Warning: Full spoilers follow for Spider-Man: No Way Home.
A film that combines three different Spidey eras, Spider-Man: No Way Home is tasked with not only continuing the story of Peter Parker (Tom Holland), but of taking a top-down view on the franchise as a whole. It often plays like it’s in a tug-of-war; more than most Marvel entries, it ends up caught between deft creative instincts and a visually stifling production. However, the result is a sequel that both works despite itself and immediately tackles several problems posed by its predecessors, Spider-Man: Homecoming and Spider-Man: Far From Home.
Comparisons to Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse will no doubt abound, the similarly multiversal animated project that placed the character’s iconography in its crosshairs. No Way Home hardly rises to that level (aesthetically or otherwise), but its character dynamics are just as delightful, and it tackles a central tenet of the character in much the same way, forcing Holland’s Peter to finally confront loss head-on, in a way that few other Spider-Man films have since Sam Raimi’s trilogy. Additionally — and perhaps just as importantly — it also forces Peter to confront a number of difficult decisions, each more rigorous than anything in his two preceding movies.
In the final installment in our look back at Peter Parker on film, we examine this culmination of the MCU’s Spider-Man (for now), how it incorporates previous iterations of the series, and the way it (mostly) sticks the landing.
For a couple of reasons, despite stringing together three different Spider-Man franchises (as well as Doctor Strange), the Marvel project No Way Home most resembles is the streaming series Loki. The first is its alternate-universe plot, which sees Peter Parker botching one of Strange’s spells and pulling villains from five other movies into his universe; the resultant dilemma surrounds whether or not Peter should return these characters to their respective worlds, in which they’re fated to die. Like Loki, it’s a story of determinism vs. free will, one that uses existing versions of its characters to establish dramatic parameters. Having seen the previous movies, we know what will become — or what might become — of each of these villains, unless this version of Peter is able to make different choices.
In addition to this central theme, the second way it resembles Loki is in its tension between filmmaking decisions that work in isolation, and an overarching assembly that works to hamper even its most potent moments. No Way Home is, at times, an ugly and disjointed film, where poor compositing and rushed CGI often suck tension and impact from the action, where actors in the same scene rarely seem to have been shot in the same physical space, and where so many lines of dialogue have been reworked, and inserted after the fact (via dubbing or ADR), that characters frequently speak from off-screen or with the camera placed behind them, resulting in emotional disconnect during what ought to be poignant moments.
For each instance of haphazard filmmaking, No Way Home features just as many decisions that carry real weight and emotional impact.
However, for each instance of haphazard filmmaking, No Way Home features just as many decisions that carry real weight and emotional impact. Not only does its music (by Michael Giacchino) transform the bubblier compositions of earlier entries into operatic laments, it’s also one of the rare Marvel movies where the camera moves to capture mood and momentum. When Peter’s identity is revealed to the world, and he and MJ (Zendaya) are caught in a media storm, director Jon Watts and cinematographer Mauro Fiore employ an unbroken take that follows them through the Parker household and allows the actors’ frantic energy to dictate the scene. Beats of anticipation are frequently met with whip-pans and fervent push-ins, and for the first time in this series, Peter’s Spider-Sense is even dramatized visually, in the form of effective dolly-zooms that create a sense of looming dread.
Most effective of all is what the film doesn’t do: It doesn’t cut away from Peter and MJ during key dramatic moments. Where recent Marvel films like Shang-Chi feel reticent about letting performances play out — even from legendary actors like Tony Leung — No Way Home knows that as much as Holland and Zendaya bring youthful energy to their roles, they can bring just as much thoughtfulness, and can help tell this story just by the way they consider its physical, emotional and ethical enormity.
The longer that shots hold on them, the more intimate its story feels, and the more powerfully its more devastating moments seem to land. When Peter first absorbs the loss of Aunt May (Marissa Tomei), a still close-up of him crying and seething in the rain arrives with more impact than any whiz-bang action scene. When MJ and Ned (Jacob Batalon) catch up to him soon after, the medium shot of their comforting hug lasts an eternity, and yet, it lasts just as long as it needs to. The film may have quips-a-plenty, but unlike its immediate predecessor Far From Home (which was stifled by its over-reliance on dialogue), its silences speak volumes.
