BLERD AT THE MOVIES
Finally, a Batman movie that remembers Batman is a detective! Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle and Robert Pattinson as Batman in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) Welcome back to (At Home With) Blerd at the Movies, where I share what movies I've been watching at home (or at the theater but only if it's safe to do so) while socially distancing during the COVID-19 pandemic. Today's edition: After a massively successful trilogy helmed by Christopher Nolan and a detour into Synderland, the Dark Knight makes his triumphant return in The Batman, starring Robert Pattinson (yes, that Robert Pattinson) in what might be one of the most thematically and narratively compelling contemporary imaginings of the Caped Crusader I've seen in a long time. The Batman - Main Trailer | Courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment Title: The Batman Where to Watch: Exclusively in theaters. What's It About?: Two years of stalking the streets as the Batman, striking fear into the hearts of Gotham's criminals, has led Bruce Wayne (Robert Pattinson, Tenet) deep into the shadows of the city. When a masked killer called The Riddler (Paul Dano, Swiss Army Man) embarks on a brutal murder spree, Bruce begins unraveling a web of corruption, secrets, and lies that not only connects to some of the city's elite but also to the Wayne family. Joining forces with Lieutenant James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright, Marvel Studios' What If...?) and small-time thief Selina Kyle (Zoe Kravitz, High Fidelity), the evidence the fledgling vigilante finds not only brings him closer to uncovering his sadistic adversary's terrifying endgame but also forces him to reconsider his family's legacy. AUTHOR'S NOTE I was hoping to discuss this movie after doing a Batman movie rewatch, but, sadly, I was dealing with a hectic school schedule and mental health stuff. Hopefully, I can get around to rewatching some classic Bat-flicks and writing about them on here, but for now, I'll just talk about the newest one. If you haven't seen the movie yet, don't be alarmed; I've tried to keep the spoilers to either a minimum or none in this post. I know we tend to have conversations about whether spoilers ruin a story, but I tend to not spoil stuff because I want to be mindful of people who want to go into a story with a fresh pair of eyes. So, yeah, the spoilers will run slim to none on this post. Thanks for reading! Jeffrey Wright as Lieutenant James Gordon and Robert Pattinson as Batman in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) I have a love-hate relationship with Batman movies-- well, the contemporary ones, anyway. Part of this is because I grew up on the Burton-Schumacher era of Batman movies. Tim Burton's Batman (1989) and his 1992 sequel, Batman Returns, reveled in evoking sublime awe, dread, and wonder in drawing upon classic Gothic aesthetics (huge dark buildings peeking out from under the abyss, all-consuming shadows) and narrative tropes (Michael Keaton's Bruce Wayne as a brooding hero tortured by the memory of his parents being killed in front of him; Michelle Pfieffer's meek and be-spectacled Selina Kyle transforming into the leather-clad Catwoman doubles as a subversion of the "fallen woman" archetype; and, of course, Jack Nicholson's Joker who delights in twisting beloved childhood pranks and toys into disturbingly weird -- and sometimes humorous -- murder weapons) to make his vision of Batman and Gotham City distinctively unique and dark. Joel Schumacher, on the other hand, took a hard right into bright, acerbic neon pop-punk with 1995's Batman Forever and its 1997 sequel Batman & Robin. Gone was Keaton's deceptively nebbish and average Bruce Wayne, replaced by Val Kilmer and George Clooney (the latter would replace Kilmer for Batman & Robin). Kilmer and Clooney possessed 90s movie star good looks that emphasized their respective Bruce Waynes as billionaire playboys and their respective Batmen as prototypical superhero movie leads who never fail to beat the bad guys and get the girl. Furthermore, the late Schumacher, who was an openly queer artist for much of his career, wasn't afraid to play around with the textual and subtextual queer perceptions of Batman. Although not explicitly queer (and not quite the best Bat-movies of the bunch), Batman Forever and Batman & Robin managed to work in queer elements into an international blockbuster franchise with a predominantly cishet male fanbase -- all while pissing off said fanbase without a care in the world. From Batman and Robin's rubber suits depicting an idealized form of the male body (and, yes, that includes nipples) and the underlying exploration of male bisexuality and same-sex desire between Jim Carrey's Riddler and Kilmer's Batman in Batman Forever to Uma Thurman's Poison Ivy introducing herself as Gotham's sexiest new villain on the block with a dance routine that homages queer icon Marlene Dietrich's dance number from Blonde Venus in Batman & Robin (In fact, much of Thurman's iconic performance consistently pitches itself towards camp and drag, so much so that RuPaul's Drag Race alum Laganja Estranja put out a single and a music video with an aesthetic inspired by Thurman's take on the iconic Batman villain.), it's clear that Schumacher wanted to explore the queer undertones of Batman's pocket of the DC Comics Universe and even Batman himself. Then, Christopher Nolan happened. It wouldn't be until 2005 when Nolan brought the Dark Knight back to the big-screen following Batman & Robin's poor box office haul in the late nineties. Batman Begins not only introduced a greater swath American moviegoers to British-born actor Christian Bale, whose handsome good looks had been used to disarming (and chilling) effect in 2000's American Psycho and wound up coming in handy for his Bruce Wayne, but it also introduced audiences to a gritty, hyper-realistic version of Gotham City that bore a striking resemblance to Chicago rather than New York City, which had historically been the basis of most versions of Gotham in various adaptations. The Nolan era of Batman films were famous for its emphasis on the psychology of Batman and his rogues' gallery, which the acclaimed filmmaker explored with mixed results. In her ten-year retrospective of 2008's The Dark Knight, which is largely considered the best live-action Batman movie, writer Princess Weekes called the film the best and worst thing to