graphic by kayleigh wotal
A concept that seems to have a grip on our collective consciousness in this era is the multiverse. Whether it’s an image of branching timelines spiraling away from each other with any single choice we make or stacked realities representing worlds both close and far from what we know, the multiverse is something we see again and again in our films and referenced in our lives, in everything from TikTok trends to bestselling fiction. If, in many ways, we are what we consume, what does the current cultural fixation on the multiverse mean?
Multiversal theory has been around ever since humans have begun to wonder about their place in the universe; the first reference to the multiverse arguably comes from the Ancient Greek Atomists, who believed in the infinite configurations of atoms and particles to create endless worlds. Yet, it seems like the multiverse only really roared into popular discourse in the world of science fiction. In 1961, the DC Universe introduced “Earth-2” and “Flash-2” into their comics universe, effectively expanding the world of comic books as we know it to exist today.
The comic book mentality that characters can be invented, killed, regenerated, canceled and revived ad infinitum is inherently multiversal. It is a useful shortcut for an ever-changing writers’ room. In a genre where you can rely on an audience to follow concurrent and separate worlds that may cross over and erase past storylines with ease, writers have more room to keep generating brand new content with the same old characters. In a space where decisions matter so much and ultimately don’t matter at all, it’s a strategy to keep finding a way to teach an old dog new tricks. For the comic book industry — which pumped out thousands of stories at its peak during the first great age of mass production — it was incredibly important for their bottom line.
Like every capitalistic concept, if it can be sized up, it will be. Marvel released the movie “Doctor Strange” to great fanfare among the dedicated fans who read into the details and easter eggs among the CGI action and pronounced it the start of the Marvel Cinematic Multiverse. After breadcrumbing the concept over several movies after, Marvel’s investment in the multiverse paid off in 2019 — their grand finale, “Avengers Endgame,” premiered to a worldwide opening of $1.2 billion — the biggest box office opening of all time.
The cynic would say that the multiverse continues to have meaning for us because it continues to be a moneymaker. Earlier this summer, DC returned full-circle to having a Flash-1 and a Flash-2 on the big screen — more than half a century after they kicked off the multiverse on newsprint pages. Studios will continue to push multiversal content as long as we are willing to swallow it because it allows them to ever-expand without the possibility of self-contradiction or a permanent end; there is no end because there can always be a new beginning. Yet, this explanation isn’t enough. There has to be a reason that we continue to go back to the theaters, spending money and swallowing more multiverse content.
You can also argue that it’s a form of storytelling that is pertinent to our lives in the modern age. The fixation on the multiverse’s possibilities for “what if…” seem to encapsulate the possibilities of the Internet age, where the ever-expanding amount of space for subcultures, niche interest groups and fandom blogs means that wherever you are, you can always find your people. The multilayered identities that each of us hold in our online spaces running alongside our actual living realities feels like a multiverse in itself. Beyond the internet, there is also the feeling of being a human in a more complex, more interconnected world, where our existence relates to and depends upon the existence of so many others. In a space that is both unprecedented and overwhelming, multiverse narratives step in to provide a sense of understanding amid the chaos.
The movies of the Marvel and DC cinematic universes do this to an extent — they attempt to provide straightforward narratives where the multiverse is only glanced at rather than fully interacted with. The heroes and antiheroes of the genre aim to save the multiverse, yet they rarely explain what that means. Whether it’s defeating people who erase universes or maintaining timelines so the multiverse doesn’t collapse, the common ideal that they advocate for is to preserve what already exists. This inclination towards simple preservation and maintaining our own perfect paths is one that inherently discourages people from dreaming of bigger and better things. To want something more from the world is to risk falling into the “darkest timeline,” or to mess around too much with bigger forces than we can understand, so we should stick with what we have and tend our own patches of grass.
Simultaneously, however, the glut of movies where the multiverse is used as a simple plot device highlights the meaninglessness of the hero’s constant battle and sacrifice. In a space where the battles have to get bigger and the baddies have to get badder, the stakes become less and less consequential. In many ways, it exposes the futility of heroism in the face of how everything simply marches on. In addition, if the multiverse is analogous to the complexities of our modern world, where there are ever bigger, ever badder systems that move us through our lives regardless of our individual choices, it belies an exhaustion and meaninglessness at the heart of it. In the face of this creeping cynicism, the mega-franchise is not well-equipped to deal with it in any way other than rebooting the same ideas. It uses the Sisyphean question without ever answering it.
Still, I can’t help but feel like this line of thinking is pure hegemony. If multiversal theory is harnessed into a preservationist or conservative talking point, we lose sight of what I believe is the heart of our obsession with the multiverse, which, at its best, is a gateway to digest existentialist ideas. Taking the multiverse at face-value ignores what the chaos of a complex and interconnected world can promise us. The multiverse movie is an odd beast in that it insists on the existence of a world-changing agency (even the smallest choices can make a huge impact!) as well as the complete despair found in the notion of infinity (there are no stakes because every possible thing happens anyway). In the face of meaninglessness, the multiverse movie tries to give us imagination as the cure.
Take critical darling “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once” (2022), which confronts us with the ultimate truth about the multiverse through the character of Jobu Tupaki, the multiverse-hopping nihilist who uses her realization that nothing matters to fuel her destruction. Her perspective of the world is ultimately trumped by Evelyn, who stares into the abyss of the bagel and finds in it a world where she can do and be to a greater degree than she has ever experienced. As her imagination broadens her understanding of reality, reality becomes something that she finds joy in, both literally and figuratively. “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once” is about feeling like your own world is spinning out of control, but consoling you that if you begin to look at things differently, the possibilities for how you can change are endless. Within the chaos comes a real solution for change and survival by putting effort and meaning into overcoming old cycles. Beyond that, the areas of your life and the world that you are able to invest meaning in gain that much more value as a result of you giving them your attention.
Similarly, the recent premiere of Sony Pictures’ “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse,” the sequel to arguably one of the best multiverse movies of all time, has provoked online discussion of so-called “canon events,’‘ certain tragic losses that happen for every variant of Spiderman that make him a ‘real’ Spiderman. The ensuing online conversation about Spider-Verse takes the theory at face value, assigning arbitrary “universal” — and typically universally traumatic — experiences for every genre of human that is supposed to dictate some sort of preordained personality or lifepath. Given the amount of narratives surrounding fate and futility that exhaust us, it makes sense that we accept this piece of Spider-Verse’s multiverse theory into our vocabulary. Yet, it ignores the greater message of the film — that canon events ultimately don’t exist. Each world and each person has the capacity to change and grow, and with reliance on the self within a community, you are able to push past systems that seek to limit and define you. Spider-Verse exists as a pursuit of a third way, to have your cake and eat it too, in a world of your own making.
The radical nature of “Everything Everywhere All at Once” and “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse” is that they point to the possibilities of revolution and change that come as a result of using the chaos of the modern world to empower oneself — think of how the web of world connections and power runs with an intensity and momentum that feels hard to escape, yet single choices or events can cause aftershocks that reveal underlying fragility. Especially in this current moment, when revolution does feel very tangible, the multiverse has the answer for how we can strive to make meaning — and how that meaning can begin to break what we once knew to be reality.