Marion Norindale Books

Spider-Man: Homecoming was at best a decently action-packed, surface-level superhero movie; and at worst a soulless and confusing remake that sacrificed the journey of the actual MC to create yet another (rather unnecessary) installment in the Iron Man saga.

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Disclaimer that these are my opinions, and you’re not an evil person for liking the MCU Spider-Man adaptations.

I also wanna note that the cast is incredible, and I don’t fault their performances or abilities for the problems in this movie. I take issue with the story decisions (and with Tony Stark in general).

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To start on a somewhat positive note, let’s discuss what Homecoming does right.

The new characterizations are fresh, yet still lovable. Peter is painted in a naïve yet endearing light; a good blend of clever and clueless, playing on both his innate genius and the immaturity of his youth.

Ned is similar—a dorky, kind, and loyal friend who complements Peter well. And I liked the new take on MJ—an edgy kid who’s not afraid to speak her mind, nor to show her nerdy side.

Aunt May was a lovable and supportive guardian to Peter (though I hope there was another reason they made her character younger, other than to let Tony make MILF jokes. That was…a choice).

The villain has a believable backstory (though his situation touches upon a moral dilemma that ends up painting Tony in quite the selfish and uncaring light. We’ll get to that later).

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The decision to make Toomes Liz’s father is an excellent twist. It’s shocking, and actually plays on the theme that hardworking, well-meaning, lower-class people often get screwed over by the uncaring wealthy. We realize Toomes isn’t just some greedy criminal—he’s a man with a wife and daughter he wants to protect and care for.

Toomes’ motivation is well-thought-out. He starts off in a sympathetic spot—as a normal, hardworking man trying to provide for his family with his cleanup and salvage business. But then a rich, uncaring billionaire and an indifferent government sweep in to take it all away.

Turning to crime isn’t exactly the best or Toomes’ only option, but in his enraged mind, it makes sense—he can make a pretty penny off stolen alien tech, and simultaneously deal a blow to the people who wronged him.

Toomes becomes hypocritical, though, in that he begins to live a well-funded lifestyle in a large, luxurious house, almost as if attempting to emulate the upper class he despises. The move is both logical and nuanced, painting Toomes as a character we can understand and empathize with, up to a point. Like all villains, he eventually crosses the line from care into greed—by selling weapons to dangerous people and lying to and endangering his family.

The end sequence of the film is visually and story-wise quite the masterpiece. The way the tone shifts as Peter arrives at Liz’s house, then realizes Toomes is her father; then as Toomes makes the connection between Peter and Spider-Man on the way to the dance, carries the film into the perfect dramatic contrast for the end confrontation.

Peter’s end battle centers around his own strength and wits, not any interference from Tony. The battle raises the stakes to just the right height, highlighting both Peter’s on-the-fly thinking and his inexperience at fighting a foe this fierce.

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Despite its stellar cast and a few bright spots, however, Homecoming failed to deliver as a Spider-Man movie that was actually about Spider-Man.

I know it’s one of many installments in an interconnected universe; but this movie wasn’t about Peter gaining his powers and learning about responsibility. It was about Peter, who’d already gained his powers and learned about responsibility (see his conversation with Tony in Civil War, in which he says he knew he had to do good things with his powers because he had the ability to help people), being undermined by Tony’s secretive and selfish agenda, then emotionally manipulated by the man until Peter came back around to the conclusion that he was doing just fine as a hero before Iron Man came along.

Tony’s relationship with Peter is, at best, the most tone-deaf execution of a mentor-mentee relationship I’ve ever seen in my life. More realistically, it’s an absent, aloof, uncaring man and a misguided child who is too starstruck to realize how poorly he’s being treated.

For one, Tony simply does not want to mentor Peter. He manipulates the boy into fighting on his side in Civil War, then drops him off and doesn’t contact him again until Peter almost dies. In between, he leaves Happy as the middleman; but Happy never answers Peter’s phone calls or initiates contact until Peter goes out-of-state—which is problematic in itself, because Peter can go where he wants when he wants, and neither Tony nor Happy have any right to invade his privacy by tracking him (especially not against his knowledge).

Tony never offers Peter any advice or training. The suit he gifts the boy is equipped with a course Peter is never told about; which is in and of itself a cold and hands-off way of training him. Why didn’t Tony invest any time in his so-called “mentee”? And even if Tony was busy, why would he have bothered to take on a mentee in the first place if he had no time on his hands?

(The answer being that he never actually intended to take on a mentee, and was doing everything in his half-assed power to keep Peter from bothering him.)