ever happen to not only superhero movies, but also to Batman films as a whole: "Despite its cinematic brilliance, [The Dark Knight] was a movie that really turned the film image of the Batman into an unfunny, stuffy mess. It is by no means a current hot take to say that you find The Dark Knight a great movie but not a great Batman movie." In fact, Weekes' take on The Dark Knight sums up my feelings on the Nolan era as a whole. Batman Begins is a great psychological drama that explores the toll trauma and grief takes on a person as well as how trauma and grief informs one's relationships with others and themselves. But, it's not a great Batman movie. The Dark Knight is a great crime thriller that owes a lot of credit to Se7en, Zodiac, L.A. Confidential, and Chinatown more than its purported inspiration, Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale's iconic but harrowing comic Batman: The Long Halloween. But, it's not a great Batman movie. (It is, however, more interesting when the focus shifts to Aaron Eckhart's Harvey Dent and his tragic crusade to help Gotham trust the legal system again, as well as how Dent and Joker, played by the late Heath Ledger, are a stronger pair of dueling philosophies and psychologies than Joker and Batman.) As for The Dark Knight Rises.... well, it gave us a spirited performance by Tom Hardy as the hulking behemoth Bane (and the brutal recreation of Bane breaking Batman's back in the Knightfall storyline), an underrated performance by Anne Hathaway as Selina Kyle, and a hilarious College Humor sketch where Batman has a dirty mind at the worst time possible. But, once again, it just wasn't a great Batman movie. To many, Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy remains the gold standard for superhero movies. To me, we give Nolan's trilogy far too much credit for essentially being basic live-action recreations of better Batman tales, like the aforementioned Knightfall and The Long Halloween -- and, years later, a number of elements (e.g. Ledger's Joker, Bale's Batman, and Nolan's non-descript Gotham City) haven't aged that well. Four years after the release of The Dark Knight Rises, Zack Snyder offered a new take on the Caped Crusader. This time, Snyder looked to legendary writer Frank Miller's seminal Batman story, The Dark Knight Returns, for inspiration. As a result, the latest Batman was depicted as older than Henry Cavill's thirty-something Superman, first introduced in 2013's Man of Steel, and far less morally staunch. Ben Affleck was tapped to play this older, jaded Bruce, who feels compelled to return to his vigilante after witnessing Superman and General Zod's destruction of Metropolis in the dark opening sequence of 2016's Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Unlike other fans, I thought the casting of Affleck was a solid choice. After all, Affleck proved he was still a strong actor thanks to acclaimed films like Gone Girl and Argo, so I had hope. Looking back, I think Affleck was a solid Caped Crusader and a decent Bruce Wayne. In a movie where the greatest enemy was an awful script bursting with egregious Christ symbolism, dorm room philosophy debates about morality and saviorism (among other things), zero character development, and forced fan service moments as opposed to actual plot and character-driven scenes, Affleck did the best he could do with a script that roundly failed him and his co-stars. (Both versions of Justice League would do just the same, proving that a pretentious, four-hour-long director's cut can't rehabilitate a "Snyderverse" whose biggest mistake will always be the movies that came before it. I can only hope that The Flash does right by Affleck's Batman when he returns alongside Keaton's.) Snyder crafted a Batman that was both a grave misinterpretation of Miller's ideas in The Dark Knight Returns and an unnecessary snipe at Disney and Marvel Studios for sticking to bright colors, a cheerful tone, and the same formula for so many years (because, apparently, that's all MCU movies and TV shows seem to be the hordes of filmmakers and "cinephiles" who've come out the woodwork to criticize them rather than looking at the intrinsic issues of the present day film industry). All of this is to say that I wasn't initially looking forward to The Batman. If we were to exclude voice actors like Kevin Conroy, Will Friedle, Will Arnett, Jensen Ackles, and Troy Baker -- all of whom voiced Batman across videogames and/or animation -- as well as Titans' Iain Glen and Gotham's David Mazouz, we've officially had nine actors who've donned the Bat cape and cowl. That's a lot of Batmen. Former vampire-turned-indie-darling Robert Pattinson would have to bring something new to the character in order to stand out among the sea of Caped Crusaders. Even if he could though, I wondered what was the point in bringing Batman back to the big screen. We were only a couple years removed from Affleck's appearance in Zack Snyder's Justice League and the Internet's favorite actor Keanu Reeves is already set to voice Batman in the upcoming animated feature DC's League of Super-Pets. Furthermore, Warner Bros. Pictures was already taking advantage of the characters living in the Bat-pocket of DC Comics, handing Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn three live-action films and tapping lesser-known Bat-villains Ratcatcher II and Polka Dot-Man for last year's endearingly chaotic The Suicide Squad. (And this is without mentioning Todd Phillips' 2019 Joker, an arthouse, edgelord take on the Clown Prince of Crime that's as egregious in its borrowing of Martin Scorsese's The King of Comedy or Taxi Driver -- which also happen to be better movies than Joker -- as it is basic in its commentary on social inequality and mental illness.) Did we really need another Batman movie? Wouldn't DC and Warner Bros.' money and energy be better spent in adapting other DC characters for film and TV (or actually addressing Ray Fisher's repeated calls for accountability following the actor speaking out against the horrific behavior filmmaker Joss Whedon subjected him to on set and for Geoff Johns, Jon Berg, and Walter Hamada's enabling of Whedon as well as the studio's racist and discriminatory actions)? It all just seemed like too much far too soon, and all at the expense of other DC characters who were absolutely worthy of their own film and TV adaptations. (I mean, Midnighter and Apollo are literally right there.) Instead of writing this new