The Dark Knight
Reviewed by Edward Larsen Terkelsen

USA, PG-13, 152 m, 2008
Directed by Christopher Nolan. Stars Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Aaron Eckhart, et al. 

Visitors to The Internet Movie Database are proclaiming The Dark Knight, Christopher Nolan’s heavy follow-up to Batman Begins, to be the greatest film ever made. I’m not kidding: It is currently ranked numero uno* on the website’s “Top 250,” which places it one notch above The Godfather, twenty-seven above Citizen Kane, and one hundred and seventy-one above Gone with the Wind. We can cite The Dark Knight’s utterly ludicrous 9.2 rating as proof that IMDb is visited mostly by idiot fanboys who have a very limited sense of film history (over forty pictures on IMDb’s “Top 250” were made after 2000), but the critics are clearly smitten with The Dark Knight, too: Rotten Tomatoes has the film rated at an almost unheard of 94%, which means that just about the lion’s share of the 246 critics sampled gave it very high marks. (Holy hyperbole! That’s an even better ranking than what was bestowed upon modern masterpieces like There Will Be Blood and United 93.) Naturally, the few voices of dissention came from New York City, a lovely little place that seems to harbor reviewers learned in film language and indifferent to hype, and this has inspired Nolan’s legions of fans to leave threatening, foul-mouthed posts on Rotten Tomatoes’ message boards. (Yet another reason why I don’t allow readers to publish their opinions on The Film Palace.) Look, I don’t know why these viewers are so worked up over what my erudite brothers in the Big Apple have to say about The Dark Knight; it’s not as if a few mixed notices are going to put any kind of dent in the film’s earnings. The Dark Knight is breaking all sorts of box office records, and is on course to sink James Cameron’s Titanic as the highest grossing movie in the history of the universe. So, what is it about this Batman picture that is causing equal measures of boys and girls, small fries and seasoned citizens, Republicans and Democrats to go downright, er, batty over it? I wish I knew, for then I might be able to join in their happy dance. Until then, I’m not going to tell you that The Dark Knight is the greatest movie ever made, or even the greatest superhero movie ever made, but it is unusually complex for mid-summer fare. And by “complex” I don’t mean deep or unfathomable, but rather busy and convoluted. I liked it, I really did—I just wish Nolan wouldn’t treat the Caped Crusader’s exploits with such humorless gravity. Don’t misunderstand: I wouldn’t suggest for all the tea in China that we return to the embarrassing campiness (and homoeroticism) of the ‘60s Batman TV show (which the abysmal Batman and Robin came dangerously close to emulating), but a lighter touch may be in order when you’re telling a story about a moneyed eccentric who prowls dark alleys dressed as a bat.

Since Batman Begins was the first entry in the new series of post-Tim Burton/Joel Schumacher (and post-9/11) Batman pictures, it had the unfortunate task of having to make its way through a mess of exposition. As compelling as some of that “how it all began” stuff was, it felt largely superfluous—most of us were already way too familiar with why billionaire Bruce Wayne took on the secret identity of a winged avenger. Burton and Schumacher may have only skimmed over Batman’s origin in Batman and Batman Forever respectively, but Nolan’s long couch session with Wayne’s inner child didn’t make the character’s penchant for black Kevlar armor look any less preposterous. An occasional wink or nudge to the ribs might have rectified all that; approaching such mindless material with the stone-faced reverence that one usually reserves for a story from the Bible only heightens its absurdity. As Richard Donner’s Superman and Superman II taught us, you can treat a superhero with a prudent amount of respect and still own up to its inherent silliness. Whatever, I rather enjoyed Batman Begins’ first two acts, which depicted Wayne’s training under the Qui-Gon Jinn-like Henri Ducard (Liam Neeson) in the first, and then Wayne’s formation of everyone’s favorite pointy-eared antihero in the second. The movie’s third act, which contained all the pows and bangs and kabooms, is what left me disinterested, almost bored. Nolan and editor Lee Smith were so intent on denying their audience a typical thrill ride that they chopped the action scenes into the sort of nonsensical “tone poems” that spoiled what should’ve been the fun parts of Star Wars: Episode II -- Attack of the Clones. What was worse is that Gotham never took on a life of its own; it looked too much like Chicago (where it was shot) and not the noirish asphalt jungle with the sinister assemblage of Neo-Gothic buildings and Art Deco statuary that Burton and production designer Anton Furst gave us in Batman. Batman Begins’ ho-hum architecture and by-the-numbers action scenes are back in The Dark Knight, but like its predecessor, the emphasis is on the actors (thank God), and that’s what keeps us engaged. Usually, a sequel is an opportunity for a filmmaker to have a little fun with characters he tried to flesh-out in the first go-around, but The Dark Knight pushes the returning players to the sidelines as a noble-chinned D.A., a world-weary police lieutenant, and a cackling über-baddie vie for screen time.

