The soft-boiled delights of ‘Spider-Noir’

That Cage’s cartoon private eye had never seen colors before was a wonderful cartoon gag, but the show’s relationship to the animated films is intentionally flimsy, allowing Amazon to air a parallel run of episodes presented in “True Hue” color, in addition to the “Authentic” black and white. You could watch either one and have a decent time, especially since the former features occasionally wonky, eye-catching tints you’re unlikely to see anywhere else. (For a film or show to look good in color requires a specific process of shooting and design.) However, this review is based largely on the black and white version, which is central to the show’s conceit, as a throwback to (and occasional parody of) the crime fiction that dominated mid-century Hollywood.

It all starts with Cage’s gonzo approach to the role of Ben Reilly (name changed from Peter Parker for reasons we’ll get into), a gumshoe investigator who once fought crime as anti-hero The Spider (name changed from Spider-Man for…well, you’ll see). Cage’s voice is even more caricatured than in the animated films, harkening back to Hollywood gangster pictures about Chicago mobsters, while maintaining just enough gravely mystery to still exist somewhere in the vicinity of film noir. The genre at large featured cynicism and moral greys, so Reilly isn’t an out-and-out hero like the Peter Parkers we know. Rather, he’s a selfish, retired superhero who sleuths for anyone willing to pay him.

Li Jun Li as Cat Hardy in "Spider-Noir."

Courtesy of Prime

The story begins with Reilly becoming entangled with a tale he wants no part in, featuring characters with rudimentary superpowers like combustibility and so forth, courtesy of tilt-shifted versions of familiar Spider-Man villains like the Sandman (Jack Huston) and Tombstone (Abraham Popoola). However, the plot’s major turns tend to concern magnetic damsel Cat Hardy (Li Jun Li), a foxy nightclub singer based on classic Spidey frenemy the Black Cat, re-imagined here as a femme fatale by way of silent film star Anna May Wong. It’s a much earlier reference than the show’s 1960s setting, but Spider-Noir is intentionally all over the place with its inspirations, crafting an alternate reality that feels not only like a throwback to a particular era, but like it’s recalling older satires of noir and silent cinema made in decades hence. At times, Cage’s exaggerated P.I. plays akin to Bugs Bunny doing his best Al Capone.

It’s a pastiche of a pastiche, the very same way The Spider himself is a post-post-modern Spider-Man, a reflection of a much older idea remixed through other recognizable hallmarks in order to see what happens. That the show bears enough glancing resemblances to noir cinema certainly helps—the stark lighting, shadows and silhouettes are all pretty gorgeous to look at—and that it further imbues its version of Spidey with a moral ambiguity that separates him from his contemporary teenage counterpart.

There’s a Nazi conspiracy dating back to Reilly’s time in World War II (with oblique references that might let you connect the dots to Captain America), and enough by way of plausible deniability, with regards to its connections to the Peter Parker mythos, that rights holders Sony would’ve allowed the show to proceed without the fear of diluting the Spider-Man brand. Ben Reilly is named after a clone of Peter Parker in the comics (though he may have changed his name in-universe, making him the same older, grizzled Peter Parker as the animated films), and the words “Spider-Man” are never actually spoken on screen. And yet, there’s enough power-and-responsibility talk—and enough resemblance between Reilly’s tactile suit and the Spider-Man costume most folks recognize—that this is still unmistakably a Spider-Man series, down to the protagonist’s painful backstory, and the tragic romance at its center.

Lamorne Morris as Robbie Robertson in "Spider-Noir."

Aaron Epstein/Prime

Hardy’s involvement with political villain Silvermane (Brendan Gleeson)—an Irish mob boss—complicates the otherwise binary borders of modern superhero sagas, and affords Li enough by way of broad sentimentality to make her a meaningful fixture. She, like practically every supporting character, is dialed into the show’s tonal spoof of yesteryear, but without ever breaking the emotional reality that keeps the show’s operatic mode intact. However, the unabashed star is undoubtedly Cage, playing a self-effacting, often inebriated Spider-Man who wants nothing less than to be a superhero , but who also demands the public’s respect for deigning to save them (even though he secretly wants to help people). He’s a giant A-hole, and a pretty hilarious one at that, if only thanks to Cage’s signature verbosity and go-for-broke energy in every scene.

The story may not be anything to write home about, and it stretches on a bit too long at 45 minutes-per episodes (totaling about six hours), but it’s largely a breeze, and offers enough by way of visual delights to make it stand out from modern superhero fare. The series’ genre appearance is tied directly to our understanding of the characters, and the tropes they’re bound to follow—all the more reason to watch it in black and white!—and the question of whether Reilly and Hardy will break out of their prescribed molds is a central part of the drama too. So, as a stylistically nostalgic echo, with surprisingly few connections to ongoing Marvel media, it’s a refreshing change, even if it often spins its wheels in order to pad the runtime.