Batman movie off, I decided to give it a chance. After all, director Matt Reeves (Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, War for the Planet of the Apes) had to have something new to offer if Warner Bros. and DC were confident enough with entrusting him the keys to the Batmobile. With The Batman, Reeves -- who co-wrote the screenplay with Peter Craig -- surprisingly shows all avenues of live-action Batman storytelling haven't been exhausted just yet. We've seen Batman dare to challenge Superman (and an overly-kinetic Jesse Eisenberg). We've seen Batman play the part of a Gothic-tinged Byronic hero. But we've never seen Batman embody his title of "The World's Greatest Detective" on the big screen the way video games and animation have done so. A bleak, complex fusion of neo-noir, the Gothic, psychological drama, and true crime, The Batman might be one of the best contemporary adaptations of the Caped Crusader I've seen in a long time -- and this is coming from someone who still thinks the gold-standard of Batman movies is Batman '89 and Batman Returns. A New (and Familiar) Gotham An aerial shot of a terrifying scene in Gotham City in The Batman. If you've seen the movie, then you know what I'm talking about. (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) Much like the Caped Crusader, audiences have seen his home of Gotham City in various forms. In Burton's Batman duology, Gotham is a dark and surreal hellscape; its buildings don't look like they were built by man. In fact, the buildings look like they've sprouted out of the ground, creating a city of horrors. The narrow streets and alleyways of Gotham's exterior feel simultaneously supernatural and noir, the fog and shadows seemingly acting like a thick barrier between the land of the living and the land of the unnatural. It's no wonder Burton's Batman thrives in the shadows, taking advantage of them to scare the foolish criminals who run rampant in the streets. To Schumacher, Gotham is the gay nightclub that isn't checking IDs at the door. Whereas the unnatural was to be feared in Burton's vision, Schumacher thrives off the strange and unusual. Neon lights, gargoyles, and loud colors clash in a visually overwhelming but emotionally enticing blend of punk and classical aesthetic that leans heavily into the surrealism of Burton's Gotham while also embracing camp. Schumacher's Gotham is unabashedly 90s and queer, his Gotham has more in common with a superhero or 90s-themed night at a WeHo drag bar than a facsimile to real-world NYC or Chicago. Moreover, Batman, Robin, and their rogues' gallery don't seem out of place themselves. (In fact, you get the impression that Bruce and Dick seem more comfortable in their vigilante gear rather than as just themselves; to some degree, Bruce and Dick's comfortability as Batman and Robin, when compared to their comfortability as just Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, can definitely lend itself to some queer readings... but that's a post for another time.) Schumacher's vision of Gotham is a strobe-light-laden safe haven for the outcasts, something I've come to appreciate about Batman Forever and Batman & Robin as a queer adult. When Nolan came on board to resuscitate the Batman's big-screen image, not only was Burton's vision of Gothic horror scrubbed from the record so was Schumacher's vision of neon, queer-punk fantasy. Instead, Gotham was recast as an average American city struggling with the crime and corruption that threatened to swallow it whole. (Given that Batman Begins was released four years following the horrific events of 9/11, one could argue that Nolan's Gotham was part of a growing trend of superhero media adaptations reckoning with the existence of superheroes and their stories in multimedia stories post-9/11.) This Gotham looks no different from any other city in America, and that was the point. While his Gotham was based off of Chicago, Nolan's Gotham could be a stand-in for any city. If Burton drew horror from the near-mythic proportions of Batman's existence, Nolan drew horror from the real-world spikes in criminal activities, appalling acts of political misconduct and corruption, and growing concerns of increased domestic and global terrorism. (As for Snyder, his vision of Gotham is nonexistent; Gotham exists in his cinematic universe but it isn't visually and thematically defined, a problem also present in Man of Steel's depictions of Smallville and Metropolis. It might as well be an Easter egg than an actual setting.) So, what about Reeves's Gotham? Although he discussed how his Gotham would be different from its predecessors prior to The Batman's release, Reeves' vision often feels like a visual and thematic homage to the filmmakers before him. Like Nolan, Reeves' Gotham takes inspiration from a major American city (this time, he returns to New York City, the longtime visual inspiration for Gotham) but his vision incorporates elements from previous imaginings of Gotham. For instance, Burton relied on shadows to obscure both his Dark Knight and Gotham City; criminals hid in the shadows before striking their victims (e.g. the newly transformed Joker slowly emerging from the shadows to kill the boss who set him up during a job), and Batman did the same. Thanks to the shadows, no one knew when and where Batman would strike. Moreover, no criminal really knew what Batman looked like... until it was too late. In The Batman, we're treated to appropriately gravelly and brooding voiceover from Bruce about how criminals on the streets think he's always hiding in the shadows, watching them before attacking them. Much like Batman '89, the shadows is the source of every street thug's fear; none of them know when Batman would appear, they just believed that he was all around them, watching and waiting for the right time to emerge. When Batman finally emerges from the shadows, we get a surprisingly blunt and chilling fight between Batman and a group of thugs (all of whom are sporting make-up inspired by iconic villains Two-Face and Joker); he throws a few quick punches (the sound and motion of which feel like homages to the Batman: Arkham video games) to a gang before the group disperses. Yet, Reeves draws a key distinction between his Gotham and Burton's Gotham in the film's first fight. When Keaton's Batman takes out a pair of street thugs, there is a sense of relief that washes away the fear and confusion viewers might have when they first see him. Gotham