Thor: Love and Thunder (2022)

There’s a point in Thor: Love and Thunder when Russell Crowe’s Zeus bemoans his circumstances, lamenting, “When did we become jokes?” I’m fairly certain that director and co-writer Taika Waititi didn’t intend for this line to be prescient – Zeus is meant to be both antagonist and figure of ridicule, to say nothing of Crowe’s outlandish attempt at a “Greek” accent – but it ends up being my chief complaint about Love and Thunder and about the current trend of insincere superhero movies writ large. Love and Thunder is all too disingenuous, at once lampooning the superhero genre while simultaneously begging us to accept its more outlandish trappings.

After defeating Thanos, Thor (Chris Hemsworth) has been traveling with the Guardians of the Galaxy (gang’s all here), blundering his way through heroic deeds until he learns that Gorr the God-Butcher (Christian Bale) has been slaughtering deities with his fearsome Necrosword. Thor sets off to defeat Gorr with Valkyrie (Tessa Thompson) by his side and, most improbably, his old love Jane Foster (Natalie Portman), who now wields the hammer Mjolnir as The Mighty Thor.

 

I rewatched Thor: Ragnarok the night before seeing Love and Thunder, even though the latter isn’t a direct sequel, and my estimation of Ragnarok had dropped in the intervening five years. Overly arch and ironic, Ragnarok is still entertaining enough, but it could do with about 25% less whimsy to be really successful. I’m not saying that superhero movies shouldn’t be fun, but the fun shouldn’t be at the expense of the characters, deflating tension or emotional weight with a self-referential one-liner. But Ragnarok made more than $850 million, and so the shackles are off; Waititi does his thing all over Love and Thunder, and now it’s about 65% too silly to be any good.

 

Color me old-fashioned, but I still prefer the straight-faced Shakespearean Thor (blond eyebrows notwithstanding). I’ve never been a big fan of the “himbo Thor” bequeathed to us by Waititi, and I still don’t buy that the character has changed personality so much just because he hangs out with wiseacres like Tony Stark. Indeed, if the upcoming Disney+ series Secret Invasion is to reveal that some familiar faces have been replaced by shape-shifting Skrulls, I vote we consign this Thor to history and get back to something a little more earnest. At least Chris Hemsworth seems to be having fun, even though he’s the butt of most of the jokes (and at one point, quite literally so). Though Thor is now, by default, the ersatz elder statesman of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, he’s treated like an abject buffoon, whose every scene might as well be subtitled, “Aren’t I an idiot?”

 

And yet Love and Thunder asks us to invest in the emotional depths of this demigod-child, presenting his long romantic history with Jane in the style of a montage that points a derisive finger at how silly it is to have feelings. “Muscle boy sad!” the film cries with all the grace of a schoolyard bully, yet then it tries to pivot into an unearned third act in which we’re suddenly asked to embrace the tragic pathos of Thor’s broken emotional core. Waititi wants to spoof his cake and eat it too, something that barely worked in Ragnarok before punting that subplot to the Russo Brothers in Avengers: Infinity War. If Thor has an arc in this film, I defy anyone to tell me what it is, because there’s a particular choice he makes at the end of the film that seems to come out of nowhere, teeing up a very bizarre status quo for the Asgardian corner of the MCU.

 

It might seem blasphemous to say, but there’s probably a much better version of this film that includes Hemsworth’s Thor not at all. Christian Bale is earning well-deserved accolades as one of the MCU’s better villains, with a solid backstory and bang-up visual design; one wishes, however, that his Gorr were a bit more ‘show’ and less ‘tell,’ since he doesn’t butcher all that many gods over the course of the film. Meanwhile, Natalie Portman is back after a brief hiatus, and her turn as Jane finally gets her in on the super-action. Her iteration of Thor positively sings, and the sequences reintroducing her are suitably effective, giving us the sense that Waititi can make a proper superhero film if he restrained himself. In fact, it’s a short putt to imagine a better Love and Thunder that only includes these two: Gorr the God-Butcher hunting the newly-minted Mighty Thor while Jane Foster reckons with what it means to be a god. (Keep the original Thor with the Guardians of the Galaxy, and let James Gunn deal with him.)

 

But instead of forging new territory in the heretofore directionless Phase Four of the MCU, Waititi is busy replaying his own greatest hits, dialing the idiocy up to eleven. There’s a reprise of the “Norse pageant” from Ragnarok, even though the joke doesn’t ring the same without a Loki to direct the reenactment; Korg turns up again and again, now lacking the novelty of a rock man with Waititi’s dulcet tones; and poor Tessa Thompson, such a bright light in Ragnarok, is relegated to a thankless turn as Asgard’s king until the movie nigh forgets about her. (Sign her up for a Disney+ series, please!) 

 

I wouldn’t go quite as far as Mark Kermode, who said of the fourth Thor film that it was “genuinely, properly terrible,” but let’s be honest: Marvel’s Phase Four hasn’t exactly shined with the brightness of its predecessors, and Love and Thunder continues a strain of adequate-to-mediocre outings that suggest Marvel may have lost the plot in trying to serve fans and fan-favorites alike. Perhaps a better title would have been Thor: Sound and Fury, because it’s told by (and stars) a band of idiots, ultimately signifying nothing beyond a director’s postmodern self-indulgence. Forgive me, but I think superhero stories ought to be a little bit more than a vanity project that overstays its welcome.

 

Thor: Love and Thunder is rated PG-13 for “intense sequences of sci-fi violence and action, language, some suggestive material, and partial nudity.” Directed by Taika Waititi. Written by Taika Waititi and Jennifer Kaytin Robinson. Based on the Marvel Comics. Starring Chris Hemsworth, Christian Bale, Tessa Thompson, Taika Waititi, Russell Crowe, and Natalie Portman.

Hostiles (2017)

Like Roman J. Israel, Esq. before it, I had no idea what to expect from Hostiles because I hadn’t encountered any marketing for it; I conducted a minimal amount of research before seeing it and determined that it was worth a look based on the strength of its leading man (Christian Bale) and director (Scott Cooper, of the Oscar-nominated Crazy Heart). And in both cases, the element of surprise worked in the film’s favor; I genuinely didn’t know what to expect from Hostiles, and I found myself compelled by the plot and its anchoring performances.

Christian Bale stars as Captain Joseph Blocker, an Army man nearing retirement in 1892. For his last mission, Blocker is assigned by President Harrison to escort the ailing Cheyenne chief Yellow Hawk (Wes Studi) and his family to Montana. Despite losing several of his men in battle with Yellow Hawk, Blocker heads north, where he and his troops meet Rosalie Quaid (Rosamund Pike), whose family was recently slaughtered by a Comanche raiding party.

I think Luke Skywalker gave the best review of Hostiles near the middle of The Last Jedi when he advised, “This is not going to go the way you think.” Despite the setup of its opening shots, Hostiles does not behave like a traditional revenge western; though there are certainly elements of that subgenre, it’s far from the film’s main focus, and the film approaches that plotline from an angle that ends up serving the film’s actual center – the absurd senselessness of violence motivated only by a history of racial prejudice, and the deep scars left by that violence. It’s to the film’s credit that this lesson is never overtly didactic, instead filtered through the character of Blocker, who begins the film clinging to the certainty of his prejudice, only gradually eliding the gap between himself and Yellow Hawk.