And yet, the film manages to connect in some of its most boisterous moments too. The action may not always land, but the film’s central fireworks display is its IP-mashup, which brings together heroes and villains from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy and Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spider-Man films. The spectacle of naked nostalgia is apparent from the outset, though what works best about the concept is how some (though not all) of the aforementioned characters impact Peter’s story, while also providing post-scripts to the existing Spidey movies.
The visual shortcomings of No Way Home take distinct emotional shape in its villains, two of whom — Sandman/Flint Marko (Thomas Haden Church) from Spider-Man 3 and the Lizard/Dr. Connors (Rhys Ifans) from The Amazing Spider-Man, whose original actors voice CGI versions of the characters — are as narratively malformed as the eye-sore visual effects that bring them half to life. However, while Marko and Connors both fail to fit the mold of “villains who died fighting Spider-Man” and feel like appendices without coherent motives, the trio of antagonists who appear in human form (Willem Dafoe’s Green Goblin/Norman Osborn from Spider-Man, Alfred Molina’s Doc Ock/Otto Octavius from Spider-Man 2, and Jamie Foxx’s Electro/Max Dillon from The Amazing Spider-Man 2) serve a much more cogent purpose: to bring each of the film’s three Spider-Men to some kind of narrative fruition.
This takes simple form for Octavius and Tobey Maguire’s Peter, whose function is largely nostalgic. Few threads were left untied when each character last appeared, so by the end of No Way Home, they each exist to reflect a best-case-scenario outcome for Holland’s Peter and his plan to restore each villain to some kind of humanity (or at least, to stop them from being a threat). Octavius undergoes the same narrative arc he did in Spider-Man 2, taking control of his robotic arms and helping the heroes save the day, while Maguire’s Peter reaffirms what the quiet ending of Spider-Man 3 implied with its closing shot of Peter and Mary Jane dancing: that despite the bumpy road ahead, they worked things out eventually. When Octavius and his corresponding Peter finally come face to face, their reunion is touching, though it serves as an echo of possibility (and of potential outcome) for those watching in the audience, rather than for Holland’s Peter, who isn’t part of the scene in question.
On the other hand, Andrew Garfield’s Peter ends up serving a much more potent and multi-faceted purpose. When he and Maguire’s Peter first meet Holland’s version, who’s still reeling from Aunt May’s death, they each recount their various brushes with loss and anger in order to comfort him. But where Maguire’s words of wisdom (which harken back to him chasing down Ben’s killer in the first film) play like a recollection of something long in the past, Garfield’s Peter still appears to harbor some version of the rage he was left with after Gwen Stacy’s death in The Amazing Spider-Man 2. His last on-screen appearance had little resolution — both because its planned sequels were canceled, and because the film itself sped through this vital part of his story — but No Way Home finally gives him a satisfying conclusion, even if closure still feels far off in the distance. When he saves Zendaya’s MJ from plummeting to her death, the way he failed to save Gwen, it opens up emotional wounds that have not yet healed, and he takes a moment to compose himself before returning to action.
Interactions between these Spider-Men hint at a mutual understanding of not only their survivor’s guilt, but the festering anger in its wake.
This callback to Gwen’s death is, once again, more for the audience than it is for Holland’s Peter, but prior interactions between these Spider-Men hint at a mutual understanding of not only their survivor’s guilt, but the festering anger in its wake. This scene rivals its equivalent in Into the Spider-Verse — when the various Spider-heroes reveal to Miles Morales that they, too, have lost loved ones — and it works here because of the raw and vulnerable performances on display (which balance well with the eventual character-centric banter between all three Peter Parkers). Although, an equally meaningful resolution for Garfield’s Peter is his interaction with Foxx’s Electro, for whom the pursuit of power is still a driving motivation. In The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Electro’s powerlessness stemmed partially from a lack of recognition from Spider-Man, who he viewed as a hero but by whom he felt slighted. The Webb films never reckoned with the fact that Garfield’s Spider-Man often came off as a bully, and that Peter himself may have had a hand in pushing Electro over the edge; once Electro is de-powered in No Way Home, Garfield’s Peter offers a small but meaningful acknowledgment that makes the now-former Electro feel seen, and feel like he has worth outside of his abilities. Garfield may not have been afforded the chance to star in a third film in his series, but No Way Home offers a much-needed (if much-delayed) resolution to The Amazing Spider-Man 2.