is protected by an unlikely guardian angel and, just for a moment, things feel safe and sound. When Pattinson's Batman (more on him soon) takes out criminals, there's a sense that this gang is only the beginning. Batman's job is far from done; he's just simply delayed one crime for the night. Even Bruce himself notes (via voiceover) that he can't be everywhere at once, so there might be other thieves and criminals out on the streets getting away with something illegal. That realization is appropriately bleak and helpless -- and that might be a good way to describe Reeves' Gotham, a city that is in deep distress and agony. Even its own self-appointed guardian feels it; Gotham's apparent helplessness and despair affects Bruce to the point where he questions if Batman is creating more problems rather than solving them. Such an idea isn't new; it's been explored in previous Batman stories across different platforms, but the live-action films have shied away from this for awhile (and, to be fair, I get it. Superhero media is meant to be aspirational and hopeful; audiences want to walk away thinking that the GCPD will come away with a greater understanding of Batman and accept his help rather than reject it). Similar to Batman '89, the first character the audience meets in The Batman is Gotham, and Reeves doesn't shy away from showing us the city -- a cramped, busy, and dark setting that evokes unease and fear long before Batman appears in frame -- and the crime, corruption, and lies eating away at its heart. Gotham's exterior appropriately reflects its rotted core, and its hero appropriately struggles with how to undo the damage. At one point, via broody voiceover, Bruce admits that he fears his violent, vengeful physicality wasn't fixing any of the real problems, making this live-action depiction of Gotham City the bleakest one to date. The Batman makes Gotham as complex and flawed as the man who swore to protect it, taking concepts that are usually left in the background of previous Batman films and bringing them front and center. Instead of relying on the rogues' gallery to symbolize Gotham's decent into corruption and darkness, The Batman illustrates that its the dishonesty, misconduct, greed, and abuse of power committed by Gotham's finest, mere human beings, not fearsome clown princes of crime or poisonous eco-terrorists, that put the city on the fast track to hell. Presenting Gotham in this fashion is not only key to understanding but also the motives of Paul Dano's disturbing reimagining of the Riddler. The Batman is one of the few modern superhero/comic book movies that treats its setting like a main character and allowing that setting to help inform both the hero associated with it and the themes and ideas the filmmakers are toying with. While many Batman fans may not find this version of Gotham brand new (to be fair, this Gotham has been commonplace in comics for awhile), it is still a fresh, dynamic, multi-faceted take on a beloved comic book locale. Battinson Begins Robert Pattinson as Batman in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) When I first learned of Pattinson's casting, I didn't outright dismiss it. In the years since The Twilight Saga, Pattinson has proven that he's more than just Edward Cullen -- and, when given the right script (e.g. Good Time and Damsel), he can be a dynamic actor. The Batman takes advantage of Pattinson's status as one of Hollywood's leading emo men of the late '00s -- smeared black eye makeup, greasy black hair, Nirvana playlist and all -- but Pattinson brings a new vision of Bruce Wayne and Batman to the table. Rather than portraying Bruce as a billionaire playboy throwing lavish parties at Wayne Manor, Pattinson plays Bruce as a broken, angry, and scarred young man deeply dedicated to his increasingly singular mission of vengeance. Looking beyond the emo-inspired exterior, this Bruce is far more traumatized and angry than previous live-action iterations of the character, and it makes for frightening and heartbreaking viewing. Probably more so than previous (live-action) depictions of Bruce Wayne, I felt a lot for Pattinson's Bruce; if you take away the black makeup and the Nirvana hits, Bruce is still the scared little boy kneeling over the bodies of his deceased parents. This Bruce seems to be replaying that trauma in his head constantly in this film, and it informs his interactions with other characters, especially Andy Serkis's Alfred. I guess it's because I'm so used to seeing Bruce and Alfred quite close in animation and live-action, watching this Bruce act so cold with this Alfred made me sad. It's obvious that Alfred wants to connect with Bruce, act as the father figure he believes the man needs, but it is also obvious that the emotional trauma that Bruce carries from that fateful night is what keeps him from getting close to anyone. Another aspect of Pattinson's Bruce and Batman that I found interesting is that he's awkward in and out of costume. It reminded me of Keaton, but his version of Bruce was awkward and somewhat nebbish as a means of separating the billionaire from his dark, quiet, brooding, and enigmatic vigilante persona. Pattinson's Bruce, on the other hand, is awkward and disconnected -- as is his Batman. This Batman is not good in interpersonal situations that have nothing to do with his mission, nor is this Bruce good at interacting with anyone in general. He tends to come in with either anger or mistrust, and Pattinson doesn't shy away from showing this darker side of Bruce. Because of that, I do imagine that some viewers, whether they are Batman fans or not, will have a hard time connecting with this iteration of Bruce and Batman. Not only does this Batman operate in an overtly moral gray area compared to others, but this version of Bruce is probably far more jaded and standoffish than previous ones as well. As for me, I was surprised by how much I really connected with this Bruce and Batman altogether. If I had to pinpoint a particular issue I had with this Bruce and Batman, it would be the screenplay's inability to further flesh out the emotional aspect of the character. Clearly, Pattinson's Bruce is carrying not just anger and trauma but also an unhealthy amount of guilt. As the film progresses, Bruce slowly shrinks (emotionally) back into being that scared little boy who became an orphan after a mugging gone awry, but the script struggles to make these particular character beats resonate -- as if they