From behind one of the most expressive mustaches since Aaron Eckhart in Sully, Bale gives a riveting performance as only Bale could, presenting all the rage and self-doubt from behind the stoniest of exteriors; his whole body shaking at times, wracked with all the emotions he’s struggling to repress, Bale does amazing things with a furrowed brow or a bowed head. His scenes with Wes Studi (who, I must say, it’s good to see again) are commanding for their silence, in which we see Blocker struggle to understand, while Yellow Hawk struggles to communicate – two men so mired in the past that they are unable to imagine a better present. The gradual development of Blocker’s character feels organic, and the film’s final “twist” (in that it’s unexpected, not that it turns out he was dead all along or something) helps us understand more about how much the character has changed over the course of the film.

If there’s an aspect of the film that feels out of place, it’s Rosamund Pike, who is so radiant that it’s difficult to believe she could look that pulled together after suffering so much violence in 1892. She’s a far cry from the silliness of Haley Bennett in The Magnificent Seven, and she does get some plot moments that show her character to be underestimated by the men who spend the film trying to protect her. She’s also a nice counterpart to Blocker’s internal battle with his own prejudice, but by and large the film tends to treat her like a footnote to the main plot. Having seen what Pike can do with a meaty role like “Amazing” Amy in Gone Girl, it’s a bit of a letdown to see her utilized in such an underwhelming role, especially when the film orbits an undercooked romance plot that feels more perfunctory and inevitable than necessary. (And I think the film knows it, because that envelope is never really pushed.)

Hostiles ends up reckoning with a dark chapter in American history by attempting to imagine a rehabilitated future borne out of mutual understanding. The film tracks Blocker’s recognition that he possesses so many of the things he hates about Yellow Hawk, least of all being a basic common humanity, while Yellow Hawk struggles to make himself understood to his escorting captain and to himself. Measured when it needs to be and bursting with western-style action in several key shootouts and raids, Hostiles is a surprisingly engaging film, particularly for a moviegoer who has never been all that fond of westerns.

(Sidebar: High Noon is probably my favorite western – what’s yours?)

Hostiles is rated R for “strong violence and language.” Written and directed by Scott Cooper. Based on a manuscript by Donald E. Stewart. Starring Christian Bale, Rosamund Pike, and Wes Studi.

Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014)

During the Christmas season, we tend to see an uptick in New Testament movies, largely focused around the birth of Christ.  Early this year, we saw the Old Testament get a little representation with Noah, and now we’re turning to the second book with Ridley Scott’s Exodus: Gods and Kings. But where I appreciated Noah’s steps away from the source material (odd though the rock monsters may have been), Exodus turns out to be too devoted to the text without taking advantage of the technical and narrative innovations the film teases.

Christian Bale stars as Moses on the eve of his step-brother Ramses’s (Joel Edgerton) ascension to the throne of Egypt.  After the revelation that Moses was born a Hebrew slave leads to his exile, a visitation from God (“I Am,” in the persona of a small boy) compels Moses to return to free his people, with ten plague-shaped assists from the heavens.

The first thing about Exodus is that it’s very competent. Scott’s direction of the action scenes recalls his good work on Gladiator, and the plague scenes are terrifying for their computer-generated precision.  And of course Bale is doing his usual top-quality work in a performance as Moses that sees him undergo at least two distinct physical changes, two major philosophical paradigm shifts, and frequent conversations with thin air that lack no conviction.

Edgerton is a great Ramses, as well, and the scenes leading up to the plague of the first-born are highly effective.  It’s a shame, though, that some of the editing in the film turns his public executions into punchlines, compromising a more nuanced performance by equating it with mustache-twirling villainy.  Exodus recovers with a strong supporting cast, including Ben Kingsley, Aaron Paul, Sigourney Weaver, and John Turturro as Seti I.

These are all great performers, but they’re not given terribly much to do.  Kingsley is basically shorthand for gravitas, meant to lend weight quickly to the Hebrew elders, and he manages to check off another ethnicity on his career’s bingo card without having much to do outside of two or three scenes.  Ditto for Paul, whose role as Joshua should have been the Robin to Bale’s Batman, so to speak, but he’s mostly set dressing with an unconvincing accent.  Weaver and Turturro are out of the movie in about twenty minutes; a subplot in which Weaver wants Moses dead peters out rather quickly.

The idea that Ramses’s mother is plotting behind his back to assassinate her stepson is a fascinating one, but the film doesn’t know what to do with it.  This is actually a major problem with Exodus because it has so many opportunities to make an original stamp on the Moses story, but it never commits to any of those.  The apparent emphasis on the brother relationship between Moses and Ramses seems like the centerpiece of the film, but it too fades away, never really delivering on even the basic comparison of the two men as leaders of opposing armies (teased by an opening shot of a priestesses reading offal).  Even the idea of God appearing as a small boy is a neat riff, but it’s never more than set dressing when it could have been the defining element of the film (similar to how Noah replaced God for a more sci-fi being called The Creator).

The most interesting subtext in the film is a broader allusion to the history of the Jewish people.  In one scene, assassinated Hebrew slaves are burned en masse, while elsewhere slaves are forced to hide under their homes to evade Egyptian search parties. In these moments, it seems Scott is building an analogy to the Holocaust, and the film’s conclusion, gesturing toward nation-building, seems to weigh heavily on the side of the Israelis in the contemporary conflict over the Holy Land.  A film more dedicated to this analogy would have been an amazing inflection of the story we all know so well, but three scenes in 150 minutes isn’t enough on which to hang a comprehensive interpretation.

Exodus: Gods and Kings isn’t a bad film (a tremendous improvement from the last Scott film I saw, the dismal Prometheus), but it is disappointing for how little it pushes the story beyond what we already know. For anyone who knows the story, even in its broadest strokes, the film won’t hold much suspense or even any emotion beyond a feeling of obligation as events proceed unremarkably.  For all the technical skill at work in rendering lifelike plague sequences, what’s missing is a sense of spectacle, something we saw quite successfully in DeMille’s The Ten Commandments.  Despite the dated Technicolor and the mild doses of camp, DeMille’s original epic had a scope and a pervading attitude of wonder that Exodus is sadly lacking. Exodus isn’t a big-budget remake of The Ten Commandments, just a more precise, condensed, and slightly better-acted version of the same story without the grandeur the narrative demands.

Exodus: Gods and Kings is rated PG-13 for “violence including battle sequences and intense images.”  The standard bevy of plagues is seen here, with boils and insects being particularly grotesque; some combat scenes feature violence without any blood.

American Hustle (2013)

Last year David O. Russell snuck in at the tail end of the calendar with Silver Linings Playbook, a romantic comedy that reinstilled my belief in the genre; two years earlier, he’d caught my eye with The Fighter.  And with American Hustle, Russell takes the things that worked best in those movies – namely the remarkable acting talent on display – and mashes them together for a thoroughly enjoyable Oscar contender.

Based loosely on a true story – “Some of this actually happened,” an opening title card boasts – American Hustle gives us con artist Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale in another total body transformation) and his lover/partner Sydney “Edith” Prosser (Amy Adams) as they are forced into a federal corruption investigation led by FBI Agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper).  As the investigation bears unexpected fruit with Camden Mayor Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner) in the crosshairs, Irving’s reckless wife Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence) puts her husband in jeopardy while trying to keep her marriage safe.