This idea of second chances is built firmly into the story, from Peter’s attempts to get Ned and MJ into MIT (after they’re rejected for associating with him), to his plan to save each movie’s villains from their deadly fate — an idea instilled in him by Aunt May when Norman Osborn comes to her for help. The film uses Dafoe’s livewire performance to both instill fear and to engender sympathy, by presenting a fractured Norman Osborn who’s no longer in full control himself (but who wants to be). Norman’s sorrow at being an anonymous, identity-less figure in this universe — and someone robbed of his loved ones — foreshadows Peter’s own decision at the end of the film, but before the story gets there, Peter must first contend with the Goblin’s ruthless sadism and his desire to break Spider-Man’s spirit, which harkens back to his original appearance.
The series finally gives this version of Aunt May a meaningful dramatic function, as someone from whom Peter’s own good nature stems. So when the Goblin takes control and murders her — he finally manages to “instruct [Peter] in the matters of loss and pain,” as he promised to in the first film — it throws that good nature into disarray and fills him with rage. In true Goblin fashion, the iconic villain wants nothing more than to prove he and Spider-Man are “not so different,” thus making Aunt May’s death a vital flashpoint. Her dying words, “With great power, there must also come great responsibility,” are part of the age-old Spider-Man mantra, and here, they arrive at a moment when Peter has already begun to question his responsibility, and his role in helping the very person responsible for May’s death. This results in the power-and-responsibility dynamic being contorted in a way not yet seen on-screen. The story asks: Do you keep following the path of “great responsibility” if it also gets people hurt?
For the first time in this trilogy, choice becomes both a central dramatic concern and delicate tightrope, and while its conclusion may not be entirely satisfying when it comes to Peter’s rage, the film hinges on other, equally meaningful choices that pack an emotional wallop.
Throughout Spider-Man: No Way Home, Peter Parker’s actions have constant ripple effects, beginning with the fallout of living a double-life known only to a few: His future prospects, and those of his friends, have been placed in jeopardy. When Peter approaches Doctor Strange and inadvertently opens Pandora’s box, he’s trying to have his cake and eat it too by erasing the consequences of his dual identity, but while still keeping that identity intact on his own specific terms. He selflessly wants Ned and MJ to go to MIT, but he selfishly wants them to stay a part of his tight-knit inner circle — the very thing that dashed their college hopes to begin with.
The subsequent arrival of previous Spider-Man villains is disconnected from this plot — it plays like the demand for franchise crossover consuming a much more intimate tale — but while these two stories run parallel to each other (with the multiverse taking precedence), they remain thematically bound by the idea of Peter having to tackle consequences head-on. When Peter reaches his lowest point, and the film pauses on the aforementioned close-up of him grieving in the rain, it scores this scene with the accusatory words of J. Jonah Jameson (J.K. Simmons), who frames Aunt May’s death as a direct result of Peter’s vigilantism, and puts forth the idea that his presence is poisonous to those he loves. Peter, it would seem, agrees with this assessment.
The film’s climactic scenes present Peter with a series of choices, each of which stems from having to reckon with his actions in some way. The first major dilemma appears when he comes face to face with the murderous Norman Osborn, though it’s also the choice whose dramatic execution leaves much to be desired. Holland’s Peter comes close to killing the Green Goblin using his own glider, only for Maguire’s Peter to stop him and be stabbed by the Goblin in the process. However, there’s neither an immediate fallout to Holland’s Peter being consumed by rage — Maguire’s Peter, it turns out, is just fine — nor is there a moment where he reflects on or agonizes over nearly going down this path. Instead, Garfield’s Peter tosses him an antidote, with which he stabs the Goblin and “cures” him. But like Maguire’s Peter being stabbed, the staging of this action beat is also a “fake-out” of sorts.