aren't as interesting as the moments when Batman is beating the crap out of a vigilante. And, frankly, that's always something that irked me about the depiction of Bruce Wayne in modern Bat-movies. For some reason, filmmakers don't seem to find the emotional and psychological layers (despite how hard Nolan tried to convince me otherwise) of Bruce Wayne's story all that fascinating. The Batman has the same issue, but I would argue that understanding the emotional and psychological layers of Bruce Wayne is key to understanding Batman's mission, even if the motives -- and the man behind the mask -- are difficult to pin down. As the film's second act comes to an end, that is when The Batman begins to care more about the emotional trauma Bruce is repressing. As a result, The Batman's script does Pattinson a disservice in this regard; the actor is capable of portraying emotionally complex characters, as evidenced by his amazing performance in Good Time, yet the script is so afraid to delve deeper into the emotional side of Bruce Wayne. Doing so leads to Pattinson's Bruce Wayne becoming somewhat one-note as the film goes on. For anyone still on the fence about watching this movie, the screenplay's depiction of Bruce Wayne -- and, by extension, Pattinson's performance -- can indeed be a real deal-breaker. Ultimately, Pattinson succeeds at portraying a morally grey and complex Batman. But the script does hold up his Bruce Wayne, despite the fact that he conveys hints of Bruce's anger, trauma, and pain. The Batman could have done better here. A Riddler for Our Current True Crime Craze Paul Dano as The Riddler in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) If there's one standout performance in The Batman, that honor goes to Paul Dano as the Riddler. A far cry from Jim Carrey's memorably bonkers (and quintessentially 90s) iteration of The Riddler in Batman Forever, Dano's Riddler is reimagined seemingly to reflect the ongoing fascination with true crime. But if his Riddler were solely designed as a walking visual and narrative reference to infamous criminal cases -- most notably, the Riddler's new look and penchant for ciphers are obvious references to the Zodiac Killer -- then it would make for a lazy and uninspired take on a beloved villain (Not to mention, it runs the risk of fetishizing a deadly killer who was never apprehended and had a massive impact on those involved with the case.) Thankfully, this Riddler isn't just a cinematic riff on the Zodiac Killer, nor is he DC's answer to Se7en's terrifying antagonist John Doe. This iteration of Riddler is probably one of the most unsettling live-action DC villains to date. Yes, he ticks all the boxes of the classic, genius white male serial killer that has become a go-to archetype in pop culture (e.g. Hannibal Lecter and Jim Moriarty), but what makes this Riddler particularly unsettling is how much he mirrors Batman. Like Batman, the Riddler is fueled by a righteous anger at the corruption, misconduct, and dishonesty that incessantly eats at Gotham and leaves its citizens living in constant terror. Whereas Batman takes his fight to the streets, the Riddler takes his fight straight to the source: the corrupt bureaucrats who have severely abused their power and profited off of citizens' anger and despair. As the movie the goes on, the viewer is left wondering if Batman and Riddler are two sides of the same coin. Again, not an entirely new concept because this has been featured in comic books for quite a while. Even Batman Forever sees the villain position himself as Batman's intellectual equal, taking the Dark Knight on a wild goose chase purely for his own twisted delight. But The Batman takes this duality to darker, more uncomfortable places, further calling into question the methodology of Batman's retributive mission, as well as forcing Bruce to confront the complicated emotions driving him to fully cloak himself within the confines of his alter-ego. As someone who's more familiar with Dano's performances in lighter films like Little Miss Sunshine, Ruby Sparks, and Swiss Army Man, I wasn't fully prepared for this dark performance. With his face covered for a majority of the film, Dano relies on his physicality and his voice to sell the audience on an unsettling and disturbing reimagining of this character -- and he succeeds. Because his face is covered, the Riddler was particularly creepy for me as he could have been anyone. Maybe a jilted politician or a criminal making a power grab; it is unclear for a majority of the movie. Once the mask comes off, the reveal that the Riddler is just an unknown, bespectacled man was undoubtedly creepy. Of course, it is a subtle reference to Ted Bundy's infamous proclamations that society is unable to identify evil people without relying on stereotypes and that serial killers are everywhere lying in wait, but Dano's normal, everyman appearance has a reverse-Spider-Man 2 type of effect. It's hard to believe that someone so plain and seemingly harmless could do immense harm another human being, which might be one of the many reasons of why many of us -- myself included -- are fascinated by the growing landscape of true crime content. Behind the Riddler mask is just a very angry, very volatile man enraged by the current state of society, and Dano does a fantastic job at conveying that relatable anger. Riddler's outbursts are equal parts understandable and chilling; even the voice he puts on while under the mask sounds like a guttural monster emerging from the shadows. When he's out of the mask, Dano's soft-spokenness and eerie calmness is probably even more chilling. With or without a mask, Dano delivers a standout performance from beginning to end. (Without going into spoilers, I know the scene where Batman finally confronts Riddler face-to-face is divisive, but, personally, I thought it was a good scene. The way Riddler can go from calm to angry -- and even delighted -- at the drop of a hat is a creepy testament to Dano's brilliant performance in the film.) While The Batman doesn't necessarily dive into the psychology of the Riddler, it does give its antagonist a surprisingly understandable motivation (which I won't give away here) that positions him as a mirror to the Dark Knight and his billionaire alter-ego. The Riddler forces Batman to come to terms with not only the gaps in his quest for vengeance and justice, but also his influence on others. When we pour over Batman's rogues' gallery, we tend to think