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ultimate-miles · 5 years

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Miles Morales: Spider-Man (2018) - Or, what happens when you give a Black character to a Black writer

Miles Morales: Spider-Man follows the exploits of a now sixteen year old Miles Morales, setting the timeline of the story far beyond his earliest exploits and his then current title, Spider-Man (2016-2017) where he is fifteen going on sixteen years old.

The Good Stuff

Miles Morales: Spider-Man is a story focused wholly on the boy behind the mask, the titular lead, Miles Morales. The book, no more than two hundred and sixty-one pages long (unfortunately), can probably be accredited with doing something Miles’ comic book titles (Ultimate Comics, The Ultimate Spider-Man, Spider-Men, and Spider-Man) really couldn’t or wouldn’t bother themselves with – which is focus on Miles’ life as student at Brooklyn Visions Academy and how he interacts with the people in his Brooklyn neighborhood.

Everything important that happens to Miles happens within the confines of the Brooklyn area. Miles isn’t off globe-trotting with the Ultimates, and he certainly isn’t fighting within the central New York City area with a villain-of-the-week, and there’s not even a mention of Peter Parker – clone, resurrected, or otherwise – present in his narrative here, which makes this one of the first stories focused on Miles where Peter Parker wasn’t lording over it like an intrusive shadow.

The most pivotal conflict that pushes Miles’ narrative forward in the book is his persisting (if not misplaced) guilt over the death of Aaron Davis, who killed himself in an effort to murder his own nephew. The re-visitation of Aaron’s death opens the narrative to the odd addition of a cousin, Aaron’s son, who contacts Miles from prison in the hopes of connecting with one of the few surviving members of the Davis family. Miles torments himself with the information, uncertain if the intent behind the letter is genuine or a stranger looking to talk to another stranger.

For the most part, I like how it was handled. It paints the actions of Aaron Davis in a completely different light. Maybe in a “not as bad as one thought” kind’ve way, and I’m not particularly sure how I feel about that considering it flies in the face of what the comics establish –which is an unrepentant man with no real affection for family – but it was an interesting angle to take with the Miles/Aaron dynamic nonetheless.

Reynolds’ use of language goes to a decent length to make Miles’ life feel lived in. The attention to detail to Miles’ internal observation of his life works to Reynolds strength as a poet. The author captures the mentality of a restless teenager, drowning in his own angst (often self-imposed) without falling into purple prose or wordiness.

Brooklyn is the world that Miles lives in, so the people he talks to throughout the story deal the with circumstances of low-income areas, places people of more – I guess – “wealthy” circumstance have learned to dismiss as criminal despite the people who live there often not reflecting that.

Miles contemplates the projects where his uncle Aaron lived, the barber shop he goes to get his hair cut – where the older men recognize him as one of the more fortunate children with a chance to pull themselves out from the under violent cycle of gang and hustler life. He also contemplates the number of young and older residents who’ve been driven out of homes by the city looking to redevelop the area for white buyers. This is the kind’ve of stuff you’d read about in Milestone Comics stories for Static Shock, Icon, or Hardware.

This is the kind’ve day-to-day life stuff that Brian Michael Bendis – as a white man – were so disconnected from, Miles as a character – in the comics – might as well have lived in New York City. I can only imagine that Jason Reynolds – as a Brooklyn native – used his own experiences, to a degree, to flesh out the story he was telling.

Another element I think Miles Morales: Spider-Man gets right is Miles and puppy love. This book is probably the only Spider-Man story featuring Miles to actually give him a crush that is neither – a creepy adult [white] woman for him to mack on (Diamondback and Gwen Stacy), a Plot Twist Nazi (Katie Bishop), or a really boring version of Mary Jane Watson (Barbra Rodriguez, who unfortunately appears in his recent series).

Alicia is a character I would’ve liked to have seen more of in the story, particularly outside of the purview of Miles’ heart-eyes. She’s nothing if not a brief exploration into the expectations that come with being born to “Old Black Money” and keeping up public appearances.

