist. In this moment, we have clear evidence against Professor Wink’s contention that repentance and forgiveness (on the part of the Sandman) and love of enemies and nonviolence (on the part of Spider-Man and Harry) are far from comic books and their heroes. That, to me, is good news – and it is good news that our culture is not yet comfortable hearing.

Spider-Man 3 gives me hope. It gives me hope that even a best-selling summer blockbuster ($161 million dollars on opening weekend) can portray forgiveness, self-sacrifice, and emotion as more powerful than fisticuffs, sex, and explosions. It gives me hope that comic book superheroes themselves are questioning the myth of redemptive violence. It gives me hope that good and evil are more complicated than our national rhetoric suggests, and that sometimes self-understood heroes are farther from redemption than the villains they propose to defeat.

But Spider-Man’s audience still gives me pause. Their laughter indicates that a model of renouncing power for the other is ridiculous to a bunch of North Americans who are just looking to be entertained. Their laughter indicates that the good news of forgiveness is still folly to the critics and a stumbling block to action fans. Their laughter indicates that Walter Wink still has something to teach us about the myth of redemptive violence and its pervasiveness in our post-Christendom culture, even if Spider-Man can question that myth within itself. And it calls Christians, as those loved by a powerful God and forgiven for their all-too-human temptations, to take up the ministry of reconciliation to a broken world which laughs at redemption while longing for a hero. We have a hero to show them who has the greatest power of all, the power to save the world.

Reader Comments

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  • Posted by Karla Morton at Saturday, May 26, 2007 at 01:40 PM

    This is an interesting article. I appreciated the insights that are given about this movie. Though I have not seen SM3, yet, I'd like to. I am reminded of the scene in SM2 where Spidey is doing what he can to stop the train from careening off the tracks into the water below. That, too, takes on the symbolism of sacrifice and the commuter's response of love and tenderness is what we hope and expect. Thank you for printing this thoughtful perspective on movies that we have seen (or want to see), helping us to find the redemptive qualities within.