the Joker is the Dark Knight's one, true villain. It's a dynamic reinforced throughout different adaptations over so many years, but The Batman smartly avoids making the Joker the primary antagonist (a move that it should continue if the film gets a sequel). Instead, The Batman remembers that the Dark Knight has other villains (finally!) and explores where they stand in this version of Gotham City. Given that this Riddler is inspired by our current true crime craze (and that he is just a bespectacled, lanky, and angry white man), the film runs the risk of once again fetishizing the concept of a genius white male serial killer instead of actually considering that white men get away with -- and then become immortalized in pop culture because of -- such heinous crimes because, well, they're white and the standards for punishing white folks' transgressions and crimes are just non-existent in this country. Moreover, it runs the risk of making this Riddler sound like pop culture's idea of an incel. Again, Riddler has a surprisingly relatable motivation and the film does a great job at positioning Riddler and Batman as two sides of the same coin, but he can easily be read as an edgelord on the verge of going full QAnon by other viewers. I attribute this to the script's failure to further deepen this character's emotions and how understanding those emotions can help the viewer understand his motivation. Instead, Reeves and Craig wait to play their cards towards the end, but, by then, it is too late. Despite The Batman coming up somewhat short in this regard, Dano elevates a character that can easily be dismissed as liberal (but not really) Hollywood's vision of white dude incel-turned-killer. It's a creepy performance, and Dano deserves all the praise for his work here. A Mixed Bag of a Supporting Cast Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) Featuring the likes of Zoe Kravitz, Jeffrey Wright, Colin Farrell, and Andy Serkis, you would think that The Batman's supporting cast would fire on all cylinders. Unfortunately, the screenplay gives some actors great material to work with while others are left circling the drain. Kravitz is the latest actress to bring to life one of Batman's most famous foils, Catwoman (a.k.a. Selina Kyle). On paper, this reimagining of Selina is interesting. Unlike Bruce, Selina experiences firsthand what it is like to scrape together a living on the streets of Gotham. When she's not a small-time thief, Selina works at Oswald Cobblepot's Iceberg Lounge entertaining the male clientele alongside her female colleagues -- and, clearly, it's just a means to an end. Moreover, Selina is protective of a close friend (or implied love interest; Selina's implied bisexuality is not the representation Kravitz and the film's writers think it is), implying that no one is truly looking out for the women who work in Gotham's sex work industry and that Selina is taking it upon herself to watch out for herself and the people she's close to. In a film where we spend a lot of time dealing with Gotham's corrupt elite, the scenes where we hit the streets and see up-close the erosion caused by the corruption, misconduct, and dishonesty from rich elites would have been fascinating, especially when they are shown through Selina's eyes. While I wouldn't go as far as saying that cutting Selina out wouldn't have affected the movie much, I do wish The Batman gave Selina a more pronounced role. For the most part, Selina acts as the catalyst for Bruce to look beyond his privileged upbringing and nothing else. Throughout the comics, Selina has served as more than a facilitator of Bruce's emotional development, but The Batman can't find much else to do with her. Despite Kravitz's solid performance, the screenplay ties Selina down to the men around her, limiting how much her character can do and how much she can be developed. As iconic as Batman and Catwoman are together (I mean, have you seen Batman Returns?), I would have loved to have seen Selina be on her own a bit more. Maybe HBO Max can greenlight that Catwoman spin-off on top of that Penguin one, yeah? Speaking of Penguin, Farrell is a scene-stealer throughout. Fat suit usage aside, Farrell's Cobblepot is deceptively non-threatening; at first glance, he seems like a loudmouth lout fine with being a second-string gangster and righthand man to Gotham's biggest crime boss Carmine Falcone (a brilliant and menacing John Turturro). For the most part, the film portrays him that way, but Farrell finds moments to hint at Cobblepot's cunning, violent side. He's not afraid to match wits with Batman, let alone afraid of the vigilante's very presence in their first scene together. If anything, Oz can't help but laugh at the guy -- and, in a way, the audience is given permission to laugh at Oz, who is definitely underestimating Batman. Sure, Cobblepot will make you laugh now and again, but he isn't fully comic relief. Of course, the film holds back on Cobblepot because of the aforementioned Penguin spin-off, but I do look forward to seeing more of Farrell as the Penguin. In terms of allies, Batman really only has one throughout the movie: Lieutenant James Gordon, played by the engaging Jeffrey Wright. As Gotham's only good cop, Wright is appropriately stoic and determined; he and Batman may disagree, but Gordon never wavers in his trust in the vigilante. Although Batman says very little to him, Gordon proves to be one of the few morally upstanding people Bruce trusts and respects. The Batman shows hints of Gordon's disbelief in the corruption and dishonesty that has managed to touch members of the GCPD, but we don't get to spend enough time with Gordon to understand how it affects him. It's a side-effect of this film's slight emotional constipation, as well as pop culture's issues with exploring the emotional undercurrents within portrayals of masculinity. I know this is set during Batman's second year as a vigilante, but Gordon's relationship to Gotham and its moral and ethical erosion is an interesting layer left largely ignored for some reason. Nonetheless, Wright makes for a great Jim Gordon, and I hope he comes back for the sequel. As for Alfred, Serkis gives a quiet, understated performance as Bruce's surrogate father figure. It's difficult to watch Bruce and Alfred be so distant with each other, but, given this interpretation of Bruce Wayne, it makes sense that the two of them are struggling to be on the same page. Unfortunately, the film doesn't