The scene’s framing and rapid editing obscure the object with which Peter stabs the Goblin — a blade-like sound effect is even deployed to add an element of doubt — before revealing it to be the antidote syringe. While this brief moment provides the dramatic whiplash of shock followed by instant relief, it ends up being a cheap gimmick that sidesteps the scene’s actual drama: the question of whether or not Holland’s Peter would go down a murderous path. It provides its answer after the fact; rather than affording Peter the time to choose between two options (perhaps embodied by two “weapons,” the glider and the syringe), it plays as if the decision has either been made for him, or is wholly irrelevant in the moment, since his split-second reaction — stabbing the Goblin in the neck — may have been the same no matter what object was thrown his way. By fooling the audience into thinking, even for a moment, that he might kill the Goblin after all, it robs his story of the dramatic impact of him choosing, definitively, to walk a different path.
However, while this resolution to the action ends up slightly limp, it’s followed by a pair of decisions that prove to be among the most meaningful in any Spider-Man movie.
The first is rooted in fluid sorcery mechanics, which have the potential to leave open various backdoor possibilities: In order to stop more Peter-chasing villains from entering his universe, Holland’s Spidey asks Strange to erase his identity from the face of the Earth. As he bids goodbye to Ned and MJ, they discuss various loopholes to potentially undo this magical amnesia; it’s a fitting extension of their roles throughout the film, as supporting characters who frequently concoct new plans to get Peter out of trouble (it’s also the first time in the trilogy MJ and Peter’s dynamic has felt meaningful). However, a sense of finality looms over this decision, given the drawn-out nature of their farewells, and the way Holland and Zendaya — despite their characters’ protestations — seem to harbor an awareness of how life-changing this outcome will be.
The second choice is a smaller and more intimate one that makes the first even more meaningful. It’s Christmas in New York, and as snow falls to the ground, Peter heads to convince MJ and Ned of their forgotten friendship, just as they had planned. But in a somber twist on the Christmas classic It’s A Wonderful Life, the new world that exists without Peter Parker is one in which his friends seem happy, and in which they finally get to attend the college of their dreams. Re-entering their lives, and roping them into his super-heroics, would only result in a reversion to the start of the film, in which Peter’s vigilantism ruins the lives of the people he loves.
Instead, Peter continues to not only help people in total isolation, but for the first time in the MCU, he no longer has the option of magical or mechanical assistance from any other Avenger, thus returning him to the Spider-Man status quo seen in the previous films and comics. And, in a reflection of Sam Raimi’s original Spider-Man, No Way Home ends with Peter Parker choosing not to “get the girl,” in order to protect her from himself. This harkens back to a small but meaningful exchange between the two other Peters earlier in the film, who discuss whether or not they have time for “Peter Parker stuff” — the romantic and personal lives which have always come at the cost of being Spider-Man, and vice versa. In an act of harrowing self-sacrifice, Holland’s Peter removes “Peter Parker stuff” from the table entirely, by removing Peter Parker. He finally comes into his own as Spider-Man by choosing responsibility, even when it’s the most difficult choice in the world.
For even more on the film, check out what Spider-Man: No Way Home means for the future of Venom, dig in on our biggest WTF questions about No Way Home, read up on our No Way Home ending explained, and find out how What If...? just became essential for MCU fans.
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A film that combines three different Spidey eras, Spider-Man: No Way Home is tasked with not only continuing the story of Peter Parker (Tom Holland), but of taking a top-down view on the franchise as a whole. It often plays like it’s in a tug-of-war; more than most Marvel entries, it ends up caught between deft creative instincts and a visually stifling production. However, the result is a sequel that both works despite itself and immediately tackles several problems posed by its predecessors, Spider-Man: Homecoming and Spider-Man: Far From Home.
