I used to think that rewatching movies or TV shows was a waste of time.  It’s not that I couldn’t get behind a good re-run, or that I refused to revisit things, I just generally avoided watching something a second or third time if I thought there was an equally interesting and novel alternative available.  My reasoning was that I would be able to get so much more out of a new experience than I would from something I’d already been exposed to.  There were, of course, exceptions. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen It’s a Wonderful Life, Good Will Hunting, or Avatar: The Last Airbender.  In general, though, I lacked appreciation for the value of rewatching.  That is, until recently.

   A movie that more recently got me going back for seconds (and fourths, and fifths, and…) was Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse.  I was obsessed with how original it was, and how it excelled holistically in its groundbreaking animation, its storytelling, and its original soundtrack. I was so excited about it that I wanted to share it with everyone I could (and of course I’d always join them in their first experience).  I didn’t really think anything of what I was getting out of revisiting the film, I just had so much fun watching it that I wanted to do it over and over again, but tried to space out my exposures so that some of my familiarity could recede and I’d be able to experience it exactly the same way each time.  So upon the release of Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse, I didn’t waste any time getting to theaters to see the much-anticipated sequel.  After catching it on its first Saturday in theaters, a friend I was visiting also wanted to see it so I found myself going for the second time in two days.  I’d loved the movie, so I wasn’t complaining, but I did fear that I wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I did the first time, having it so fresh in my mind still.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  As I watched for the second time, I was overwhelmed with newfound appreciation for the film and the franchise as a whole.  There was a clear commonality across all the moments that jumped out at me: they were all deeply specific.

   When a movie is really specific, it’s hard to fully appreciate its depth during your initial exposure.  Your first watch is focused on picking up the story, and if you are attentive you may be able to process some secondary stimuli.  But with each rewatch, you have to dedicate less and less attention to the pieces you picked up during previous watches, and end up getting more and more from the movie.  I want to be clear: I’m not just talking about spotting easter eggs.  The animation of Across the Spiderverse is so intricate that there are certainly plenty of delightful visual details (*note: you may need to right-click on links and open them in a new tab to watch) to be found in virtually every frame, but that’s not what makes it appear more and move vibrant with every visitation.  The film is special because the writers and animators took the time to delve into the emotional complexes of each of its characters, and developed a thorough understanding of the stakes of their circumstances.  The evidence of that work is strewn throughout the two movies, in the story, the dialogue, and in the animation of the characters’ expressions and body language.

   Before I get into some examples of things that really struck me, let’s take a step back.  What do I mean by “specific”?  My high school drama teacher had a saying he professed to us over and over again: “a lack of specificity is the enemy of all art”.  I realize now that I never really understood what he meant.  I think I’d rephrase the saying slightly to “specificity is the engine of great art”.  Specificity is taking the time to think and look hard enough at the world around you to innovate novel insights.  All interesting stories are a product of astute observations of life.  The harder you look, the more specific and interesting nuances you can perceive.  Even if you’re looking at a situation or subject you think has been examined to exhaustion, the reality is that your experience is always unique.  You just need to take the time to uncover the  (potentially minute) nuances that only your perspective is tuned to perceive.  This applies to everyday life, as well as stories we’ve been told numerous times like the tale of Spiderman.  The writers of Spiderverse took a hard look at a familiar story and built a script around a collection of imaginative observations and questions.  

   I think one of the most interesting facets of the Spiderverse franchise’s innovative exploration of the legend of Spiderman is the acknowledgement of the athleticism of Spiderman.  Watch this clip (0:21 - 1:57) from Into the Spiderverse.  Miles is in a situation where he needs to swing–something that a) he’s never done before, and b) looks extremely physically challenging–in order to escape a life-threatening situation.  At first, he struggles because he’s (reasonably) nervous.  He receives an overwhelming amount of verbal guidance from his mentor (most of which are sports references like "don't forget to follow through"), but it’s too much for him to comprehend at once.  Only once he “stop[s] listening” and lets his natural ability and instincts take over does he rise to the moment and do what he needs to do.  This clip (4:25-5:20) from Across the Spiderverse exemplifies how this idea permeates throughout the franchise, and shows how they seem to draw a parallel to the phenomenon of “flow state”, a common concept in athletics.  We see Gwen make a series of split-second decisions and incredible athletic maneuvers in order to save dozens of lives (including her father’s).  How did she do it?  She calmed her mind and entered a state of flow, much like we see her do when she plays drums earlier in the movie. This perspective on Spiderman’s athleticism reminded me of the mindset of a pro athlete.  The truly great athletes of our time, especially in big moments, thrive when they are able to quiet their mind and defer to their instincts.  Their greatest feats leave us wondering “how did they do that?”  When we’ve observed Spiderman action sequences, we don’t ask such questions, probably because we know it’s not real.  The writers of the Spiderverse franchise, however, begged the question: “how does Spiderman do the amazing things he does?” (1:30-1:46), or better yet “how did he learn to do them?”  Their take? “It’s a leap of faith.” (4:14-4:43)  Similarly, pro athletes often attribute their outstanding performances to “being in a good flow” or “a good rhythm”, or “just taking the shot and having faith”.  I didn’t appreciate this speculation upon my first few watches, but once the suggestion that Spiderman can be understood as a proficient athlete with superhuman abilities clicked, I had a whole new appreciation for the franchise’s vision.