devote as much time to fleshing out this relationship as it should have. Of all the relationships Bruce has in the comic books, his and Alfred's is probably the strongest and most resonant. It's a shame that The Batman treats it like an afterthought. The Batman & Today's Sociopolitical Climate Robert Pattinson as Bruce Wayne, looking pensively at someone or something (it's kind of his thing), in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) Can I be honest with you? I have been disillusioned with Batman for quite awhile. Not because of the Nolan and Snyder movies, nor was it because of the current spate of Bat-comics (though I'm sure there are some good books out there). Rather, it's because of the memes. Since joining social media, I've seen meme-ified versions of this particular thought: "If crime so bad in Gotham, why doesn't Bruce use his money to fund public welfare programs instead of wearing a bat costume?" When I first saw some of these memes on Tumblr (and later Instagram), I didn't understand the underlying message. I just laughed at the image of an adult man punching another adult man dressed like a clown that popped into my head. In the few years since, I now understand that, for some, the idea of a rich white man (though orphaned as a result of a horrific tragedy) fighting petty criminals to fulfill a singular goal rather than actually combatting the systemic inequalities that push those to crime is one that leaves a sour taste in their mouths. Moreover, in a post-global BLM marches landscape, the image of a masked vigilante working with the police and using excessive force to help them apprehend criminals is even more stomach-churning. Clearly, this aspect weighed on Reeves' mind because The Batman attempts to start a pertinent discussion on class divide, wealth inequality, and white male privilege (among other topics). Key to Bruce learning and understanding the true meaning of justice and heroism is him being forced to confront his privilege. Many of the people he encounters in and out of costume talks mad sh*t about rich white guys like him and how they ignore the plight of the poor and working-class. When the film begins, Bruce is driven entirely by a desire for vengeance -- and his extremely limited worldview, something that multiple characters, including the Riddler and Selina, note without hesitation. He views himself and himself alone as the answer to Gotham's crime epidemic, but fails to acknowledge the complexities and nuances of such a crime wave as well as morality and ethics. For example, as Batman, Bruce has no problem slut-shaming Selina and her friend for being in the sex work industry, dismissively saying that their line of work will be what does them in. What Bruce doesn't do is consider Selina's circumstances and how they pushed her to becoming a thief in the first place, showing clear ignorance about the lives of folks who weren't born with a silver spoon in their mouth like he was. I'll admit, watching characters call Bruce out on his privilege was cathartic, especially after two years of watching Karens run amok during the pandemic and the rise of white male "cultural criticism artists" like Adam McKay and Jon Stewart, who seem to think that they hold the solution to urgent global issues such as the climate crisis, racism, and systematic inequality. Reeves argues that confronting privilege is key to Bruce becoming a more effective hero and a more compassionate human being. In this regard, The Batman creates a successful and compelling character arc for Bruce Wayne and his alter-ego, elevating him from being just another superhero who's superpowers are wealth and white privilege. However, The Batman does struggle with naturally interweaving and critically analyzing a few other sociopolitical topics that it brings to the table. The biggest example is Batman's alliance with the GCPD (specifically Gordon), as the vigilante works closely with the police force to bring down Riddler. While some of the cops are appalled to be working with a vigilante working outside of the structures of law and order, Batman's presence isn't outright challenged, let alone rejected. A few friends I've talked to about the film have said they walked away with the feeling that The Batman is a bit too pro-cop or copaganda-ish for their liking, and I can understand where they're coming from. One of the most haunting visuals from this film is the teased shot of the GCPD swarming a diner where the Riddler is having a cup of coffee. As he slowly turns to reveal his face and surrender, we're treated to a shot of a horde of cops, guns drawn, waiting to pounce on the villain. In a post- "racial reckoning" (can you hear the sarcasm?) world, that shot is somehow just as terrifying as the reveal that the Riddler is just some average dude with a kewpie doll face sporting some glasses and a slight bowl-cut. Speaking of the Riddler, another example lies with how his motivations and actions are depicted. As I mentioned earlier, it's very easy to view the Riddler as an angry, alienated white man who wants to get revenge on a world that's overlooked him, despite the fact that his motivations are rooted in an understandable place of fury, pain, and trauma. How the Riddler's grand scheme comes together in the third act, unfortunately, reinforces the initial interpretation of the Riddler as a white edgelord guy who wants to burn the world down because he hates not being paid attention to; it does a great disservice to a character who raises some valid points regarding the misguided singularity of Batman's quest for retributive justice. The Batman also misses an opportunity to engage in a critical conversation regarding Gotham's sex work industry and how the women who work in such an industry are largely left vulnerable to all forms of violence; we see hints of it when the film focuses on Selina, but it's not given the same amount of importance as issues of class, privilege, and masculinity (even though the nature of sex work can absolutely intersect with others). Now, I'm not writing off The Batman as a total failure for not engaging with these topics. Although superhero comics have always been political and certain superhero movies have managed to engage in sociopolitical commentary quite successfully, "getting political" isn't an automatic marker of success for a superhero movie. In fact, there are still conversations floating around about the ideological ambiguity (and