Alicia’s want to stand against casual racism in the classroom is the kind of “young awakening” you see in teens who pull themselves out of apathy long enough to understand how the world functions around them, when they realize they can’t turn a blind eye to microaggressions any longer.

But, her disadvantage is trying to churn up enough support from her classmates, who honestly just want to get through the day without conflict, or don’t give a shit, that she faces an uphill battle. And when her stance threatens her position in Brooklyn Visions Academy, her parents and the expectation that comes with their family’s reputation forces her to choose between her own belief system and her future.

Miles’ affection for Alicia is cute, and watching him struggle to make a connection with her amidst what he thinks his spider sense going off-kilter and dealing with a Mr. Chamberlain’s constant interference and need to diminish him among his peers, endears me to their [potential] relationship.

Again, I really wish Alicia and Miles’ interaction, Alicia herself, had more time in the story to develop. Maybe with two hundred more pages (which could’ve knocked the page count up to 361 est.) this could’ve happened, but as it stands, what’s given isn’t bad and fairly enjoyable.

The Spider-Man content within the story is brief, and for me, that’s fine. The one thing about it that I did enjoy, when Miles donned the mask, is how Reynolds uses that persona to tackle the social structure surrounding muggings in Black communities. There’s a whole – and often misguided – unspoken rule wherein the victim cannot call out for help when being mugged.

One loses the respect of the neighborhood (if you’re into that kind of toxic masculinity) and respect of your peers. Miles, afraid that the actions that led his father and Aaron down the path of crime and hustling is genetic, is faced with a situation where he can either ignore muggers who stole a kid’s sneakers, or use his alter ego to set things right.

He does the latter, and a lot about how Reynolds approaches the sequence reminded me a lot of how Peter David (the writer of Spider-Man 2099) handled Miguel O’Hara. Miguel isn’t what you’d call a “nice Spider-Man”. When he aims to teach you a lesson, chances are, a lot of his targets are left peeing on themselves.

This is kind’ve the energy Miles uses when he utilizes the “strength of his street knowledge” on the muggers who attacked the kid. But, in the end, this really doesn’t change things. The cycle continues, and it kind’ve highlights the kind of futility Miles faces as a vigilante superhero.

The Disappointing Stuff

Action sequences really aren’t Reynolds strong suit. I mean, writing action sequences are – in general – a pain in the ass, because a lot of it is a deliberation about how long a description needs to be, preventing things from becoming too wordy, and getting the point across without losing the audience’s interest. It’s difficult balance, one I don’t think even the best writers manage 100% of the time.

But, to his credit, I think his ability to use poetic language is a strong enough short hand that most of his descriptions don’t get lost in the soup. Additionally, because a lot of the Spider-Man sequences don’t occur until the very final climax of the story’s conflict, even when his weakness starts to show, the sequences don’t overstay their welcome.

I don’t think Reynolds really manages to marry the fantastic with the reality of systemic racism. There is definitely a way of creating a mythologized monster to represent the ugly realities of anti-Blackness as faced by Black youth within the general education system. Mythology is nothing if not one culture’s way of rationalizing or simplifying things encountered in their waking lives. But, I don’t think Reynolds manages to pull it off here.

The idea that there is a supernatural “Mr. Chamberlain” for every Black male youth across the ages isn’t a bad idea. You can some really interesting things with that – like Crossroad Blues type stuff. But, here, it’s kind’ve ridiculous – or it’s presented in such a way that the suspension of disbelief strains to such a degree that I simply don’t buy the product being sold to me.

It feels like something that would’ve been a monster-of-the-week in the first season of Joss Whedon’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Angel: The Series even had an episode where a demon stoked the fires of racism against a fair-skinned Black woman, who trapped herself in a hotel room until her dying day).

I mean, the fantastical version of Mr. Chamberlain even comes like Principal Snyder – the walking parody of the militant school authority who hates children – which is frustrating because the Mr. Chamberlain in Miles’ waking life is a proper representative of the unrepentant racist school teacher obsessed with the confederacy to a Hollywood degree.