Batman’s greatest arch-nemesis, the Joker, is fighting to revive the crime wave in Gotham that Batman worked so hard to slap down in Batman Begins. As played by the late Heath Ledger, this is not your daddy’s Joker: he is sadism incarnate, a gale force of anarchistic lunacy that resurrects our childhood fear of clowns. Jack Nicholson’s Joker in Batman was rather one-note, and because it was Jack playing Jack to the nth degree, the audience whooped it up over every stupid thing he did. Nicholson’s clowning robbed the Joker of his menace, leaving the final throw-down between him and Bats bereft of any excitement. (There was something almost perverse about the sight of Batman pummeling away on what looked like Clarabell’s granddaddy.) Ledger isn’t going for cheap laughs; his shtick is the stuff of nightmares, and I’ll be damned if I heard anyone laughing this time. The Dark Knight’s meat and potatoes Joker eschews the natty dress of Nicholson and Cesar Romero; he looks like he’s been kicking it in a dumpster for a fortnight. His clothes are wrinkled and grubby; his long, mangled hair is a hive for the buzzing bees; and his signature clown face appears to have been painted on by a drunken, sightless mongoloid. (This mad jokester is so anxious to go out and stir the pot that he can’t take the time to apply his make-up with care.) His mouth has been slashed into a permanent smile (he has many stories about how it happened—all of which are probably bullshit), and his eyes are surrounded by globs of black eyeliner that even the late Tammy Faye would’ve found excessive. There are only hints of green in his unkempt locks, and his teeth have yellowed from years of neglect, emphasizing his chalky countenance. In Batman, Bruce Wayne and Jack Napier’s alter-egos were formed by personal tragedies brought on (intentionally or not) by the other, and this gave their rivalry some weight. In The Dark Knight, the Joker’s obsession with bringing down Batman is nothing personal, but their shared psychosis is what makes them powerful doppelgangers. The Joker is Osama bin Laden to Batman’s George W. Bush, and the more they go at it, the more blurred the line between good and evil becomes. (The picture even contains a couple of Sophie’s Choice moments.) As the flow of blood through Gotham’s streets turns heavier, Batman comes to the uncomfortable realization that if he wants to stop the bad guys, he’s going to have to become more like them. Sounds like Bats understands what the critics of America’s treatment of the terrorists in Abu Ghraib will never understand.

Though I haven’t always been the biggest fan of his movies, I’ve always found Heath Ledger to be a more than competent actor. From 10 Things I Hate About You to Brokeback Mountain, the Aussie hunk could at least be counted on for a tireless dedication to his characters. His performance in The Dark Knight, however, goes beyond capable—it is a revelation. If Ledger hadn’t died earlier this year, his bravo turn as the Joker would’ve catapulted him onto that enviable list of A-list actors who command gargantuan salaries. The Joker—not Ennis Del Mar—will forever be viewed as Ledger’s finest hour. In fact, I think it may immortalize him in the way Rebel Without a Cause immortalized James Dean. There is already talk of a posthumous Oscar, which would be the first of its kind since Peter Finch was awarded a little golden man for his performance as the suicidal anchorman in Network. I’d be fine with seeing Ledger saluted on Oscar night, not just because it would inject a little life into an otherwise mind-numbing industry banquet, but because Ledger has taken a popular villain—a tired archetype—and made it unique again. Nicholson’s Joker had a bit too much Romero in him, but Ledger seems to be drawing inspiration from Alan Moore and company’s brilliant one-shot Batman graphic novel, The Killing Joke, as well as Conrad Veidt’s spooky performance as Gwynplaine in Paul Leni’s The Man Who Laughs, which was cartoonist Bob Kane’s original inspiration for the Joker. I knew Ledger was on to something special when I caught a teaser trailer for The Dark Knight back in December; there was a manic intensity in his eyes that seared through the screen, suggesting this could be the Batman film that finally gave us a Joker that wasn’t all about flamboyant suits and acid-squirting corsages. Ledger indeed transcends the character’s junky origins, though I could’ve done without the incessant lip-licking. In one scene, a goon calls him crazy and he looks at him out of the corners of his eyes and flatly states, “I’m not crazy.” Nicholson’s Joker would’ve just fried the poor devil, but Ledger’s Clown Price of Crime dispatches his cruelty unpredictably, which makes him even scarier.