I almost don’t need to say much about the cast; they’re all exceptionally solid choices, the best performers from Russell’s two previous films under one roof.  As the lead (and hopefully a Best Actor candidate), Bale is almost unrecognizable were it not for his remarkable talent, and Adams demonstrates herself a perfect foil for him, continuing to break out of that “too cute for words” mode into which she might have been typecast after Enchanted.  Renner and Cooper are reliably compelling, and Lawrence continues to hold onto that “most talented young actress” title with a powerhouse performance as the spirited Rosalyn.  All handle the naturalistic dialogue very well, with improvisational quirks and touches that give the film a lived-in feel.  We come to know these people very well, thanks to the life given by the cast.

Even better than these five thrown into the same pot – plus all the supporting roles, including Louis CK as Cooper’s boss and a delightful uncredited cameo by a real legend – is the sum of the parts.  American Hustle is at once blissfully engaging and wildly unpredictable.  I don’t want to say it’s something we’ve never seen before; indeed, for many reasons it feels very much like an update on Scorsese’s Goodfellas.  But American Hustle manages to feel quite fresh, playing fast and loose with the historical facts (happily for those who know the story and those who don’t) in order to create an elaborately twisty narrative that takes its characters in surprising and entertaining directions.

All the while, Russell keeps us guessing by refusing to spoonfeed us character motivation, even with the presence of voiceover narration.  Rather than spell out plot beats and character traits, the voiceover instead fills us in on the personalities of the characters and, more importantly, the moments when we know they’re lying to themselves.  The narrative of the film is highly concerned with questions of honesty and deception, and Russell wisely plays about in it without handing us easy moral judgments.  The number of double- and triple-crosses are quite successful on an aesthetic level and satisfying on an interpretive one because we’re never expecting them.  Of course, in a movie about deception, we’ll have characters deceiving each other, but Russell manages to avoid the clichéd “gotcha” beats and instead continually sucker-punches the audience with another new twist introduced with graceful subtlety (as when we learn a key character actually can speak Arabic or when Rosalyn lets slip once or twice).

American Hustle is a movie that will leave its audience reeling, first from the sheer volume of thespianic talent on display and then from the intricate and enthralling plot structure which Russell uses to say insightful things about the problem of honesty and self-deceit.  The original title of the film was American Bulls—t, a title which would have been deliciously ironic – there’s no worse comparison to make with this film than a comparison to excrement.  American Hustle is the exact opposite – delightfully fun, solid gold.

American Hustle is rated R “for pervasive language, some sexual content and brief violence.”  The characters use the F-word quite a lot, a few adulterous affairs occur on-screen (with maybe a possible flicker of female nudity in one), and there’s a death-by-gunshot and a few minor fistfights.  Aside from the language, this one is really close to a PG-13.

Monday at the Movies - December 10, 2012

Welcome to Week Forty-Four of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week, we’ll take a look at a few films that grapple with mental illness – perfect timing for those of us enduring the slings and arrows of finals week.

American Psycho (2000) – Either this movie is more fun than it ought to be, or there’s something seriously wrong with me.  Before he was Batman, Christian Bale was Patrick Bateman, yuppie investment banker by day and vicious serial killer by night.  Mary Harron’s infinitesimally gentler adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis’s downright brutal novel is, simply put, a hoot.  Bateman is insane, no question, and his deeds are despicable, but Bale’s trademark fascinating immersion in the role is riotous to watch, vacillating wildly between pent-up emotionlessness and manic indulgence in his homicidal tendencies.  And as a social satire of 1980s New York, American Psycho is positively brilliant, exposing the excesses and pettiness of such a superficial society without moralizing.  Instead of preaching, the film makes its satire entertaining by encouraging us to laugh at it; the deadpan seriousness with which Bateman examines a business card belies both his internalized rage and the ludicrous attention given to such minutiae.  The standout feature of this film is its ambiguity, which enchants rather than maddens the viewer; a mesmerizing interrogation scene with Willem Dafoe forces the viewer to question who knows what, an uncertainty played to the hilt by Dafoe in three different takes.  By the end, the film pays off on its repetition of the trope of mistaken identity, asking us whether any of these people really “exist” in a tangible form.  What’s not uncertain is how much fun the film manages to be, with an engrossing and star-making performance from its lead, who charms even as he twists the knife.

Black Swan (2010) – Black Swan is in many ways the dark side of American Psycho’s white swan.  Darren Aronofsky’s balance of ballet and mental illness explores in very disturbing and unflinching ways the consequences of the quest for perfection.  Natalie Portman won an Oscar for her role as Nina Sayers, a ballerina whose starring role in Swan Lake is slowly driving her insane; she suspects her understudy Lily (Mila Kunis) of sabotaging her work, though recurrent hallucinations make it difficult for her to discern reality from delusion.  Barbara Hershey has an underappreciated role as Nina’s controlling mother, a former ballerina and perhaps the source of her daughter’s difficulties.  Where American Psycho treated its protagonist’s insanity as exuberantly entertaining, Nina’s descent into madness is distressing and almost uncomfortable to watch; the fast-and-loose representation of reality unsettles the viewer as mirrors misbehave and strangers bear Nina’s face for fleeting frames.  Portman’s Academy Award was well-deserved, as she embodies well Nina’s fears and anxieties by giving the character a full sense of life such that we know her even before we see her dance.  Yet, even though the film is unsettling and uncomfortable, there is something poetically beautiful about it, an aesthetic exquisiteness created by the combination of Aronofsky’s deliberately arranged shots and Clint Mansell’s reworking of Tchaikovsky’s music.  There’s certainly a comparison to be made here with Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, which deals with similar themes, but Black Swan is more metaphorical and more beautiful, one of 2010’s best films, to be sure.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  With the release of The Dark Knight Rises on DVD, look for an Armchair Review sometime in the near future!

The Dark Knight Rises - EPIC Review

Enough time has passed, I believe, that a more extensive and more specific look may be taken at Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises.  In the tradition of 2008’s “Epic Review” of The Dark Knight, I’ll be discussing more in depth what I enjoyed about the film, which will inevitably entail spoilers of both general plotlines and specific dialogue which I’ll invoke.  The goal is, I hope, to provide a more detailed assessment of the film beyond my earlier review which gushed over the technical aspects of the film but could only allude to the story and its effect on me.  For safety’s sake, the bulk of the review can be found after the jump; those reading this review from anywhere other than the front page will be advised that spoilers begin below the first image in this review.

I cannot stress this enough:  if you have not seen The Dark Knight Rises yet, do not read any further.  The success of the film depends wholly on allowing it to develop at its own pace; any spoilers therein would detract from the overall experience.

The Dark Knight Rises (2012) -- Spoiler Free

I mused yesterday about whether or not Christopher Nolan could create a successful and fully realized trilogy – something no superhero director, for one reason or another, has been able to do.  After attending a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises, the verdict is in.

He has.

In many ways, I would have been able to write the bulk of this review without ever having seen the film.  I was expecting to gush.  I was anticipating that feeling of being blown away.  I had few (if any) doubts in the back of my mind.  And ordinarily a film which fulfills expectations might ultimately be a disappointment.  But when expectations are this high, merely meeting them is worth the price of admission.

