Once we got over the origin story, we could really delve deeper

The words of Avi Arad—“Once we got over the origin story, we could really delve deeper into their lives and characters and angst. So this movie actually has more heart, more humor”—speak not only of cinema, but of the eternal human journey. Beneath the language of storytelling lies a timeless truth: that beginnings are only the foundation, not the fulfillment, of life’s great narrative. In his reflection on film, Arad reveals a universal principle—that once the origin story is known, whether of a hero or a human soul, the deeper story can begin: the tale not of creation, but of becoming.

In the realm of myth and art alike, every origin story serves the same sacred purpose—it shows us how a hero is born, but not who they will become. Arad, as the creator and producer behind many of the world’s great modern myths—the superhero sagas of Spider-Man, Iron Man, and others—understands this with the intuition of a philosopher disguised as a filmmaker. The first story is always the tale of transformation, of power discovered or destiny awakened. But after that moment, a greater story unfolds: one of conflict, emotion, and the fragile humanity that lingers beneath the mask. It is then that the tale gains heart, and in that heart, humor—for even heroes must laugh, lest the weight of their struggle crush them.

The origin of Arad’s wisdom comes from his own labor as a storyteller. In the world of cinema, the first film in a series must explain—the second, however, must reveal. Once the burden of explanation is lifted, the story can move beyond destiny and into depth. In this way, Arad reminds us that knowledge of beginnings is the gate to understanding life itself. Just as a filmmaker must move beyond the hero’s creation to explore their soul, so too must every human move beyond their past—their upbringing, their mistakes, their first victories—to uncover who they truly are. To remain in one’s “origin story” is to remain half-formed, bound by beginnings.

Consider the great heroes of ancient lore. The poet Homer, in The Odyssey, begins with the tale of Odysseus not at his birth, nor even at his triumph in Troy, but long after—when the hero must face himself in his return home. For once the wars are over and the glory fades, the true test begins. It is not strength that saves Odysseus, but cunning, humility, and the will to return to love and peace. In this, Arad’s insight finds ancient confirmation: the second act of any story is not about power gained, but power understood. The hero who cannot transcend his own beginning remains a prisoner of it.

When Arad speaks of the film having “more heart, more humor,” he is naming the essence of what gives any story—or any life—its soul. Heart is the courage to feel; humor is the grace to endure. Together they are what transform tragedy into wisdom and struggle into joy. To have heart is to suffer honestly, and to have humor is to rise from that suffering unbroken. The ancients knew this balance well: even in the darkest tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides, there is always a moment of irony, a flash of laughter through tears. It is this interplay of sorrow and levity that makes a story human—and thus eternal.

Arad’s words remind us that the deepest meaning is found beyond the beginning. Once we cease explaining who we are and begin living it, we gain both clarity and compassion. The heart learns to feel, and humor teaches it to forgive. So too in our own journeys: when we are young, we are busy telling our “origin stories”—our hardships, our dreams, the reasons we became who we are. But with time, we must go further. We must stop defining ourselves by our past and start shaping our present with courage and love.

Let this be the lesson carried forward: do not live forever in your origin story. It is sacred, but it is not final. Once you have told the story of your beginnings, step into the story of your becoming. Fill your days not with explanation, but with expression. Let your heart deepen, your laughter widen, and your life become the sequel worthy of your creation. For every soul, like every hero, must one day outgrow its myth in order to live its truth.

So heed the wisdom of Avi Arad, whose insight speaks to both artist and human: when you move beyond your beginning, you uncover your essence. When you dare to live with heart and humor, your story—like the greatest tales of old—ceases to be just entertainment. It becomes a testament to what it means to be alive, to grow, and to remain forever human beneath the armor of destiny.