Comparisons to Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse will no doubt abound, the similarly multiversal animated project that placed the character’s iconography in its crosshairs. No Way Home hardly rises to that level (aesthetically or otherwise), but its character dynamics are just as delightful, and it tackles a central tenet of the character in much the same way, forcing Holland’s Peter to finally confront loss head-on, in a way that few other Spider-Man films have since Sam Raimi’s trilogy. Additionally — and perhaps just as importantly — it also forces Peter to confront a number of difficult decisions, each more rigorous than anything in his two preceding movies.
In the final installment in our look back at Peter Parker on film, we examine this culmination of the MCU’s Spider-Man (for now), how it incorporates previous iterations of the series, and the way it (mostly) sticks the landing.
A Struggle for Better Storytelling
For a couple of reasons, despite stringing together three different Spider-Man franchises (as well as Doctor Strange), the Marvel project No Way Home most resembles is the streaming series Loki. The first is its alternate-universe plot, which sees Peter Parker botching one of Strange’s spells and pulling villains from five other movies into his universe; the resultant dilemma surrounds whether or not Peter should return these characters to their respective worlds, in which they’re fated to die. Like Loki, it’s a story of determinism vs. free will, one that uses existing versions of its characters to establish dramatic parameters. Having seen the previous movies, we know what will become — or what might become — of each of these villains, unless this version of Peter is able to make different choices.
More From The Spidey Saga
- Day 1: Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man and Choosing Responsibility
- Day 2: Spider-Man 2 and Choosing a Suit
- Day 3: Spider-Man 3 Is Both Better and Messier Than You Remember
- Day 4: The Amazing Spider-Man Goes Through the Origin Story Motions
- Day 5: The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and the Spider-Man Who Ran Out of Time
- Day 6: Spider-Man: Homecoming Lives in the Moment, For Better and For Worse
- Day 7: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse Explores the Meaning Behind the Mask
- Day 8: Spider-Man: Far From Home Fumbles Its Tale of Power and Responsibility
- Day 9: Spider-Man: No Way Home and Peter Parker’s Most Difficult Choice
In addition to this central theme, the second way it resembles Loki is in its tension between filmmaking decisions that work in isolation, and an overarching assembly that works to hamper even its most potent moments. No Way Home is, at times, an ugly and disjointed film, where poor compositing and rushed CGI often suck tension and impact from the action, where actors in the same scene rarely seem to have been shot in the same physical space, and where so many lines of dialogue have been reworked, and inserted after the fact (via dubbing or ADR), that characters frequently speak from off-screen or with the camera placed behind them, resulting in emotional disconnect during what ought to be poignant moments.
For each instance of haphazard filmmaking, No Way Home features just as many decisions that carry real weight and emotional impact.
However, for each instance of haphazard filmmaking, No Way Home features just as many decisions that carry real weight and emotional impact. Not only does its music (by Michael Giacchino) transform the bubblier compositions of earlier entries into operatic laments, it’s also one of the rare Marvel movies where the camera moves to capture mood and momentum. When Peter’s identity is revealed to the world, and he and MJ (Zendaya) are caught in a media storm, director Jon Watts and cinematographer Mauro Fiore employ an unbroken take that follows them through the Parker household and allows the actors’ frantic energy to dictate the scene. Beats of anticipation are frequently met with whip-pans and fervent push-ins, and for the first time in this series, Peter’s Spider-Sense is even dramatized visually, in the form of effective dolly-zooms that create a sense of looming dread.
Most effective of all is what the film doesn’t do: It doesn’t cut away from Peter and MJ during key dramatic moments. Where recent Marvel films like Shang-Chi feel reticent about letting performances play out — even from legendary actors like Tony Leung — No Way Home knows that as much as Holland and Zendaya bring youthful energy to their roles, they can bring just as much thoughtfulness, and can help tell this story just by the way they consider its physical, emotional and ethical enormity.