Another sticking point: Judge still isn’t utilized in any way that makes him a character and less of a random extra that pops in and out of the narrative. I really fail to understand why writers refuses to make him and Miles friends, because at this point he needs someone else besides Ganke, the Lego obsessed non-Black character, to talk to. Honestly, the fact that Miles still lacks any Black friends his age – especially in this novel – is rather annoying.

Jefferson Davis is probably even less likeable in this story than he is in general in Miles’ comics. To be sure, he’s completely reflective of the overbearing Black father who doles out punishment with the excuse of helping his son “build character” – there are no lies detected in his characterization on that front – but his rationale is often narrow-minded and assumes bad faith on the part of his son, who is often caught in situations where he neither the aggressor or the cause of his problems.

Like, he makes Miles clean the entire neighborhood block of trash left behind by the garbage men because he dipped out of school to play superhero. Again, I get Jefferson’s intent, but it was wildly misguided.

The situation regarding Aaron’s son, Miles’ cousin, is simply left hanging. There’s no real resolution following their official meeting in the prison, which is a shame, because it brought another kind of dynamic to the story itself. It offered a particularly ripe opportunity to use Jefferson and Aaron’s past just a little more – if only for the sake of exploring the history of the Jefferson family.

It could’ve only aided of Jefferson’s characterization and Aaron’s son, who needed more face-time in the story. But, this also leads to the biggest issue with the young adult novel itself. How it ends.

The ending of Miles Morales: Spider-Man just kinda fizzles out. I don’t know whether it was due to time constrains (not really an excuse) – that Reynolds had to have the manuscript completed before a certain period of time – or Reynolds truly reached the end of his rope with the story and couldn’t think of any other way of ending things (other than how he did), but there’s no true resolution to the story.

The students, who’ve thus far shown the atypical apathy of a teenager toward one student being singled out by a racist teacher, suddenly rising up and protesting with Miles and Alicia against Mr. Chamberlain’s ritualistic dehumanization of Miles, is questionable. It’s idealistically something you want to see happen, but I feel like the story should’ve done more exploring of the students to really set this up.

The Conclusion

Miles Morales: Spider-Man is a solid Miles Morales story. It’s the kind’ve Spider-Man story Miles Morales’ comic book series, past and present, should’ve been from the jump, and if Marvel was remotely interested, I could actually see a book series coming out of this (so long as the Black author(s) remain). The Spider-Man elements are few and far between, and perhaps that’s for the best. Anyone looking for superhero antics equivalent to what happens in a 19-to-20 page comic book, or a trade, should probably look elsewhere because that’s not the focus of the story.

The strength of the story is how Miles deals with the day-to-day issues of his life and how a Brooklyn-native author uses his familiarity with his home turf to do what Miles’ comic books honestly failed to do. Make Miles a part of the world he was supposed to be living in in-between his life as a superhero, which was the world of Brooklyn, New York.

Even with the shortcomings of the narrative, Miles Morales: Spider-Man is without a doubt the best story that has come out for Miles Morales in four years (like since issue #19 of Ultimate Comics Spider-Man).

This is the kind of storytelling, the kind of writer, which Miles Morales needs. But as long as Marvel continues to be allergic to hiring Black creatives for his comic book title – or anything for that matter – a milquetoast (and often inauthentic) Miles Morales is more or less what the consuming audience will be given.

If you’re a Miles Morales fan, I definitely recommend this book.

#jason reynolds #miles morales: spider man #miles morales #spiderman #ya novels #writer: jason reynolds #miles morales (jason reynolds)#series: miles morales: spider man (book)#ultimate miles meta #media: long posts

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likedbuzz-blog · 7 years

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I'm black. My wife is white. We saw 'Get Out.' This was our conversation afterward

http://likedbuzz.com/im-black-wife-white-saw-get-conversation-afterward/

I'm black. My wife is white. We saw 'Get Out.' This was our conversation afterward

Written and directed by Jordan Peele of “Key & Peele” fame, “Get Out” tells the story of Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya), a black, 20-something photographer who accompanies his white girlfriend (Allison Williams) on a trip to meet her parents (Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) for the first time at their family home. What should be a potentially awkward but innocuous visit becomes anything but, as Chris quickly realizes something sinister is going on.