And The Dark Knight Rises, impossible as it may seem, even exceeds expectations.  One might even say it “rises” to the challenge.

I’ll forego the usual plot summary in deference to the cloud of secrecy and spoiler embargoes necessitated by our digital age (even our late night talk shows were thought to be dangerous).  Suffice it to say that The Dark Knight Rises joins Gotham eight years after the death of Harvey Dent, eight years after Batman entered a self-imposed exile, and just as new foes are rising to threaten the very foundations of Gotham City and its new era of peace.

Of the performances, I can only quote the words of Stan Lee – “Excelsior!”  Bale bears the bulk of the film – no surprise here, since he’s playing the eponymous Knight; as has been the case with the past two films in “The Dark Knight Trilogy,” the focus is as much (if not more so) on Bruce Wayne as on Batman.  His character evolves without ever feeling forced to do so, his quest both understandable and relatable, and his return to the Batsuit a welcome and applause-worthy moment.

Bale’s backed by a cast that doesn’t disappoint.  The old favorites – Michael Caine as Alfred, Morgan Freeman as Lucius Fox, and Gary Oldman as Jim Gordon – continue to turn in solid performances.  Bonus credit to Caine, who manages to do create (particularly in two specific scenes) a real and accessible version of the trusty butler that hasn’t been reached in the character’s seventy-year history.  More than just the snarky chauffeur or stolid voice of reason, Caine’s Alfred is a friend first, as much a father as Thomas Wayne was, and we feel his agony when he sees what Bruce has allowed himself to become.

As for the new faces, they’re welcome additions to the cast.  I see now why we needed so many new faces, and I’m glad especially that Joseph Gordon-Levitt was among them.  His John Blake is easily the most interesting new protagonist (more on the villains later), embodying many of the film’s – and trilogy’s – main themes without ever feeling shoehorned into an already full film.  I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again:  JGL is bound for stardom (if he’s not there already), and The Dark Knight Rises is another fantastic line on the résumé.

But after Heath Ledger’s unforgettable turn as The Joker, can the film’s villains surpass the decade’s most iconic force of evil?  Honestly, probably not, but Tom Hardy’s Bane and Anne Hathaway’s Selina Kyle (note that the name “Catwoman” is surprisingly never invoked) aren’t trying to outdo their predecessor.  Rather, they create entirely new – and gratefully fresh – versions of significant members of the Batman mythos.  More surprising than Hardy’s Bane is what Anne Hathaway manages to do with Selina; it’s a performance I didn’t quite know she had in her, managing to distinguish herself from the Catwomen before her with breathy intonations and evident internal conflict.  Bane, however, is head-to-toe conviction; though he’s given the unenviable task of emoting with much of his face obscured, Hardy manages to convey through his body language the smug self-satisfaction and confident physical dexterity for which his character is known.  (A fuller take on his voice remains to be seen; though it has been lampooned ad infinitum, I suspect my theater’s audio system wasn’t equipped for the booming bass of the film, and so I’ll have more thoughts on that later.)

But what’s most remarkable about The Dark Knight Rises is not the able work delivered by qualified thespians.  The greatest compliment I can pay the film is to repeat what I’ve already said time and time again – Christopher Nolan is a master storyteller who wastes not a frame of film in delivering his definitive statement on the character and what he means.  As before, The Dark Knight Rises is filled with moments that tie together and layer new meaning on important scenes; conversely, perhaps the worst thing I can say about the film is that it doesn’t stand on its own as well as The Dark Knight did.  Indeed, The Dark Knight Rises is very closely related to Batman Begins, revisiting moments and referencing plot beats in a way that echoes without plagiarizing.  But as the final installment in the trilogy (and not just a sequel, as The Dark Knight was initially envisioned), Nolan rewards his viewers just as Lucius Fox was rewarded in The Dark Knight for his faith in Batman’s mission.

If Batman Begins could be distilled to a meditation on overcoming fear, and if The Dark Knight can be said to be a film about defeating the forces of chaos and conquering fear which has escalated into weaponized terror, The Dark Knight Rises is about precisely that – about rising, about overcoming once more.  But here Nolan makes explicit what’s been suggested all along:  the greatest heroism in the world is born through hope, both the hope that an individual can make a difference and that that difference will be a positive one.  And though I’m much more attached to films which engage me on a cerebral level – which this film does, unequivocally – The Dark Knight Rises also makes me feel, deep inside of me, that there is always hope.  It’s a film that made me shed a few tears for a variety of reasons – finality, sorrow, ecstasy, unrestrained jubilation – and it’s a credit to Christopher Nolan that I do not begrudge him a single salty drop.  He has earned it.

The Dark Knight Rises is rated PG-13 “for intense sequences of violence and action, some sensuality and language.”  Violence and all-out action sequences are prevalent as before but are almost entirely bloodless, though Bane’s methods and physicality are more brutal than we’ve seen in the trilogy thus far.  There is one clearly implied sexual encounter, with no more than bare shoulders, while another character is implied to be a prostitute; Selina is extremely sultry and uses that to her advantage, without transgressing beyond an astonishingly tight suit.  Language is mostly tame and is probably PG-quality taken on its own.

Rest assured, loyal readers, I haven’t said my last words on The Dark Knight Rises.  I saw The Dark Knight eight times in theaters, and I am certain repeat viewings of this film will come in the days to follow.  And once the statute of limitations on spoilers has been lifted, I’ll give more in-depth comments on specific moments in the film and the thematic importance of the trilogy as a whole.  Stay tuned, loyal readers – we return on Monday with our regularly-scheduled “Monday at the Movies” post!

Armrest Review - The Dark Knight, Part Three

Welcome to another edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

A further welcome back for the final part of our Armrest Review of The Dark Knight, the middle entry in Christopher Nolan's "Dark Knight Trilogy."  As before, I’m joined by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side for the next installment of this series.

Armrest Review - The Dark Knight, Part Two

Welcome to another edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

A further welcome back for the second part of our Armrest Review of The Dark Knight, the middle entry in Christopher Nolan's "Dark Knight Trilogy."  As before, I’m joined by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side for the next installment of this series.  

Armrest Review - The Dark Knight, Part One

Welcome to another edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

I’m joined again by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side once more.  For today’s Armrest Review, we’ll be watching The Dark Knight, the middle – and perhaps greatest – installment in The Dark Knight Trilogy.

Armrest Review - Batman Begins, Part Three

Welcome to the first edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

A further welcome back for the final part of our Armrest Review of Batman Begins, the first entry in Christopher Nolan's "Dark Knight Trilogy."  As before, I’m joined by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side for the next installment of this series.  

Armrest Review - Batman Begins, Part Two

Welcome to the first edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

A further welcome back for the second part of our Armrest Review of Batman Begins, the first entry in Christopher Nolan's "Dark Knight Trilogy."  As before, I’m joined by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side for the next installment of this series.

Armrest Review - Batman Begins, Part One

Welcome to the first edition of “Armrest Reviews,” a new series in which I, The Cinema King, will partner up with a fellow filmgoer to review films as we watch them.  That’s right, we’ll be writing our unexpurgated observations as we watch the film, meaning you could theoretically read the review while watching the movie and “watch along” with us.