   But the specificity of the Spiderverse movies isn’t limited to examining aspects of the Spiderman subject matter that had not been explored yet.  Thanks to a tandem of articulate dialogue and stunningly-advanced animation, the franchise consistently captures beautiful and honest human experience in the moments between the exciting action sequences that get audiences in the door.  Some of my favorite scenes between the two movies are renditions of a dynamic we’ve seen countless times on screen: the loving parent and the distant child.  Most writers aren’t very ambitious with scenes in these common contexts.  What more can be said about the nature of a parent’s love for their child?  But Phil Lord and Christopher Miller do not waste scenes.  They understand that there is always more to say; you may just need to innovate new language in order to properly express your vision.  Language is a tool that allows us to process and extract meaning from the world, and to communicate that meaning to others.  Whether it’s a confession of love, an inspirational speech from a coach to a team before a big game, or some other on-screen moment that’s been reinvented countless times, the renditions that feel revelatory instead of redundant are those that articulate experiences or concepts with language we haven’t heard in those contexts before.  And just like every human perspective is unique, so too is that of every character, so long as the characters are thoroughly understood.  If you can truly get in the head of a deeply complex character, and take the time to look and listen for how they’d speak and act given well-defined stakes, no scene should come out derivative.  Not only that, a sufficiently deliberated scene has depth that audiences are able to perceive layer by layer over successive viewings. Some examples (I apologize for the video quality)…

Miles and His Mom (whole thing) 

   We think we’ve seen this scene a million times.  A mother is concerned about her child and is trying to reach them.  But we’ve never heard this encounter articulated this way.  Instead of relying on cliches (granted, there’s still a little bit of that present, but the scene doesn’t rely on it), they find more authentic language to describe this specific situation.  Don’t tell me this one doesn’t make you wanna call Mom.

Miles and His Dad (0:20 - 1:55)

It’s the same ole “tough father tries to reach his rebellious son” dynamic we know, but it’s staged and vocalized like we haven’t heard before.  Another thing that I’ve really enjoyed is studying the characters’ faces during these scenes.  When this franchise’s animators animate a character’s face, they don’t just settle for ‘happy’, ‘sad’, or ‘surprised’, they utilize the whole lexicolor spectrum and portray specific sub-emotions so that the emotional stakes and impact of their journey doesn’t just live in the action or dialogue, it’s in everything they do.  Just watch Dad’s eyebrows, mouth, eyes.  They never stop adjusting to match his incremental emotional adjustments. Same goes for Mom in the previous scene.  Also, the voice acting is fantastic.

   To further emphasize the greatness of this franchise, let’s compare a scene from Across the Spiderverse to one from Pixar’s latest release Elemental.  In both scenes, the stakes are that a father who has previously denounced his daughter is about to open his heart to her after she confesses that she’s lost and needs him.

Gwen and Her Dad (0:20 - 2:54)

   I will say, the detail of facial expressions isn’t as strong in this scene, but the pace, depth, and specificity of the dialogue and its alignment with the emotional stakes of this moment in the characters’ relationship are so captivating that on the first watch I didn’t even notice how the animation behind them changes with every single cut from character to character.  One of the coolest things about the animation of the franchise as a whole (though more so in Across) is that it’s literally multi-dimensional.  Characters are animated in a variety of 2D, 3D, and with a variety of different mediums, sometimes all at once.  Multidimensional animation in a movie that’s all about the concept of multidimensionality, how freakin’ meta is that?!

Now compare that to this clip from Elemental (1:00-1:20)

   Not in the same universe, right (pun intended)?  It’s a sweet moment, but it doesn’t move us because it uses recycled language that isn’t all that specific to the characters’ relationship or the stakes of the scene.  It’s also very short (granted, the only source I could find was a pretty choppy splice job so I'm not being totally fair, but I think the comparison still holds), and doesn’t really emphasize the depth of the characters’ dynamic.

   Almost none of these takeaways came from my first experience with either of the installments in the Spiderverse saga.  By visiting them again and again, I got to experience a richer and richer version of each, extracting compelling insights and observing absurdly impressive attention to detail.  I’m now convinced that it’s better to rewatch something brilliant than to watch something stale for the first time (though there are definitely diminishing returns eventually).  So after you’re done watching the Spiderverse movies for the 4th time, maybe go check out a favorite of yours that you haven’t seen in a while.  Who knows what you might be missing?