Before I go on, I should mention that I’m black, and my wife is white. We met nearly six years ago, and I was warmly welcomed into her family.

Immediately, however, “Get Out” reminded me of a pivotal moment that happened early in our relationship.

I had joined my wife’s extended family for her cousin’s high school graduation in eastern Kansas. Rows and rows of mostly white teenagers sat in folding chairs at the 40-yard line of the football field, while their mostly white parents waved and peered at them through zoom lenses. As we waited for the ceremony to begin, I played a game I often play in moments of intense whiteness (folk concerts, theme trivia nights, farmer’s markets, etc.). I call it “Find Another Black Person,” and depending on where I am, it’s much harder than it sounds.

That day in Kansas, I didn’t see any other black people.

I’ve played this game for years without ever really thinking much about why I play it. After seeing “Get Out,” it clicked: This harmless game is more than just a way to occupy my impatient mind — it’s a safeguard. In a sea of white people, I look for a lifeboat. And “Get Out” reminded me that maybe I’m right to.

“Get Out” is unsettling, suspenseful, witty in just the right places, beautifully shot, and well-acted. It’s fantastic.

The rest of this story will have spoilers, so if you haven’t yet seen “Get Out,” get out.

As I watched the film — from its title theme, “Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga,” a song in Swahili that loosely translates to “listen to the ancestors,” to the tears streaming down Chris and Georgina’s faces when they were in the “sunken place” — something stirred loose in me. Scenes of Chris dodging microaggressions from all sides while Rose gaslit him without abandon felt familiar — yet horrifying — on the big screen.

I’d say it couldn’t have come at a better time, but to be honest, we’ve needed a film like this for years. It was frightening for the same reason a stadium full of white Kansan parents and their children left me looking for a familiar brown face — sure, nothing bad will happen … but it could.

To put it plainly, “Get Out” left me shook. I needed to talk about it immediately, and thankfully, I had a car ride home with my wife to do so.

I needed to digest what I’d just seen. “Get Out” was certainly no ordinary film. The way my heart lodged firmly in my throat when I saw the red and blue lights approach our hero in the final scene, only to be saved by his trusted black friend, his lifeboat? I saw my worst fears play out on the silver screen. It was just too real.

While my wife and I are an interracial couple, we’re also both women, so my experience watching and reflecting on “Get Out” isn’t quite the same as what Chris experienced.

I was nervous when I met my wife’s white parents for many of the reasons Chris was nervous in the movie. Did they know I was black? What was I walking into? But, as a black woman, I also had the privilege of coming to my future in-laws’ front door without the burden of more than 150 years of assumptions and lies about violent black masculinity, hypersexuality, and predatory behavior (especially as it pertains to white women). It doesn’t mean I rang their bell without worry or fear, but as a woman dating a woman, I know I didn’t shoulder the burden of history as black men in heterosexual interracial relationships do, and I recognize that.

When we got in the car, I turned to my wife. I knew we’d watched “Get Out” differently. How could we not?

I needed to know if in watching the film, she saw me. Not just a character in a horror film, but me, her wife, who faces fear, isolation, and anxiety about racism every single day.

We discussed the film in-depth the whole way home, but there was one part of our conversation that stood out to me because, in that moment, something clicked — for both of us:

Me: “When do you think about being white?” Her: “When racist stuff happens.” Me: “What do you think when racist stuff happens?” Her: “I feel bad.” Me: “You feel bad for whom?” Her: “For whom? The victims of racism. I feel guilty.” Me: “You feel guilty after racist things happen. Did you feel guilty after watching the movie?” Her: “Yeah, maybe a little. Yeah. It’s so extreme though, you know?” Me: “Yeah.” Her: “It kind of got out of the range of like, ‘realistic racism,’ I guess. Once we got into brain transplants, we’re obviously outside of a realm. I feel like I felt more guilty when they were doing other stuff, the minor stuff … that turned out to be major.”