I’m joined by The Popcorn Prince, who’s been watching movies for almost as long as I have.  He’s a big Batman fan, so I’m pleased to have him by my side for the debut of this series.  For today’s Armrest Review, we’ll be watching Christopher Nolan’s 2005 Batman Begins, the first installment in The Dark Knight Trilogy.

Cinema King:  As the opening titles come on – no credits here, no time to waste before the movie begins – a big welcome to The Popcorn Prince.  Prince, glad to have you.

Popcorn Prince:  Thanks, King.  Truly an honor to help debut a new series.  I’ve only seen this movie a few times, so it’s good to go back right before the new movie comes out.

Monday at the Movies - July 16, 2012

Welcome to Week Twenty-Six of “Monday at the Movies.” With The Dark Knight Rises only five days away, we’re kicking off a week of exciting content focused around Christopher Nolan, the man behind this generation’s definitive interpretation of the Batman mythos.  Throughout the week we’ll be looking at the trilogy, but today let’s take a few minutes to revisit the body of work which preceded “The Dark Knight Trilogy.”

On the docket for this installment of “Monday at the Movies,” we have reviews of the three Christopher Nolan films not yet covered on this site; we also have links to coverage of films we’ve already reviewed so you can see our assessment of each film in context.  Happy reading!

 Following (1998) – I was in disbelief that I’d never seen Christopher Nolan’s first film, recognizing that it was high time I patch that hole in my cinematic CV.  Following introduces many of the classic Nolan characteristics – nonlinear smart writing which plays with the audience’s expectation and understanding, obsessed characters who dress stylishly, moral ambiguity – and uses them without the disappointing incapacity of an underdeveloped filmmaker.  Bill (Jeremy Theobald) is an aspiring writer who begins following pedestrians for inspiration, but the game is turned when he follows Cobb (Alex Haw, of no relation to Dom Cobb from Inception), a burglar who enlists Bill’s help in a few break-ins.  In classic Nolan fashion, the film functions much like a puzzle box, with at least three distinct timeframes narrated simultaneously and disorienting the viewer.  The film begins somewhat slowly, with Theobald’s narration a bit less than inspiring (though still leagues better than Kevin Costner’s in Dances with Wolves), but once Cobb enters the picture things become vastly more interesting, in part because Haw is both charismatic and enigmatic and because many of the twists in Nolan’s screenplay revolve around Cobb’s real motivations.  The film is, unfortunately, very short (69 minutes, including credits), and I can’t help feeling that the film would have been stronger with 20 more minutes; while the structure is similar to that of Memento, the final twist ending has none of the weight of Memento’s, mostly because the film answers all our questions.  The ending may be neater than we’ve come to expect, but Following is one of the strongest first films I’ve ever seen, sharp and slender.

Memento (2000)
 
Insomnia (2002) – Christopher Nolan’s only remake and only directorial outing for which he didn’t also write the screenplay, Insomnia is also the least Nolan-esque Nolan film, but if it’s the least successful film on today’s list it’s still far and away better than a lot of what Hollywood has to offer.  But let’s be clear – Insomnia is not a bad movie; it’s a taut psychological thriller grounded in strong performances.  But I’m having trouble seeing it as a Christopher Nolan film.  There are no Nolan regulars here – Al Pacino stars as Detective Will Dormer, a homicide expert investigating an Alaskan murder with the help of Hilary Swank, while the killer (Robin Williams in classic creepy form) taunts him from afar.  The film, like every Nolan film, is about obsession, both the killer’s obsession with his victim and Dormer’s obsession with closing the case; the Alaskan setting, however, becomes the focus of the film as it begins to weigh on Dormer’s psyche, impairing his ability to sleep and ultimately function as a human being.  Rather than utilize a structure which forces the audience into a character’s shoes, Insomnia opts to represent as starkly as possible Dormer’s deteriorating consciousness; it’s a fine distinction, to be sure, but it proves how deft a filmmaker Nolan really is.  It’s comparably easier to confuse an audience while a character is confused, but it’s a bit more difficult to craft a film in such a way that we feel Dormer’s insomnia without staying up for five nights in a row.  And Nolan does what few have been able to do in the last decade – elicit a solid performance from Pacino.

Batman Begins (2005)

The Prestige (2006) – Before Inception, this was the film that made me think the hardest, and it’s guaranteed to leave you scratching your noodle.  Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale play rival magicians bound up in a cycle of revenge and one-upsmanship with the women in their lives (Piper Perabo, Rebecca Hall, and Scarlett Johansson) and their mutual assistant (the ever-avuncular Michael Caine) caught in the middle.  With The Prestige, Nolan returns to interwoven chronologies in a story that warns you in advance to be on guard for a twist – “the prestige,” the moment in a magic act when the magician performs the unexpected.  But what the film doesn’t tell you (and it won’t be spoiling anything to do so) is that there are multiple prestiges in the film, at least one for each of the three acts of the film with several right at the end.  It’s ingenious storytelling, regardless of what you think of the story itself; while some complained that the twists were “unfair” or “unintelligible,” Nolan continually reinvents the film to prevent us the filmgoers from ever getting too far ahead of the protagonists.  In this way, Nolan proves himself a master of “movie magic” (whatever that is), expertly controlling what we see and don’t see, leaving us to puzzle out not “who” and “why” like most thrillers but instead forcing us to wonder “how” – how the magician does his trick, how the story will end, and how two hours can whiz by so quickly.

The Dark Knight (2008)

Inception (2010)

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week for more brief reviews, but don’t forget to stick around for tomorrow’s debut installment of an exciting new series – “Armrest Reviews” – in which we’ll reassess Batman Begins on the eve of the trilogy’s final installment.  Stay tuned!

Public Enemies (2009)

Take two of my favorite actors - Johnny Depp and Christian Bale - have them adapt a stellar piece of history, and throw in Michael Mann, gangsters, and machine guns for good measure. Sounds like a recipe for success. Certainly expectations are high on this one. After all, the true story of John Dillinger is the stuff of legends - the Crown Point prison break, Baby Face Nelson, the lady in red (actually orange).

It took me all of a week to devour the 550+ pages of Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34, a top-notch work of nonfiction by Bryan Burroughs. The book focuses on a curious time in American history, when Bonnie & Clyde, the Barkers, John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and Alvin Karpis were headlining the criminal culture - all at the same time. (Think about that: all these "yeggs" running around in the same two years.) At that moment in history, J. Edgar Hoover proposed converting the Bureau of Investigation into a more powerful organization, which would come to be known as the FBI.

The movie limits its scope somewhat, focusing primarily on the escapades of Dillinger (Johnny Depp) and the FBI's pursuit, led by Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) and bureaucratic brass Hoover (Billy "Dr. Manhattan" Crudup). Following Dillinger from an early prison break through his romance with Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) and up to the fateful night at the Biograph Theater. Mann's film is a curious mix of docudrama, gangster/G-man combat, and ruminations on mythologized figures - never quite sure what it wants to be.

