Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins is a lot like the car featured so prominently in the trailers: muscular, oversized, not particularly imaginative (it's been called "a Humvee on steroids"-- basically Arnold Schwarzenegger on four wheels).
The movie borrows heavily from Frank Miller's Batman: Year One so heavily it's possible to call this an adaptation of Miller. I'd say it's the best to date, Robert Rodriguez's Sin City notwithstanding, which in my book is faint praise: judging from his printwork (the abovementioned plus his best-known The Dark Knight Returns) Miller's is a rather narrowly focused sensibility, bleak romanticism draped with exaggerated noir. If I prefer Nolan's picture over Rodriguez's that's because Nolan isn't as faithful; as an adaptation, Sin City is perfect-- black and white, louder than life, dreary as hell.
Christian Bale is a perfect choice for Batman-- too perfect. I remember the uproar when Warner Brothers announced Michael Keaton as their choice; you could hear batgeeks shriek "how dare a comedian play our hero?" Part of the pleasure of watching Keaton don cowl and cape was the surprise of watching this standup scowl himself into the Caped Crusader (not as surprised are those who've sensed Keaton's volatility in Beetlejuice, even bland comedies like Mr. Mom and Nightshift). One of the prime considerations for casting Batman (other than a strong jaw) was an actor that suggested danger; Bale was the lead in American Psycho-- how big a surprise can he be?
Bale does do one thing in his favor-- he plays Bruce Wayne as an upperclass bastard, with an élan that suggests that he was to the manor born. That said, Goyer fails to write him a scene where his inner danger really breaks out, something like Keaton with an upraised fireplace poker in one hand-- that came out of nowhere, was all the more frightening because it was never explained afterwards.
Surrounding Bale are an overqualified cast of supporting players-- Linus Roache as a benign (and rather bland) Thomas Wayne; Tom Wilkinson as Carmine Falcone (the unlikeliest looking Carmine I've ever seen); Ken Watanabe as a criminally underused Ra's Al Ghul. Morgan Freeman makes dry use of his few lines as Wayne armorer Lucius Fox; Gary Oldman is uncharacteristically stolid as Sgt. James Gordon-- perversely so, one might say, which is good (picture needs all the perversity it can muster). Liam Neeson's looming physical presence as Henri Ducard, Ghul's second in command, reminds you that he used to play rugged-hero roles (Darkman; Rob Roy-- could be our generation's Burt Lancaster). Michael Caine as faithful butler Alfred has all the best lines; he even manages to fool you into thinking they wrote him a character to play.
Katie Holmes as Atty. Rachel Dawes seems too dewy to play upright moral touchstone to Bale's dissipated Bruce; her scenes with him are unenthusiastic attempts to develop a love interest (they may have to bring in a Robin to keep him company). By picture's end she has a scene opposite Bale where they discuss their future (or lack thereof), and you can't help but wish Bale would shove her into yon nearby Batwell and be done with her.
Cillian Murphy who was shortlisted to play Batman so impressed Nolan that he was cast as Batman's opposite number The Scarecrow; this should have led to more interesting doubling/doppelganger imagery than actually happens, which is unfortunate. Actually, Murphy's entire onscreen performance is unfortunate, not the least because Murphy himself seemed so promising: he has the glittering eyes to play a near-psychopath, a mouth presentable enough to stick out from under a cowl. He has nicely menacing bedside manners as psychiatrist Dr. Jonathan Crane, but when pulling on his burlap mask Nolan shoots him through throbbing lenses a la cheap '50s monster movies-- to suggest the waves of terror he radiates, I suppose; all I got was a serious migraine. Murphy is allowed one genuinely good quip, just before flicking a flame towards a gasoline-doused Batman ("Lighten up!") but too much of the movie is focused on Wayne becoming Batman; Murphy's left haunting the movie's margins, a promising but never fully realized supervillain.
The absence of a memorable villain is a crucial flaw; I understand this to be an origins story, emphasis on 'origins,' reminding me of yet another common flaw of superhero flicks: boring origins. For much of the picture Nolan and Goyer send Bale's Bruce Wayne on an inward quest, dealing mainly with his own fitness to become a hero; he has no equals to dispute his claim, much less match wits with. In all this grim grittiness, one longs for the irreverent antics of a Jack Nicholson, the vicious misanthropy of a Danny Devito, the sexy provocation of a Michelle Pfeiffer. Batman is a dark figure by himself; without a contrasting villain to run circles round him and light fires under him and make with the subversive commentary he's unrelievedly dull darkness. Neeson's Ducard is no help--he tries to explain Batman to himself in the manner of Alfred Kinsey explaining sex to a virgin. Seriousness talking to seriousness in all seriousness does not always equal profundity.
Batgeeks complain: "what naysayers want is a return to Adam West's campy TV series, or Joel Schumacher's screechfests complete with bat-nipples!" Not really-- comedy is one of many emotional colors in a storyteller's palette; Burton finds the horror in humor, which is more unsettling than what Nolan (who seems consistently humor-impaired-- I'm thinking Memento, where the only cheerful element is Joe Pantoliano's line readings, and Insomnia, where the only wit seems to come from Robin Williams) does because Burton's jokes throw you off-guard and wide open for the hidden knife strike.
I miss Burton's films--there, I've said it. I miss his irreverence, the way he'd have batgeeks regularly jumping up and down with underwear bunching up their collective asses (an antagonistic relationship between filmmaker and fans is, I believe, ideal). I miss the way he'd strand a perfectly serious Batman in the center of his perverse universe, where not just supervillains but the director himself is the enemy, constantly yanking the ground out from under him. I miss how Danny Elfman's doomed-hero score and Anton Furst's magnificently corrupt sets conspire to bewilder the viewer (Batman Begins' music and design are about as memorable as the Travel Channel). However flawed, Burton's was a vision, whereas the best Nolan can do is flash cleverness here and there, helplessly following the flight plan laid out by his source material. Batman Begins is faithful all right, and successful in what it sets out to do: reduce Burton's larger-than-life winged creature into just another action hero.
Thoughts on The Dark Knight
Thoughts on The Dark Knight Rises
First published in Businessworld, 6/17/05
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