I’ve had curdling in my brain the last few days a trailing thought, buoyed by insights voiced by Paul Scheer on the Men in Black episode of his and Amy Nicholson’s of Unspooled podcast, and my own reading reviewing basic material on the old Hollywood star system. The impetus was the recent kerfuffle between Scarjo and Disney, among other lawsuits, actors trying to get paid as the ground shifts beneath their feet and the big studios attempt to scurry with the loot, mouse ears dancing off into the sunset. Discussing these events, a friend of mine speculated that Disney would relent, not wanting to piss off a star, but my intuition says differently. Even during the days of the Big Stars, studios were thoroughly in control, reviewing contracts every six months and kicking underperformers, no matter how talented or pretty, to the curb. Rebels like Bette Davis relented eventually, though to their benefit, so there’s possible profits in giving Disney the finger every now and then.
But the main thrust of my thinking has less to do with historical trends and much more with our current moment, when three separate stars (one of whom largely introduced with the role) have played Spiderman, and none laid permanent claim to the character. Paul Scheer postulated that the age of stars is over, swallowed by Concepts, and I’m thinking he’s on the right path. It’s Spiderman, not Holland, Garfield, or Maguire, that draws in the money, and in Hollywood the money always speaks loudest. We might have a preference for which iteration is best, but most of us have paid money or time to see all three actors take a crack at one role.
Another angle on the power of the Concept of Spiderman can be seen in a different, more troubling kerfuffle a few years back, when ardent fans mounted a campaign to see Donald Glover, just fresh off Community and prior to This is America, instated as the next iteration of the character. The highly inflammatory conversation that followed was not a conversation about Glover himself, who’s obviously talented enough to embody the role, but about the Concept of Spiderman, exposed as thoroughly racialized. Regardless of validity of the claims made by the campaign’s detractors (there was none), the inevitable sticking point was the race of the Concept of Spiderman, originated as White when White was the cultural default, and kept now despite an increasingly multi-cultural America, not to mention New York City. I’m not saying there can’t be a black Spiderman (I think Glover would’ve been excellent in the role), but that even when making a film about a Black, biracial Spiderman, Into the Spiderverse first has to get the white dude, Peter Parker, out of the way.
In trying to break down this idea of the Concept and it’s victory over the stars, however, I keep stumbling over the forgotten reality of the way it was done in classical Hollywood. These days, we celebrate every non-Marvel film as being an “Original Property” (as in this recent weekend, when two out of three openers are based on a Disney ride or an ancient folktale), as some kind of return to the glory days of cinema, but I’m struck with the recollection that the Humphrey Bogart-starring classic The Maltese Falcon (1941) was none other than the third adaptation of the source novel since the book was published 11 years prior. Most classic movies are adapted from books or plays or fairy tales. Some celebrated their adaptations, entering themselves amongst the Dickens and Biblical Cinematic Universes, but my intuition is that most treated the source IP as either a financial liability (in the form of a studio determined to get a hit out of its rights to a detective novel) or a one-time advertising angle. I’d like to do a little more research to confirm that thought, but it’s nonetheless undeniable that we’ve long since entered a new phase of big budget movie making. Most people who went to see The Maltese Falcon had no idea there was a book, let alone two other films based on the same material. They might have recognized Humphrey Bogart, who’s status as a star was then rising, kicked into high gear by this excellent film. But everyone knows Spiderman, Batman, and the rest. Even Black Widow, for who’s titular film product Scarlett Johansson is seeking compensation, a relatively obscure comic book character, has been built into its own full-fledged Concept. Most filmgoers streaming or daring cineplexes to see Black Widow at least know the character is a comic book character, but probably know much more about the character than that. Johansson is surely a part of the appeal of the film, but, unlike most of film history since the first stars occupied screens in the 20s, is not the main appeal. The continued longevity of Marvel films after the Grand Wasting of Infinity War is only the biggest and most obvious incidence of this trend. When before a trailer might mention a book before really spending time on the star, now the star is but the current dressing of the Concept, which will certainly live on past them.