The Burroughs book was exactly the same, its principal ambition to set the record straight and postmodernly demythologize the criminal figures dominating our cultural imagination. Yet Burroughs has nearly 600 pages to meander through the story. Mann's got two hours, which he uses to hit the high notes of the Dillinger-Purvis battle though the movie suffers from some heavy Hollywood romanticization. I don't want to be one of those "The book was much better than the movie" people (thank you, Jim Gaffigan, for identifying those irksome folks), and I'd hate to be the kind of guy who nitpicks and condemns the movie for failing to depict verbatim the source material on the screen. Remember, I'm the guy who was okay with the new Watchmen ending (Moore's original ending being something of a grail among literature). But whether you bring it into the theater with you or come out looking for it, make sure you get your mitts on a copy of the source material.

The good news is that Depp and Bale are sterling as ever, though Bale turns it down a notch and wisely allows the picture to be Depp/Dillinger's. Depp is as good as he's ever been, albeit somewhat restrained, with the perfect balance of charisma and anxiety. Crudup simmers as Hoover, suggesting with furrowed brow and impatient staccato delivery the depth of his desire (explored at length in the book) to be a powerful law agency. And Cotillard is drop dead gorgeous (something the real-life Frechette couldn't exactly claim), though a little empty in key points with her native accent slipping through at distracting moments; we can see clearly, though, what Dillinger sees in her - the chemistry between the two is touching, charming, and completely believable.

The film tries to tell all of these stories in a way that only an epic could. This is a very good movie, but like Brokeback Mountain it could have been great. Mann's direction is fine, especially in shoot-outs and heists, but the screenplay (as aforementioned) is a little confused (and, I speculate, could be confusing for novices of G-man lore). There's just something a little bit off besides the sour historical notes. It just doesn't break a whole lot of new ground; it's like The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford mixed with The FBI Story. The documentary feel of the film does exactly what it sets out to do, albeit with a little unnecessary Hollywood glitter sprinkled on. With another half hour to tell the stories more fully, Public Enemies could have been great.

As it stands, it's very good. (Keep reading for a fuller analysis, for those interested, of diversions from fact.)
Public Enemies, predictably, is rated "R for gangster violence and some language." The violence pervades the movie, with blood and guts following almost every gunshot in the film. Language didn't seem too bad to me, but maybe I'm saltier than I'd like to admit.

As for the historical issue, the film's principal "sin" is the romanticization of the Dillinger/Frechette... well, romance. Burroughs doesn't provide the sort of Hollywood "enduring love, never forgotten" subplot the film does, suggesting instead that Dillinger really did eventually let Frechette go. The film also curiously puts the closing act of Purvis's FBI career - the death of Pretty Boy Floyd - in the first reel of the film. Doubtless this is to gussy up Purvis's somewhat lackluster talents as an investigator; the book documents quite a few flubs on Purvis's part while the movie paints him as a more able G-man than perhaps he deserves credit. Like the film, Purvis was good - perhaps very good - but not great. The film also embellishes a Frank Nitti connection with Dillinger's eventual death.

Call Me, Christopher Nolan - We'll Chat

Other than turning over the reins of the highly successful Batman franchise to the guy who does these Lego trailers (he's called Keshen8 over on YouTube), there's a lot of ways to do another Batman film that could possibly live up to the mantle of The Dark Knight. Since there are literally scads of ideas floating around on the Internet - and since I'm one of the most devout disciples of the Caped Crusader in my circle of amigos - I thought I'd chip in my two cents. Call me, Christopher Nolan; we'll chat.

Shadow of the Bat

The third film would focus on the theme of loneliness. Here we'd take inspiration from Loeb's Dark Victory (as beautifully illustrated by Tim Sale) and from his Hush storyline (with Jim Lee's astounding artwork). The film would explore how Batman and Commissioner Gordon have become lonely without being able to depend on each other. Introduce a slimy deputy of the mayor who's on hand at the MCU to ensure that Gordon doesn't collaborate with Batman. Gordon's loneliness at work is compounded when his wife leaves him (something that happens in the comics), so we may even want to make this mayoral spy Sarah Essen, Gordon's eventual second wife.

The film's major contribution to the franchise would be the introduction of Robin, who needn't be as young as Loeb/Sale depict him but who would be ideally suited to represent and eventually cure Batman's loneliness. Dark Victory proved, despite Nolan's repeated avowals that Robin has no place in his franchise, that The Boy Wonder can and does work with a dark detective like Batman. We'd stick to Robin's main origin as Dick Grayson, with the acrobats but remove the Schumacher influence of placing Two-Face at the crime. Make it a last grab from the mob and Boss Zucco to keep Gotham before the freaks take over.

Enter the freaks - Catwoman and The Mad Hatter. We'll use Catwoman as Hush depicted her - a sensual love interest for Batman, who he mulls trusting since she's an anti-hero more than an outright villain. In Hush, Bruce even reveals his identity to Catwoman, but we don't need to go that far. The point of Catwoman being in the film would be to show that Batman needs someone he can trust - beyond just Alfred and Lucius, who have to be in the movie because I love Michael Caine & Morgan Freeman.

With The Mad Hatter, we'll depict him as a societal loner, a pedophile with an Alice complex who is the dark mirror of Batman's loneliness, muttering lines from the Lewis Carroll works (he thinks, for example, that Batman is the Jabberwock). At some point, The Mad Hatter kidnaps Gordon's daughter - or maybe the mayor's - thinking she's Alice, and the good guys have to turn to Batman, knowing that he's the hero they deserve. Using the child's mind that Robin has, Batman tracks The Mad Hatter down and apprehends him, reconciling himself with the city.

At the end of the film, a la the ending of Hush, Catwoman says something that happens to be a line from Alice - "Oh my claws and whiskers!" Batman, unsure that he can trust her, pushes her away, leaving her free to be a villain or ambiguous love interest in a future film. Robin joins Batman's team, and the Dynamic Duo is born.

Untitled Fourth Batman Project

I haven't come up with a name for my proposed fourth Batman film, mostly because The Dynamic Duo is too cartoonish, but I kind of like Streets of Gotham even though it suggests this is more about cops than the caped crusaders.

All I have on this one right now is Brittany Murphy for Harley Quinn. If she frees her Mistah J, he can don the Red Hood outfit and fall into a vat of acid, emerging as a different actor (Daniel Day-Lewis can be a renegade psycho). I'd love to see Johnny Depp as The Riddler, especially if he takes a cue from his Hush incarnation. The Riddler could kill Mr. Reese, because Batman's identity is a great riddle and only The Riddler deserves to know the answer - on his own. Or, we could utilize Paul Dini's characterization of The Riddler as a pop private investigator. Throw in Philip Seymour Hoffman as The Penguin - he must own a nightclub and not actually be a penguin like Danny DeVito's interpretation - and/or Ben Kingsley as Mr. Freeze.

Call me, Christopher Nolan; we'll chat.

Trailer Park: Public Enemies (2009)

I can't say how giggly it makes me to type "Johnny Depp" and "Christian Bale" in the same sentence. I can't say how much these two trailers - especially the first one - make me smile. I can't say how sorry I am that I'll be out of town and will have to miss opening day for this one by about two weeks.

That said, Michael Mann's true-story-biopic of the highly public rivalry between John Dillinger (Depp) and Melvin Purvis (Bale) is getting a whole lot of play, not just for the fact that Depp traveled to Crown Point, Indiana, to film in the actual prison from which Dillinger escaped (spoilers?). It's a powerhouse duo (accompanied, I'll concede, by recent Oscar winner Marion Cotillard) that is guaranteed to excite filmgoers. The potential for greatness here is high, and with a stellar cast and director (as well as the riveting true story behind it all) it's difficult to imagine it won't succeed.