The longer that shots hold on them, the more intimate its story feels, and the more powerfully its more devastating moments seem to land. When Peter first absorbs the loss of Aunt May (Marissa Tomei), a still close-up of him crying and seething in the rain arrives with more impact than any whiz-bang action scene. When MJ and Ned (Jacob Batalon) catch up to him soon after, the medium shot of their comforting hug lasts an eternity, and yet, it lasts just as long as it needs to. The film may have quips-a-plenty, but unlike its immediate predecessor Far From Home (which was stifled by its over-reliance on dialogue), its silences speak volumes.
And yet, the film manages to connect in some of its most boisterous moments too. The action may not always land, but the film’s central fireworks display is its IP-mashup, which brings together heroes and villains from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy and Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spider-Man films. The spectacle of naked nostalgia is apparent from the outset, though what works best about the concept is how some (though not all) of the aforementioned characters impact Peter’s story, while also providing post-scripts to the existing Spidey movies.
Blasts From the Past
The visual shortcomings of No Way Home take distinct emotional shape in its villains, two of whom — Sandman/Flint Marko (Thomas Haden Church) from Spider-Man 3 and the Lizard/Dr. Connors (Rhys Ifans) from The Amazing Spider-Man, whose original actors voice CGI versions of the characters — are as narratively malformed as the eye-sore visual effects that bring them half to life. However, while Marko and Connors both fail to fit the mold of “villains who died fighting Spider-Man” and feel like appendices without coherent motives, the trio of antagonists who appear in human form (Willem Dafoe’s Green Goblin/Norman Osborn from Spider-Man, Alfred Molina’s Doc Ock/Otto Octavius from Spider-Man 2, and Jamie Foxx’s Electro/Max Dillon from The Amazing Spider-Man 2) serve a much more cogent purpose: to bring each of the film’s three Spider-Men to some kind of narrative fruition.
This takes simple form for Octavius and Tobey Maguire’s Peter, whose function is largely nostalgic. Few threads were left untied when each character last appeared, so by the end of No Way Home, they each exist to reflect a best-case-scenario outcome for Holland’s Peter and his plan to restore each villain to some kind of humanity (or at least, to stop them from being a threat). Octavius undergoes the same narrative arc he did in Spider-Man 2, taking control of his robotic arms and helping the heroes save the day, while Maguire’s Peter reaffirms what the quiet ending of Spider-Man 3 implied with its closing shot of Peter and Mary Jane dancing: that despite the bumpy road ahead, they worked things out eventually. When Octavius and his corresponding Peter finally come face to face, their reunion is touching, though it serves as an echo of possibility (and of potential outcome) for those watching in the audience, rather than for Holland’s Peter, who isn’t part of the scene in question.
On the other hand, Andrew Garfield’s Peter ends up serving a much more potent and multi-faceted purpose. When he and Maguire’s Peter first meet Holland’s version, who’s still reeling from Aunt May’s death, they each recount their various brushes with loss and anger in order to comfort him. But where Maguire’s words of wisdom (which harken back to him chasing down Ben’s killer in the first film) play like a recollection of something long in the past, Garfield’s Peter still appears to harbor some version of the rage he was left with after Gwen Stacy’s death in The Amazing Spider-Man 2. His last on-screen appearance had little resolution — both because its planned sequels were canceled, and because the film itself sped through this vital part of his story — but No Way Home finally gives him a satisfying conclusion, even if closure still feels far off in the distance. When he saves Zendaya’s MJ from plummeting to her death, the way he failed to save Gwen, it opens up emotional wounds that have not yet healed, and he takes a moment to compose himself before returning to action.
Interactions between these Spider-Men hint at a mutual understanding of not only their survivor’s guilt, but the festering anger in its wake.
