Back in the late 80s and 90s, superhero films were in a weird place. For each giant success like Superman or Batman, Hollywood produced bombs like Howard the Duck or Double Dragon. Studios went for pulp-inspired adventures—The Rocketeer, The Shadow, Dick Tracy—but none of them resonated with audiences long-term. To most executives, superhero movies were little more than cheesy side ventures, far from high art.
Then Blade in 1998 arrived, and the game was altered. Wesley Snipes taking on the part of Marvel’s half-vampire fighter was a wake-up call. He wasn’t another comic book movie; he was an ambitious reinterpretation during a time when the genre had virtually no regard. Snipes injected a tough coolness, phenomenal martial arts abilities, and an undeniable presence that distinguished Blade immediately.
The character himself wasn’t exactly high-end Marvel fare. In the comics, Blade was first a specialty item—a funky 70s vampire slayer with an afro and colored glasses. But director Stephen Norrington and writer David S. Goyer thought there was more to it. They took away the camp, modernized his appearance with black leather and swords, and embraced gothic horror. What emerged was a hip, gory, R-rated action-horror hybrid that was utterly fresh. With its electronic score to its gore-fest fight scenes, Blade was the only thing in theaters that was quite like it.
But the true legacy of the film wasn’t the aesthetic. Blade was a turning point for Black superhero representation. Black heroes were all but nonexistent up to this point, and when they did come around, they were sidekicks or trapped in cliche storylines. Blade was the exception—he was the star, the powerhouse, the one around whom the story revolved. He was not cut down to be a side character; he was the hero.
Fans reacted. The film raked in $131 million globally—a huge hit for Marvel during its time. Two sequels succeeded it, with Guillermo del Toro’s Blade II especially solidifying the character’s cult following. Without Blade clearing the way, the early 2000s superhero boom—X-Men, Spider-Man, and ultimately the MCU—might have been a very different entity.
The fingerprints of the film are everywhere in the MCU. Its refusal to adhere to source material, its redos on costumes, and its grounding of comic book tales in real-world, darker themes paved the way for Marvel’s contemporary formula. When you look at the X-Men in black leather suits or the heroes in the MCU dealing with personal demons in addition to their abilities, you can follow those artistic decisions back to Blade.
Naturally, the genre did not remain on that course right away. Following Blade: Trinity in 2004, superhero movies turned toward PG-13 pleasers, and Black heroes fell out of the spotlight once more until Black Panther came ten years later. Nevertheless, Blade had already made the argument: audiences would support a Black superhero headlining his blockbuster.
Jump forward to the present, and Wesley Snipes has lapped back into Marvel lore in a surprising manner. His appearance in Deadpool & Wolverine thrilled die-hard fans and even gave him two Guinness World Records for longest career as a live-action Marvel actor and widest gap between appearances. Snipes confessed he was surprised Disney let it happen, particularly considering Mahershala Ali was already set to play the part.
Ali’s upcoming Blade reboot, though highly anticipated, has hit roadblocks with directors and production delays. Snipes, for his part, has been supportive—praising Ali’s talent while joking about the hiccups on social media. The hype around Ali’s version underscores just how high the stakes are for anyone stepping into Blade’s boots.
Blade’s story is about more than vampires or action sequences. It’s about the power of reinvention and representation to remake a whole genre. It’s about risking everything and reaping the rewards no one could have anticipated.
Blade began as some lost comic book anomaly, but on screen, he became something more: evidence that superheroes don’t have to sound one way, appear one way, or conform to Hollywood’s traditional blueprint. His impact still runs deep, and each hero who followed is a little in his debt.