This is how a trailer should be done - capturing in a heartbeat both the main personalities and the main conflict between them, all without giving away too much. The second trailer (as second trailers do) reveals a bit more of the plot, but since this is a true story fronted by A-listers it's doubtful anyone's buying a ticket solely for the twists and turns of the story.

Public Enemies holds up theaters on July 1.

The Secret Agent (1996)

For my money, The Secret Agent is one of Joseph Conrad's best works. Having read it recently for the first time and always up for a bit of cinematic fun, I was surprised though a bit skeptical to see that there was a filmed version of it - and not in the way that Apocalypse Now is a filmed version of Heart of Darkness. This is an adaptation in the vernacular of Conrad, with as muddy and confining an England as Conrad could have imagined.

The Secret Agent is an extremely complex tale of deception, espionage, and terrorism in 19th century England. In the midst of anarchists, socialists, and other undesirables sits Verloc (a perfectly cast Bob Hoskins), a lazy agent provocateur in bed with the Russian embassy while spying on London's anarchy scene for Chief Inspector Heat (Jim Broadbent). Verloc lives with his wife Winnie (Patricia Arquette, a weak link in the chain) and her mentally-challenged brother Stevie (Christian Bale, emoting with the best of them). When a bomb is detonated near the Greenwich Observatory, suspicion falls on Verloc, who's mysteriously disappeared, and his anarchist "chums" lunkheaded Ossipon (Gerard Depardieu) and the ominous Professor (an uncredited Robin Williams).

As an adaptation, director Christopher Hampton has done a solid job. For the most part - Arquette aside - casting is well-chosen, particular Hoskins as Verloc. I've loved him since he asked Who Framed Roger Rabbit? but here he's exactly the Verloc I was picturing as I read the book. Bale, though a little older than the Stevie in my mind's eye, is incredible here, every tic, twinge, and mumbling creating a pitch-perfect character sketch faithful to a fault to Conrad's book. Broadbent is an excellent choice as always, and even Williams - though he's not straight out of the book - does a fine job as the always-wired-with-explosives Professor. And keep your eyes peeled for an entertaining bit part: Eddie Izzard as Russian ambassador Vladimir, bordering between apathetic socialist and an oddly appropriate Sean Connery circa The Hunt for Red October impression. Arquette, again, is the weakest of the cast, out of place in an ensemble filled with top caliber figures like Hoskins and Broadbent; was Kate Winslet busy?

As a movie in its own right, The Secret Agent isn't terribly accessible. Since Conrad's novel is so infamous complex, the movie loses a little something in the translation that strangers to the story might not pick up on. The pacing of the film moves at a pretty strong clip, potentially leaving newcomers in the dust. What's more, some of the poetry and mystery of Conrad's prose are sacrificed for the sake of linearity; the mystery of Verloc's whereabouts after the Greenwich explosion, for example, consumes about 100 pages of the novel while the film tells us straightaway what's been going on. The character of Michaelis, too, is notably absent, though this seems to be to pave the way for Ossipon & The Professor to take more screen time - a wise choice, since Depardieu and Williams (particularly the latter) are well-cast in their respective roles. Fans of the novel, or at least those familiar with the story, will be right at home, though, admiring the film for its fidelity and its capturing the heart of Conrad's novel.

This is one of the better literary adaptations out there, with an exceptional cast and a thankfully slavish adherence to the source material (excepting, of course, the final 30 seconds, which tweak Conrad's ending a bit and slip into the territory belonging to formula and predictable "Gotcha" endings popular in the late 90s). As I've said before, leave it to the Brits.


The MPAA handed The Secret Agent an "R for some moments of violence." There's an explosion, and we see its bloody aftermath a few times; there's also a not-as-violent scene of stabbing, as well as a few brief and abortive sexual situations that won't make the kids squirm too much. Like the kids would want to see this, anyway.

The Dark Knight (2008) - EPIC Review

I suppose that by way of apology I should explain pour quoi this review was so long in coming. I know that after my first viewing - which was (be jealous) truly an IMAX experience - I was so overwhelmed that not only could I not speak for five minutes on the car ride home but I also knew on some level that any initial reaction to this movie would have been no more than one could get from a teenybopper seeing The Jonas Brothers for the first time.

So I had to see it again. Within 24 hours. And then again. And again. And guess what? I'm going back. Because it's the movie we need and the movie we deserve. <-- That's a reference to the movie. If you haven't seen it, it might not be a good idea to read this review since I'll both be liberal in referencing dialogue and discussing plot points (although I won't be revealing any on the scale of "Rosebud is the sled" I will be exploring issues with which even casual Batman fans should be familiar), and I'll be featuring a proliferation of images that (again) won't give too much away but might be better left unseen by the uninitiated. Just go and see the movie, then check back with me, since you'll get more out of this review. Back? Where do we begin? Three years ago a little director called Christopher Nolan made a little movie called Batman Begins which, if we're being honest, made only comparatively little splashes at the box office. But then again, it's not about the money. It's about sending a message. And the message was that comic book movies could be serious works of cinematic literacy without compromising the source material.

The Dark Knight is no exception to this rule and unquestionably is the golden standard by which all other comic book movies - and indeed perhaps all other movies, period - will be weighed. (I can feel nothing but pity for future directors of comic book movies who are destined to fall short of this cinematic perfection.) Picking up where the first movie left off, The Dark Knight finds its eponymous hero (Christian Bale, back in the role for which he was born) facing escalation in the form of amped up enemies and do-gooder Bat-doppelgangers -- and a new nemesis, the self-professed "agent of chaos" known only as The Joker (the divine Heath Ledger, who's receiving all the accolades he deserves for this, his final and most magnificent role). All the old cast are back for this one, save Katie Holmes who's replaced by the less irritating Maggie Gyllenhaal. And we have a few new faces, too - of course, Ledger as the "dog chasing cars" man supposedly without a plan, Eric Roberts as mobster Sal Maroni, and Aaron Eckhart as Gotham's white knight Harvey Dent, the straitlaced D.A. with a touch of destiny about him.
Why so serious? For some comic relief, we have (Sir) Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman back as butler Alfred and CEO Lucius, respectively, but a great deal of the laughs - uncomfortable ones though they may be - come from Ledger's Joker, upon whom I cannot heap enough praise without sounding like either a sheep critic who feels obliged to respect the actor in light of his ultra-untimely passing or a giggly fanboy (the latter of which is probably closer to the truth) marveling at this, the truest interpretation of Batman's greatest nemesis. Though his first scene on-screen - a heist brilliantly planned by The Joker - won't get a lot of chuckles, his second appearance most certainly will. The Joker holds the mob financially hostage, unveils his master plan for correcting Gotham, and executes - and I do mean executes - the strangest, most audacious magic trick since Nolan's 2006 magical mystery tour The Prestige. Should we laugh at something like that? It's difficult not to. He does that, makes us question our ethics and morals for laughing at the more gruesome moments of life. It makes one think, that's all.