This callback to Gwen’s death is, once again, more for the audience than it is for Holland’s Peter, but prior interactions between these Spider-Men hint at a mutual understanding of not only their survivor’s guilt, but the festering anger in its wake. This scene rivals its equivalent in Into the Spider-Verse — when the various Spider-heroes reveal to Miles Morales that they, too, have lost loved ones — and it works here because of the raw and vulnerable performances on display (which balance well with the eventual character-centric banter between all three Peter Parkers). Although, an equally meaningful resolution for Garfield’s Peter is his interaction with Foxx’s Electro, for whom the pursuit of power is still a driving motivation. In The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Electro’s powerlessness stemmed partially from a lack of recognition from Spider-Man, who he viewed as a hero but by whom he felt slighted. The Webb films never reckoned with the fact that Garfield’s Spider-Man often came off as a bully, and that Peter himself may have had a hand in pushing Electro over the edge; once Electro is de-powered in No Way Home, Garfield’s Peter offers a small but meaningful acknowledgment that makes the now-former Electro feel seen, and feel like he has worth outside of his abilities. Garfield may not have been afforded the chance to star in a third film in his series, but No Way Home offers a much-needed (if much-delayed) resolution to The Amazing Spider-Man 2.
This idea of second chances is built firmly into the story, from Peter’s attempts to get Ned and MJ into MIT (after they’re rejected for associating with him), to his plan to save each movie’s villains from their deadly fate — an idea instilled in him by Aunt May when Norman Osborn comes to her for help. The film uses Dafoe’s livewire performance to both instill fear and to engender sympathy, by presenting a fractured Norman Osborn who’s no longer in full control himself (but who wants to be). Norman’s sorrow at being an anonymous, identity-less figure in this universe — and someone robbed of his loved ones — foreshadows Peter’s own decision at the end of the film, but before the story gets there, Peter must first contend with the Goblin’s ruthless sadism and his desire to break Spider-Man’s spirit, which harkens back to his original appearance.
The series finally gives this version of Aunt May a meaningful dramatic function, as someone from whom Peter’s own good nature stems. So when the Goblin takes control and murders her — he finally manages to “instruct [Peter] in the matters of loss and pain,” as he promised to in the first film — it throws that good nature into disarray and fills him with rage. In true Goblin fashion, the iconic villain wants nothing more than to prove he and Spider-Man are “not so different,” thus making Aunt May’s death a vital flashpoint. Her dying words, “With great power, there must also come great responsibility,” are part of the age-old Spider-Man mantra, and here, they arrive at a moment when Peter has already begun to question his responsibility, and his role in helping the very person responsible for May’s death. This results in the power-and-responsibility dynamic being contorted in a way not yet seen on-screen. The story asks: Do you keep following the path of “great responsibility” if it also gets people hurt?
For the first time in this trilogy, choice becomes both a central dramatic concern and delicate tightrope, and while its conclusion may not be entirely satisfying when it comes to Peter’s rage, the film hinges on other, equally meaningful choices that pack an emotional wallop.
The Trials of Peter Parker
Throughout Spider-Man: No Way Home, Peter Parker’s actions have constant ripple effects, beginning with the fallout of living a double-life known only to a few: His future prospects, and those of his friends, have been placed in jeopardy. When Peter approaches Doctor Strange and inadvertently opens Pandora’s box, he’s trying to have his cake and eat it too by erasing the consequences of his dual identity, but while still keeping that identity intact on his own specific terms. He selflessly wants Ned and MJ to go to MIT, but he selfishly wants them to stay a part of his tight-knit inner circle — the very thing that dashed their college hopes to begin with.
The subsequent arrival of previous Spider-Man villains is disconnected from this plot — it plays like the demand for franchise crossover consuming a much more intimate tale — but while these two stories run parallel to each other (with the multiverse taking precedence), they remain thematically bound by the idea of Peter having to tackle consequences head-on. When Peter reaches his lowest point, and the film pauses on the aforementioned close-up of him grieving in the rain, it scores this scene with the accusatory words of J. Jonah Jameson (J.K. Simmons), who frames Aunt May’s death as a direct result of Peter’s vigilantism, and puts forth the idea that his presence is poisonous to those he loves. Peter, it would seem, agrees with this assessment.