The cops are clueless as to what the Joker is after (it can’t be pretty polly; he burns up every note he steals), so it’s up to the World’s Greatest Detective to figure it out. Though The Dark Knight isn’t as lopsided as Batman, its titular crime fighter seems to inhabit less screen time than even Michael Keaton did. Christian Bale still gets top billing, but he’s only a small part of a rather unwieldy episodic structure that depicts James Gordon’s (Gary Oldman) rise from lieutenant to commissioner, District Attorney Harvey Dent’s (Aaron Eckhart) crusade to reshape Gotham into a city that no longer needs a masked vigilante to protect it, and mob boss Salvatore Maroni’s (Eric Roberts) attempt to put the city back in the hands of the criminals. (There’s more, but we haven’t got all year.) Batman’s vigilante tactics have been coming under some criticism of late with the denizens of Gotham (if you wish, you can liken this to America’s diminishing tolerance with Bush’s war on terror), so he steps back and allows Dent to do things by the book. After all, Wayne took on the persona of Batman to help keep Gotham’s crime wave from devouring the city; now that the corrupt coppers have been locked up, he can let the good ones take to the streets and earn their pay. In doing this, though, Batman is pushed out of the spotlight, and his true identity, Bruce Wayne, barely registers. (In those few scenes where Bale does appear sans cape and cowl, he sounds like he’s having trouble spitting out his lines, which could be due to stress on his vocal chords from the guttural, almost animalistic quality he brings to the Dark Knight’s voice.) With our superhero on the bench, we’re left mired in an existential bog unsure of whom we’re supposed to be rooting on. The Joker is presented as an absolute; he’s drawn without a back-story or any discernable motivation for his actions. Not unlike the sociopathic little shits in Funny Games, he seems to have materialized just to try the hero’s resolve. There’s no place for the Joker’s character to go; he shows up crazy and stays that way. It is Harvey Dent who provides the film’s much-needed character arc: he goes from a good to bad as a result of becoming disfigured and losing a close friend to the Joker’s blood-soaked bender.

Though the previews for The Dark Knight are keeping it hush-hush, everybody knows by now that Dent eventually becomes the coin-flipping fruitcake Two-Face. (Welcome back from Arkham Asylum if you didn’t.) I loathed the way Tommy Lee Jones played him in Batman Forever, but Eckhart isn’t the shameless ham that his predecessor was. He’s a far more thoughtful actor, but what really sells his character’s ugly side is the brilliant make-up, which looks inspired by the design of the villain on “Batman: The Animated Series.” A victim of one of the Joker’s sick schemes, half of Dent’s handsome visage is burned way, revealing layers of charred muscle and bone. (In the comics, it was Maroni who disfigured Dent by throwing acid in his face.) Up until The Dark Knight, Two-Face’s deformity was realized in live-action pieces by applying prosthetics to an actor’s face, but here—thanks to some cunning CGI work—you can actually see into his face. 

Despite its abundance of parallel storylines, The Dark Knight finds a few moments to spend with old friends like Alfred (Michael Caine), Wayne’s weirdly loyal butler, and Lucius (Morgan Freeman), the brilliant inventor who helps Wayne put together his assorted gadgets and do-dads. Rachel, Wayne’s childhood sweetie-pie (and voice of conscience), is back, but she’s played this time by Maggie Gyllenhaal.  Katie Holmes originated the character in Batman Begins, but had to pass on reprising it in this sequel due to scheduling conflicts. Many fans have expressed their happiness in seeing her go, but I think they’re being unfairly dismissive of Tom Cruise’s better-half. Yes, Rachel’s self-righteous indignation became a little annoying in Batman Begins, but that certainly wasn’t Holmes’ fault—the character was written as a know-it-all bitch. Gyllenhaal is okay in the role, though she has a weird face—made even weirder when it’s blown up to titanic proportions on an Imax screen. (She fits right in with this cast of freaks and grotesques.) Rachel is being courted by Dent, and this moves Wayne and Dent’s rivalry beyond their fight to clean up Gotham. And what a fight it is: fiery, loud, and a little confusing in spots. I couldn’t help but think while I was watching this thing that its sprawling, epic scope might not be the best way to frame a Freudian psychodrama. Batman would be more at home in the smoky and claustrophobic milieu of film noir. 

For a movie that’s being marketed to kids with Pez dispensers, sticker books, and cereal box prizes, The Dark Knight doesn’t offer much in the way of fun and games. It’s a brooding affair that owes a lot of its look to Michael Mann’s Heat, and though I give it props for aiming higher than most superhero flicks, I yearn for an approach more befitting its subject matter—not farcical like that horrid Adam West TV show, but stylized and operatic like Burton’s treatment. I prefer my villains larger than life, too. In Batman Begins, the Scarecrow—one of the creepiest bad guys in the DC universe—was just an off-balanced shrink with a potato sack over his head. That felt like a gyp, but The Dark Knight’s minimalist makeovers of the Joker and Two-Face are at least interesting. Bringing them down to Earth makes them more accessible, and therefore more frightening, but the film puts the brakes on Two-Face’s crazy spree just as it gets started. I don’t think Nolan has made the ultimate salute to the Batman mythos here (nobody really has, though Burton’s Batman Returns comes close), but The Dark Knight, despite its too-cool-for-school nihilism, is an excellent effort.

July 30, 2008

*As of 8/25/08, it sits at #3.

“The Dark Knight” Review. © Copyright 2008 by Edward Larsen Terkelsen. All rights reserved.