Tony does a terrible job of interacting with and influencing Peter. Peter drops out of band and decathlon to free up more time for his “Stark internship.” Despite Tony being aware Peter has done this (he mentions he heard Peter quit band from his voicemails), he never talks to Peter about the importance of maintaining his life outside of his responsibility as Spider-Man. And he never asks Peter if he’s really okay with these decisions. He never even expresses any concern that Peter is giving up so much of his social life for crime-fighting—because Tony doesn’t care about at all.

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The ferry scene in and of itself deserves its own section, for how beautifully it sums up just how disastrous Tony and Peter’s relationship is.

Simply put, it’s emotionally abusive and horribly handled on Tony’s part.

Peter didn’t know the FBI would be on the ferry—because Tony never told him. All Tony gave Peter was a warning to leave the case to the authorities. But Peter was worried the police wouldn’t know just how dangerous the situation would end up being.

Peter also wanted to impress Tony, who by all intents and purposes had been leading the boy into thinking he cared about his career as a hero—while it was all really for Tony’s selfish, misguided purposes.

Tony only ever reached out to Peter because he wanted somebody on his side in Civil War (and, arguably, someone for which he knew Steve would pull his punches). When Tony first met Peter, he instilled in the boy the illusion that Tony wanted to help him become a better hero.

Tony started by insulting Peter’s homemade gear, then creating Peter’s reliance on him by being the one to gift him his new suit. He told Peter he wanted to take him to Germany to make a difference, and because Tony was allegedly interested in the boy’s heroics. He came up with the idea of the “Stark Internship,” then never corrected Peter when he was done with the boy and dumped him back at home.

Peter never learned why Tony had really approached him in Civil War. As far as he was concerned, Tony had genuinely just wanted to help Spider-Man grow as a hero.

And thus Peter became desperate to impress his so-called “mentor.”

Going into the ferry incident, Peter takes all of Tony’s warnings and dismissals so far as a rejection—as the stamp of Tony’s disapproval upon his abilities. From Peter’s point of view, Tony was completely invested in helping him become a better hero—so his constant neglect and scoldings must’ve meant Peter was failing him terribly.

In reality, Tony was just trying to get an irritating, overeager teen hero off his back. But he’d never stopped to think about how his actions would come off to Peter.

Trying to argue Peter’s interference made things worse makes no sense when no one knows what exactly would’ve happened otherwise. If the FBI had swooped in alone, Toomes and his men would’ve likely done exactly as they had: fire with their weapons and escape. Would the agents have stood a chance against alien weaponry? Toomes could’ve easily incapacitated the ship on purpose, leaving law enforcement scrambling to save innocent lives while Toomes and his men made their escape.

And when all is said and done, Tony never asks if Peter is okay—if he’s physically hurt, or if he’s suffering any trauma from the fight. Tony never makes room for sympathy; he just focuses on what he thinks Peter did wrong. He goes so far as to guilt the boy, reminding him that innocent people could’ve died. (Which is pretty bold, coming from a man with plenty of blood on his own hands.) He ignores how Peter actually kept that from happening.

Tony also tells Peter that if he had died, then Tony would’ve felt bad himself. He doesn’t tell Peter he wanted him to be okay because he cares about him—just that it would’ve weighed on his conscience. He told Peter that even in dying, the boy would’ve been responsible for his emotions.

Tony could’ve headed into the situation with a different mentality—that of “I could never forgive myself if something happened to you, because I care about you as a person, and you deserve to live a safe and happy life.” But that can only occur when the speaker acknowledges their responsibility in the situation. They must realize that their actions somehow contributed to the outcome, and that they have to take accountability for their role.

In Tony’s case, he should’ve realized how he’d led Peter on, and, willingly or otherwise, given the boy the impression that he needed to impress Tony and prioritize his heroics above all else. Tony should’ve acknowledged how his neglect of Peter had negatively affected his so-called protégé.

And I know Tony tried to patch things up with the phone call he made to Peter moments before the ferry—but, as they say, that was “too little, too late.”

If anything, once Tony had gone to talk to Peter after the incident, he should’ve realized he hadn’t been doing enough; that the one half-assed phone call wasn’t going to fix things. He should’ve begun by apologizing for stringing Peter along and ignoring the boy, then implored Peter to realize his own role and responsibility in the situation. It would’ve been a firm but fair way to address things, and to acknowledge Peter’s needs.

But Tony was too busy self-flagellating in his eternal pit of self-pity to attune himself to Peter’s needs.