The film’s climactic scenes present Peter with a series of choices, each of which stems from having to reckon with his actions in some way. The first major dilemma appears when he comes face to face with the murderous Norman Osborn, though it’s also the choice whose dramatic execution leaves much to be desired. Holland’s Peter comes close to killing the Green Goblin using his own glider, only for Maguire’s Peter to stop him and be stabbed by the Goblin in the process. However, there’s neither an immediate fallout to Holland’s Peter being consumed by rage — Maguire’s Peter, it turns out, is just fine — nor is there a moment where he reflects on or agonizes over nearly going down this path. Instead, Garfield’s Peter tosses him an antidote, with which he stabs the Goblin and “cures” him. But like Maguire’s Peter being stabbed, the staging of this action beat is also a “fake-out” of sorts.
The scene’s framing and rapid editing obscure the object with which Peter stabs the Goblin — a blade-like sound effect is even deployed to add an element of doubt — before revealing it to be the antidote syringe. While this brief moment provides the dramatic whiplash of shock followed by instant relief, it ends up being a cheap gimmick that sidesteps the scene’s actual drama: the question of whether or not Holland’s Peter would go down a murderous path. It provides its answer after the fact; rather than affording Peter the time to choose between two options (perhaps embodied by two “weapons,” the glider and the syringe), it plays as if the decision has either been made for him, or is wholly irrelevant in the moment, since his split-second reaction — stabbing the Goblin in the neck — may have been the same no matter what object was thrown his way. By fooling the audience into thinking, even for a moment, that he might kill the Goblin after all, it robs his story of the dramatic impact of him choosing, definitively, to walk a different path.
However, while this resolution to the action ends up slightly limp, it’s followed by a pair of decisions that prove to be among the most meaningful in any Spider-Man movie.
The first is rooted in fluid sorcery mechanics, which have the potential to leave open various backdoor possibilities: In order to stop more Peter-chasing villains from entering his universe, Holland’s Spidey asks Strange to erase his identity from the face of the Earth. As he bids goodbye to Ned and MJ, they discuss various loopholes to potentially undo this magical amnesia; it’s a fitting extension of their roles throughout the film, as supporting characters who frequently concoct new plans to get Peter out of trouble (it’s also the first time in the trilogy MJ and Peter’s dynamic has felt meaningful). However, a sense of finality looms over this decision, given the drawn-out nature of their farewells, and the way Holland and Zendaya — despite their characters’ protestations — seem to harbor an awareness of how life-changing this outcome will be.
The second choice is a smaller and more intimate one that makes the first even more meaningful. It’s Christmas in New York, and as snow falls to the ground, Peter heads to convince MJ and Ned of their forgotten friendship, just as they had planned. But in a somber twist on the Christmas classic It’s A Wonderful Life, the new world that exists without Peter Parker is one in which his friends seem happy, and in which they finally get to attend the college of their dreams. Re-entering their lives, and roping them into his super-heroics, would only result in a reversion to the start of the film, in which Peter’s vigilantism ruins the lives of the people he loves.
Instead, Peter continues to not only help people in total isolation, but for the first time in the MCU, he no longer has the option of magical or mechanical assistance from any other Avenger, thus returning him to the Spider-Man status quo seen in the previous films and comics. And, in a reflection of Sam Raimi’s original Spider-Man, No Way Home ends with Peter Parker choosing not to “get the girl,” in order to protect her from himself. This harkens back to a small but meaningful exchange between the two other Peters earlier in the film, who discuss whether or not they have time for “Peter Parker stuff” — the romantic and personal lives which have always come at the cost of being Spider-Man, and vice versa. In an act of harrowing self-sacrifice, Holland’s Peter removes “Peter Parker stuff” from the table entirely, by removing Peter Parker. He finally comes into his own as Spider-Man by choosing responsibility, even when it’s the most difficult choice in the world.
For even more on the film, check out what Spider-Man: No Way Home means for the future of Venom, dig in on our biggest WTF questions about No Way Home, read up on our No Way Home ending explained, and find out how What If...? just became essential for MCU fans.
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