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BATMAN BEGINS
Although
summer blockbusters are usually critic-proof,
Batman Begins, Christopher (Memento/
Insomnia) Nolan's new prequel
to the Bat-guy franchise, has divided
the critics into a variety of thumbs-up/down
stances. Almost everyone (including me)
concedes that Nolan's version–the
fifth film incarnation based on comic
artist/writer Frank Miller's 1986 darker
interpretation of Batman–is well
thought out and far more reality-based
than either of the Tim Burton versions,
which began Batty's big-screen adventures,
or Joel Schumacher's campy turn-of-the-century
pair, which seemingly ended them.
But my own thumbs itch to type out my
disappointment with the vision that Nolan--a
very smart (and quite attractive) Anglo-American
writer/director-- brings to this quintessential
American comic with Batman Begins.
In fact, it's his obvious hyper-intelligence
(not to mention his predominately British
cast) that ultimately capsize his first
blockbuster.
Nolan seems to be following that recent
British theatrical tradition of re-discovering
classic American plays (think Arthur Miller
or Tennessee Williams) and musicals (most
recently Guys and Dolls at the
Donmar in London) to great critical acclaim.
But American superheroes come from the
very heart of the American Dream. And
American comics are geared to a fairly
specific audience. I'm not sure
who the audience for Batman Begins
will be.
This current vision of The Batman,
as Bruce Wayne's pointy-eared alter ego
was originally called back in his May
1939 Detective Comics debut, emanates
from the same darker Miller recreation
as does that of Burton and Schumacher.
But in his earnest effort to reinvent
rather than merely revitalize the Bat
franchise, Nolan creates an almost Dickensian
paradigm with overtones of Dostoyevsky.
Bruce Wayne, played by a phenomenally
buff but endlessly one-note Christian
Bale, is an orphan (see Oliver Twist,
David Copperfield, and Pip), molded and
taught by a series of older father figures
who clearly represent good and evil, crime
and punishment. These include Bruce's
first mentor, the martial arts master
Ducard (Liam Neeson alternately whispering
and shouting in a full-out Richard Burton
mode), along with Michael Caine's avuncular
Alfred and Morgan Freeman's “M”-like inventor,
Lucius Fox. Each helps Bruce to become
his pointy-eared crime-fighting alter
ego.
Bale strikes a valiant and decidedly uncampy
pose as the Caped Crusader-- the best
physical presence of a rather large series
of predecessors--but his Bruce Wayne guise
differs in tone only when drunk. And Nolan
chooses a ponderously slow and somber
tone, endlessly reiterating the murder
of Bruce's parents and his attendant pathological
need for revenge fueled by survivor guilt.
This Batman faces a series of the usual
sinister suspects, but with none of those
delicious comic villains (The Joker, The
Riddler, The Penguin, etc.) who have come
to symbolize the Pow/Thwack/Bam! School
of Batman on film and TV. I miss them.
There's certainly nothing funny about
either Cillian Murphy's brain-scrambling
Scarecrow or Ken Watanabe's apocalyptic
(and immortal) Ra's al Ghul. What little
humorous villainy there is comes from
Tom Wilkinson's (very non-Italian) crime
boss, Carmine Falcone. What little
humor there is at all is reserved for
Caine and Freeman's masterful delivery.
Now Dickens certainly isn't a bad model,
and while the basic set-up is certainly
all there in the original Bob Kane two-page
comic book background story, comics have
always been a subversive revolt against
just such highbrow literature as Dickens.
Quite a conundrum, and one that Nolan
ultimately fails to master. And
the less said about either the future
Mrs. Tom Cruise as a tenacious assistant
district attorney or the almost nonexistent
score by not one but two Hollywood composers--Hans
Zimmer and James Newton Howard--the better!
Leslie
(Hoban) Blake
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