That right there — the conclusion she drew — is an important one.

Whether we’re talking about Hollywood horror or real life, racism is never just small stuff. It may start with small things, like being followed around a store, having your hair stroked by strangers, or people assuming you grew up in poverty. Before long, it becomes voter suppression, subpar medical care, limited economic opportunities, and poor public schools. One racist misdeed begets another, and it all starts “innocently” enough.

Punishing experiments on black soldiers like the Buffalo Soldier bicycle mission, the Tuskegee syphilis trials, the stripping of cells from Henrietta Lacks — these things don’t happen all at once. They happen when a group of people is not seen as fully human by society. That’s when these small things cross into what my wife called the “realm of the impossible” — a realm that black people in particular know from history is actually very possible.

That’s the frightening reality I grappled with while watching “Get Out,” and, while it didn’t leave me screaming in the theater, it definitely keeps me up at night.

I adore my wife, and I know the feeling is mutual. But I was black long before I met her, so even as our families blend, my blackness won’t.

My blackness is non-negotiable. It’s not a hobby or a casual interest. I won’t get bored with it one day and shove my blackness in the attic. It’s here. Always. It’s with me at work, at home, when I’m driving, and when I’m in a crowded football stadium watching a high school graduation.

Thankfully, my wife recognizes and appreciates that. But even on her best day, she won’t know what it’s like to feel so out of place, to look out into that sea of white faces and need a lifeboat. She can’t. No white person can. But in that theater, for 103 minutes, a surprising and innovative movie helped her get a little closer to understanding what that’s like. That’s more important to me than she’ll ever know.

#AllisonWilliams #ChrisWashington #DanielKaluuya #GetOut #JordanPeele

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tragicbooks · 7 years

Text

I'm black. My wife is white. We saw 'Get Out.' This was our conversation afterward.

<br>

After two weekends successfully dodging spoilers, my wife and I finally had a chance to see "Get Out."

Written and directed by Jordan Peele of "Key & Peele" fame, "Get Out" tells the story of Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya), a black, 20-something photographer who accompanies his white girlfriend (Allison Williams) on a trip to meet her parents (Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) for the first time at their family home. What should be a potentially awkward but innocuous visit becomes anything but, as Chris quickly realizes something sinister is going on.

From left to right: Keener, Whitford, Williams, Betty Gabriel, and Kaluuya. Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

Before I go on, I should mention that I'm black, and my wife is white. We met nearly six years ago, and I was warmly welcomed into her family.

Immediately, however, "Get Out" reminded me of a pivotal moment that happened early in our relationship.

I had joined my wife's extended family for her cousin's high school graduation in eastern Kansas. Rows and rows of mostly white teenagers sat in folding chairs at the 40-yard line of the football field, while their mostly white parents waved and peered at them through zoom lenses. As we waited for the ceremony to begin, I played a game I often play in moments of intense whiteness (folk concerts, theme trivia nights, farmer's markets, etc.). I call it "Find Another Black Person," and depending on where I am, it's much harder than it sounds.

That day in Kansas, I didn't see any other black people.

I've played this game for years without ever really thinking much about why I play it. After seeing "Get Out," it clicked: This harmless game is more than just a way to occupy my impatient mind — it's a safeguard. In a sea of white people, I look for a lifeboat. And "Get Out" reminded me that maybe I'm right to.

Logan (Lakeith Stanfield) and Chris (Kaluuya) meet at the party. Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

"Get Out" is unsettling, suspenseful, witty in just the right places, beautifully shot, and well-acted. It's fantastic.

The rest of this story will have spoilers, so if you haven't yet seen "Get Out," get out.

As I watched the film — from its title theme, "Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga," a song in Swahili that loosely translates to "listen to the ancestors," to the tears streaming down Chris and Georgina's faces when they were in the "sunken place" — something stirred loose in me. Scenes of Chris dodging microaggressions from all sides while Rose gaslit him without abandon felt familiar — yet horrifying — on the big screen.