Making us think is one of Nolan's specialties here. This is so much more than just a seminal entry in the world of comic book adaptations - which, make no mistake, it is. The Bat-gauntlet has been thrown down. But The Dark Knight is, among many things, a mature rumination on the very nature of heroism, of deceit, of good and evil and the mutual necessity one has for the other. The very concept of heroism is up for grabs here, as well-intentioned civilians doll up like the Bat and take on crime themselves. "What gives you the right?" one asks Batman. Hockey pads or not, one has to admit that it does take a certain brand of madness to dress as a Fledermaus and dive from rooftops. And "madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little push."

Where the first film devoted a great deal of contemplation to mulling the power and pains of fear, here the main issue at stake is duality - the mirror relationship between good and evil - with a liberal dose of secrecy thrown in for good measure. The clearest example of duality is of course the nature of the battle between Gotham's Dark Knight and its anarchic harbinger of lawlessness, The Joker. "I don't want to kill you!" the Joker cackles at one point. "What would I do without you? You... you complete me." Earlier, in a home video of sorts, Joker grins as he decries Batman's need for secrecy and suggests "This is how craaaaaazy Batman's made Gotham."

Surely this is cause for contemplation; Batman's first villains in this series were mere mortals (not so mere, though, should Nolan choose to play up Ra's al-Ghul's immortality in later installments) with fear toxins and utopian aspirations. Gotham before Batman had never seen a man so without rules as The Joker, a man willing to allow himself to be killed for a punchline.
And no discussion of duality could be complete without Harvey Dent. Just as Scarecrow was the perfect way to explore fear, the district attorney - the white knight - is Nolan's masterstroke in the discussion of doublethink. "I believe in Harvey Dent," the oft-repeated aphorism goes. To believe in Harvey Dent, though, is to believe in a world that doesn't need Batman, a world where crime can be stopped in the courts. The Joker, of course, begs to differ and endeavors to "turn [Dent's] little plan on itself." Failing to corrupt The Dark Knight (even finding him "too much fun"), Joker turns to the white one. Because all it takes is a little push to win the battle for Gotham's soul. Aaron Eckhart's performance as Harvey Dent is sadly lost in the shuffle of praise for the movie - and undeservedly so. As Dent, Eckhart has the unenviable task of playing an optimist in a world without hope, a task made all the more impossible once everything is taken from him - even his Robert Redford good looks. In a way then, Harvey is a mirror of Batman as well; where Batman lost everything and chose good, Harvey seeks revenge and sense in a world gone mad - decency in an indecent time, as Dent cries at the film's second climax.

Oh, yeah. There are two climaxes to the movie. You read that right. The screenplay by the Nolans is a marvelous examination of the Batman mythos, drawing on all of the best Caped Crusader chronicles to create what is the most complete, most honest, most magnificent Batman story ever told. (And this from a reviewer who loves Jeph Loeb's The Long Halloween!) This two climax bit is part of the magic of the movie (and also a nod to the rise of Two-Face?); just as one major threat is defeated, Batman is reminded that the battle for Gotham's soul has yet to be won. This final act of the film is haunting - pure poetry. The chills that ran up my arms couldn't have been from the air conditioning in the theater, because I felt the hair on my arm stand up at all four screenings - in different venues, no less. As The Joker hangs upside down and taunts Batman with his notion that "I think you and I are destined to do this... forever" the camera slowly does a 180 and turns so that The Joker appears to be right-side up... but he isn't. The world, Nolan tells us in a brilliant use of visual language, has been turned topsy turvy, on its head just as the "SLaughter is the best medicine" semi earlier in the film.
For me to delve any further into scholarly analysis would be to give short shrift to my duties as a reviewer (although if I haven't by now convinced you of the film's marvelous nature, you might need a quick reminder - Rotten Tomatoes ranks it 94% fresh, but only because 6% of critics are afraid to join the crowd). Every actor brings an A-game or better to the table, so we might as well go right down the line. Christian Bale actually plays three parts here: gravelly Batman, "fake" playboy Bruce Wayne, and the real Wayne who legitimately wants to do right but understands the necessity of his facades. As butler and confidante Alfred, Michael Caine is pitch-perfect, providing the perfect amount of levity while also bringing gravitas by keeping the secret that could crush his employer's spirit. You'll never believe Gary Oldman is British, since he plays such a spot-on Chicago-style cop as Lt. Gordon. I've already lauded Aaron Eckhart's turn as Harvey Dent; the biggest compliments I can give Maggie Gyllenhaal is that she's not Katie Holmes and that she made me forget that I really don't like her - especially in a scene where she finally gives Harvey "an answer." And of course Morgan Freeman, who's rapidly becoming one of my favorites, is unindictable, saying more with an enigmatic smile than, oh, let's say Keanu Reeves can do with a whole movie. Heck, even Eric Roberts comes close to inciting curiosity that he wasn't in one of the Godfather movies.

Then there's Heath Ledger, who's in a caliber all his own. Where each other actor is physically recognizable (well, except for Eckhart in the second half), Ledger completely immerses himself in the role and disappears behind that David Lynch voice and a face only Baby Jane Hudson could love. If you thought Johnny Depp's turn as Captain Jack Sparrow was a physical transformation, wait until you see this. Ledger blows Jack Nicholson (as much fun as he was) out of the water with a dark and gruesome anarchist who delights in chaos and physical abuse. Moviegoers aren't screaming "Oscar!" for no reason, and it's got nothing to do with the tragic passing of Ledger back in January. It's got everything to do with the highest echelon of acting that I've ever seen.

There are some who say that the editing befuddles, but these must be the same nitwits that cried foul at the "confusing" plot of the second and third Pirates of the Caribbean movies. The only confusing thing about this movie is how it can be so irreproachable and still be made by humans. It's as layered as an Alan Moore plot, with little nuggets to reward repeat viewings - like the year imprinted on Harvey's silver dollar or the ballerina grace with which the opening bank robbery is choreographed. The script is endlessly quotable without being showy, by far surpassing 300 for "Most catchphrases in a single bound." A great deal of that is delivery, because when you get down to it there's nothing truly remarkable about the line "Here's my card."

The soundtrack, too, is everything a movie score should be - gentle in spots (courtesy of James Newton Howard) and aggressive in others (characteristically Hans Zimmer's work), all without screaming "Listen to me!" From the chaotically frenzied Joker theme ("Why So Serious?" on the soundtrack) to the majestic Batman action theme ("Like A Dog Chasing Cars" and "I'm Not A Hero" as best highlights), the score swoops like a - "Like a submarine, Mr. Wayne. A submarine." And the special effects - well, they're virtually nonexistent. You see, Nolan is an advocate of hyper-realism in his filmmaking, so almost none of what you see is CGI. Yes, Nolan really blew up the Brachs candy factory (which stands in for a somewhat more targetable facade). Yes, Nolan really flipped a semi on its head. Yes, Nolan really filmed a car chase scene on Wacker in Chicago. I'm pretty sure he didn't really crash a helicopter into a skyscraper, but it looks damn cool anyway.

I'm this close to announcing a new king in the land of cinema. No, I'm not abdicating my throne as The Cinema King. I'm mere centimeters (or one more screening, preferably IMAX) from placing The Departed at #2 on the list of Greatest Movies of All Time. Because here's another perfect movie. It's unquestionably the best movie of 2008, and I see no competition in sight.