incoherence) of Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy. Additionally, Snyder denied that he has a right-wing political agenda following the release of Dawn of Justice, which led The New Yorker to publish an article arguing the film is just Democrats versus Republicans. (No, really; that is a real article from The New Yorker.) To put it plainly, I'm not against superhero movies getting political; I welcome it, actually. But showing awareness of sociopolitcal matters is different from critically engaging with them. The Batman does a lot of the former rather than the latter. The film's exploring of class and wealth divide is admittedly surface-level and not that revolutionary, but it is one of the few Batman adaptations to actually explore such topics in relation to superheroes possessing great wealth and class privilege. As for other topics, like sex work and the police, The Batman could have done more, and it's a shame that it didn't. Much like Bruce Wayne, Reeves and Craig have a narrow worldview preventing them from greater engagement and analysis of the very social issues it wants to comment on. Turning Off the Bat Signal (a.k.a. In Conclusion) Robert Pattinson as Batman in The Batman (Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) Honestly, I was surprised by The Batman. Returning to the Caped Crusader's detective roots, director/co-writer Matt Reeves and co-writer Peter Craig throw it back to classic chilling dark mystery thrillers like Se7en, The Silence of the Lambs, and Zodiac and underrated neo-noir flicks like Klute, Brick, and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (whether you prefer Rooney Mara or Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander is on you, fam. I won't judge.) to craft one of the most complex interpretations of the Dark Knight and his home of Gotham City to date. With subtle homages to the Batman films of the past (namely Burton's embrace of the Gothic and Nolan's psychological realism angle), The Batman somehow manages to make Bruce Wayne and his alter-ego even darker and moodier than ever before, but it's not doing that for the sake of being dark and gritty. Nor is it doing that because it knows emo Battinson makes for great Twitter chatter. Rather the dark, moody, and sometimes creepy nature of the movie serves a purpose, something I can't say for previous Bat-flicks (i.e. Nolan's "elevated superhero cinema" trilogy and Snyder's hypermasculine fever dream flicks). Robert Pattinson's Batman is appropriately dark, odd, and sometimes creepy, but his Bruce Wayne is a surprisingly wounded, highly misanthropic soul bearing the scars of his childhood trauma and refusing to confront it head-on. It's a different kind of Batman that won't be for everyone, but, personally, I loved it. Pattinson fused the best elements of Michael Keaton, Christian Bale, and Ben Affleck's portrayals while also creating an entirely unique and fresh take on the character that is authentically and distinctly his. Although I will forever adore Jim Carrey's mad-as-a-box-of-cats Riddler from Batman Forever, Paul Dano's take is deeply unsettling and creepy. While this Riddler traffics in some unsavory tropes of our current true crime-obsessed moment (namely, the genius, white male serial killer archetype), Dano delivers a powerful performance that is highly upsetting. Many Batman stories have crystallized the Joker as Batman's One True Enemy (OTE, trademark pending), but The Batman reminds us that there are other villains who have a lot more in common with the Caped Crusader than Bruce would like to consider. Batman and Riddler's antagonistic relationship throughout accomplishes what The Dark Knight could not do with Batman and Joker: presenting a hero and a villain as two sides of the same coin, butting heads over conflicting ideals that usually tend to converge more often than not. As for Zoe Kravitz, her Selina Kyle has the potential to really become a compelling anti-heroine. The Batman doesn't flesh her out beyond her connection to the men in her life, sadly. What makes Catwoman such a great character is her fierce independence. Sure, Selina's often entangled with Bruce romantically and ideologically, but that connection doesn't solely define her. Rather, it's just one of the many things about her character. When The Batman gives Selina a few scenes on her own, that's when Kravitz gets to shine. Again, I'm hoping that one of the Batman HBO Max spin-offs in the works is a Catwoman one because I would love to see Kravitz return to the role with better material to work with. Although I was really engaged and fascinated by this movie, I know The Batman won't be for everyone. The movie is nearly three hours long, and such a long runtime is, understandably, a big deal-breaker for many. As will Pattinson's "but I'm a creep/ I'm a weirdo/What the hell am I doing here?" version of Bruce Wayne and Batman. Some might see it as a darker version of Edward, others might see it as another successful role in his cinematic redemption arc post-Twilight Saga. Personally, I see it as the latter, but I know some will disagree. (And, of course, the sociopolitical bent will get on some people's nerves, but, hey... that's just the way the cookie crumbles.) I wouldn't call The Batman divisive all across the board, but there are elements of it that I can see dampening some viewers' experience of it. Ultimately, should Warner Bros. greenlight a sequel, I'd be interested in it. For the first time in a long time, I'm actually intrigued by a big-screen Batman and curious as to where it can go next in the cinemas and on television. Moreover, it's probably one of the few modern live-action DC films that I've enjoyed watching on the big screen. I look forward to watching it again on HBO Max; maybe then I'll do a spoiler review... Other Thoughts on The Batman by Different Writers and Critics "Embrace the emo." - Matt Reeves, in his best Ethan Hawke voice... probably. (The Batman, Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Entertainment | 2022) After seeing the movie the second time, I was curious to hear what others were saying about The Batman. There's lots of opinions out there, but I managed to find a few articles that I liked and thought were worth sharing with you. Be mindful that a few of these articles do go into spoiler territory. So if you haven't seen the movie yet, bookmark the article, go see the movie, and then come back to it.
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