I'd say it couldn't have come at a better time, but to be honest, we've needed a film like this for years. It was frightening for the same reason a stadium full of white Kansan parents and their children left me looking for a familiar brown face — sure, nothing bad will happen ... but it could.

Whitford and Keener. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

To put it plainly, "Get Out" left me shook. I needed to talk about it immediately, and thankfully, I had a car ride home with my wife to do so.

I needed to digest what I'd just seen. "Get Out" was certainly no ordinary film. The way my heart lodged firmly in my throat when I saw the red and blue lights approach our hero in the final scene, only to be saved by his trusted black friend, his lifeboat? I saw my worst fears play out on the silver screen. It was just too real.

The sunken place is terrifying. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

While my wife and I are an interracial couple, we're also both women, so my experience watching and reflecting on "Get Out" isn't quite the same as what Chris experienced.

I was nervous when I met my wife's white parents for many of the reasons Chris was nervous in the movie. Did they know I was black? What was I walking into? But, as a black woman, I also had the privilege of coming to my future in-laws' front door without the burden of more than 150 years of assumptions and lies about violent black masculinity, hypersexuality, and predatory behavior (especially as it pertains to white women). It doesn't mean I rang their bell without worry or fear, but as a woman dating a woman, I know I didn't shoulder the burden of history as black men in heterosexual interracial relationships do, and I recognize that.

Chris (Kaluuya) and Rose (Williams) get comfy. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

When we got in the car, I turned to my wife. I knew we'd watched "Get Out" differently. How could we not?

I needed to know if in watching the film, she saw me. Not just a character in a horror film, but me, her wife, who faces fear, isolation, and anxiety about racism every single day.

We discussed the film in-depth the whole way home, but there was one part of our conversation that stood out to me because, in that moment, something clicked — for both of us:

Me: "When do you think about being white?" Her: "When racist stuff happens." Me: "What do you think when racist stuff happens?" Her: "I feel bad." Me: "You feel bad for whom?" Her: "For whom? The victims of racism. I feel guilty." Me: "You feel guilty after racist things happen. Did you feel guilty after watching the movie?" Her: "Yeah, maybe a little. Yeah. It's so extreme though, you know?" Me: "Yeah." Her: "It kind of got out of the range of like, 'realistic racism,' I guess. Once we got into brain transplants, we're obviously outside of a realm. I feel like I felt more guilty when they were doing other stuff, the minor stuff ... that turned out to be major."

That right there — the conclusion she drew — is an important one.

Whether we're talking about Hollywood horror or real life, racism is never just small stuff. It starts with small things, like being followed around a store, having your hair stroked by strangers, or people assuming you grew up in poverty. Before long, it becomes voter suppression, subpar medical care, limited economic opportunities, and poor public schools. One racist misdeed begets another, and it all starts "innocently" enough.

Chris (Kaluuya) greets guests during the party. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

Punishing experiments on black soldiers like the Buffalo Soldier bicycle mission, the Tuskegee syphilis trials, the stripping of cells from Henrietta Lacks — these things don't happen all at once. They happen when a group of people is not seen as fully human by society. That's when these small things cross into what my wife called the "realm of the impossible" — a realm that black people in particular know from history is actually very possible.

That's the frightening reality I grappled with while watching "Get Out," and, while it didn't leave me screaming in the theater, it definitely keeps me up at night.

I adore my wife, and I know the feeling is mutual. But I was black long before I met her, so even as our families blend, my blackness won't.

My blackness is non-negotiable. It's not a hobby or a casual interest. I won't get bored with it one day and shove my blackness in the attic. It's here. Always. It's with me at work, at home, when I'm driving, and when I'm in a crowded football stadium watching a high school graduation.

Thankfully, my wife recognizes and appreciates that. But even on her best day, she won't know what it's like to feel so out of place, to look out into that sea of white faces and need a lifeboat. She can't. No white person can. But in that theater, for 103 minutes, a surprising and innovative movie helped her get a little closer to understanding what that's like. That's more important to me than she'll ever know.

<br>

0 notes

socialviralnews · 7 years