Lastly, Tony punishes Peter by taking away the suit—the same suit he gave Peter in the first place, when he’d insulted his costume in Civil War and cajoled him into coming to Germany for a fight Peter didn’t know anything about.

A punishment is ignorant and childish in this situation. Peter needs guidance, not humiliation. But Tony isn’t willing to be a mentor here.

We can find an excellent contrast in how Steve handled the situation after the explosion in Lagos in Civil War. Wanda attempted to contain the detonation, but she ultimately failed. She was a trainee who had done her best, and ended up incidentally hurting innocent people.

Steve handles the situation as an actual mentor would—he checks in on Wanda’s well-being, assures her she did her best, and reminds her it wasn’t her fault that the grenade detonated. It was supposed to kill hundreds or even thousands of people at ground level—and instead, it took out a far smaller group up above. He also acknowledges his role in the situation. He admits he should’ve been looking out for her instead of letting himself be distracted by Rumlowe’s revelation that Bucky was still alive.

Tony should’ve kept Peter more informed of the investigation, even if he’d remained firm on restricting Peter’s involvement. He could’ve even offered the boy a role in the case; if one more placating and far less dangerous. He could’ve easily made sure Peter felt included while staying safe.

At the very least, Tony should’ve promised to look seriously into Peter’s concerns, instead of condescendingly imploring the boy to leave it to the adults.

In other words, Tony should’ve been a responsible mentor.

The “you’re nothing without the suit” moment was tone-deaf and hypocritical. Tony fights with a suit, and when he doesn’t have it, he attempts to throw money at his problems until they go away.

Peter, a child with no obligation to risk his life, regularly ventures into his neighborhood to help anyone in need—and he’d been doing so for months before Tony found him. He dresses himself up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants and rigged homemade web-shooters, unable to do anything better, but willing to help all the same.

There’s nothing wrong with using gear as a hero—but Tony insulting Peter’s dependence on his suit is extremely hypocritical when Peter has already shown a willingness to do whatever it takes to help people, regardless of his gear. Meanwhile, Tony wouldn’t even use his own near-limitless resources to help until danger had kicked him in the ass.

Peter’s motivation to lift up the warehouse shouldn’t have been a memory of Tony’s abuse. Why not Uncle Ben, who, I’m assuming, still exists in this universe? Why not the first time Peter ever saved someone? Or the thought of people like May and Ned and MJ? Peter knew he could help people without a suit—he’d done so for months before Tony ever found him. The only reason Tony had heard of him was because Peter was already protecting people with his powers. He told Tony when they first met that he knew he had to be responsible with them.

So why did he have to re-learn that message?

Ironically, what happened in this movie was that Tony undermined Peter’s confidence. He told Peter his homemade suit was insufficient and silly, offered him better tech, and promised he could help Peter fight more meaningful battles (and ergo, become a more meaningful hero).

Peter then believed he needed the approval of someone like Tony—rich, successful, and an accomplished Avenger. He began to rely on the suit because Tony had given it to him, and clearly, he needed it more than his homemade getup.

But ultimately, Peter learned he could do what he could without the fancy suit, because what makes him Spider-Man—and what makes him a good hero—is what’s inside him, not what he wears.

But Tony wasn’t the catalyst for realizing that. Tony took the suit away to punish Peter for not listening to him, not to give him a kick in the pants to come to his senses. Peter had already reached his senses before the film had even started—Tony had just deflated the confidence behind it.

When Tony invites Peter to the compound at the film’s close, he attempts to take credit for Peter’s revelation. He can’t stand that he did something wrong, and he has to find a way he somehow helped the situation to play itself out.

He never said he intended for taking away the suit to serve as a lesson. He just said he and Peter should’ve looked at it that way, since everything had ended up all right after all. But Tony had no hand in Peter’s growth.

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Toomes’ backstory paints Tony with yet another stroke of ignorance, privilege, and selfishness. It’s ironic that part of Toomes’ motivation is to avenge the “little guy” who constantly gets crushed by assholes like Tony—and yet, Tony’s very real part in the man’s backstory is never fully acknowledged.

Yes, Toomes crossed the line by selling dangerous weaponry to criminals. But Stark Industries and the government took away Toomes’ line of work. They offered no compensation to people with families they had to support. It’s extremely valid to condemn that kind of behavior—but such a line of thought couldn’t be explored in the MCU, lest Tony come out looking like the bad guy.

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All in all, HC was a clumsy attempt at a new Spider-Man movie. While it delivered in palatable characters and a possibly compelling story, it butchered its own potential with the insertion of Tony as a detached and verbally abusive mentor.