Bat Card ... Never Leave the Cave Without It!

The Dark Knight (2008)

Rating ... B+ (75)

(Ho-hum, spoilers. What did you expect, really.)

Batman has always been a fickle commodity. Though primarily a comic book figure, Tim Burton's 1989 reimagining introduced the superhero to a broader audience with acceptable results, both fiscal and artistic. His Batman Returns signified the creative pinnacle for Batman's first outing (assuming the exclusion of his initial animated adventures circa 1992) while the subsequent flicks collapsed under the pressure of crowd-pleasing and reliance on franchise familiarity, culminating in the universal contempt of Batman and Robin, Joel Schumacher's techno-fetish light show (and unintentional laugh-riot), which banished the hero back to the realm of television.

But there was never anything really wrong with Batman himself. Even if his most recent cinematic exploits strayed into self-parody and Hollywood blockbuster-ism, they didn't invalidate his unique position in crimefighting mythos - that this was a superhero who reciprocated violations of human law with commensurate brutality in some misguided attempt at reconciling past emotional scars. Maybe audiences just needed to relearn the concept, and after knocking the ball out of the park with 2001's Memento, director Christopher Nolan came on board for Batman Begins, a harrowing reboot of the franchise that skillfully monitored Batman's heroic upbringing from the turmoil of his childhood to the climactic soothing of his rage. Though clearly the opener for a franchise revitalization, Batman Begins was a stand-alone tale in its own right, a remarkable glimpse of passion sublimated to the call of duty.

So where do we go from here? Given the political ramifications of the equally commendable The Dark Knight, the Batman series seems to have the same question on its mind. If Gotham city is even in part emblematic of current events, there's trouble afoot. From the depths of insecurity and inadequacy comes the Joker, a menacing criminal force with no singular motive and no point of origin, save a perpetually shifting anecdote on how he acquired his signature scars, which reveals itself to be a spectacular account of the varying reasons crimes are committed and the impossibility of assigning an all-encompassing aperture to the face of crime. Determined to level the playing field by undermining Gotham's embodiments of confidence and stability, Joker is prepared to bring chaos to the masses with nihilistic glee.

Last I checked however, nihilism and pop cinema are mutually exclusive ends. Most H-wood escapades seem to have gotten it into their heads you can't make a movie with doom and gloom as your primary ingredients and simultaneously retain audience goodwill, hence the overabundance of films with crackerjack endings where protags receive nearly everything they desired while sacrificing very little to acheive such ends. But any idiot will tell you The Dark Knight doesn't stoop to bubblegum plotting, so what's the catch? How did Nolan get away with these paradoxical politics?

Maybe the answer's obvious. If there's one thing both parties can't live without it's exceptional plotting. Hollywood continuity editing is a process born of and dedicated solely to narrative clarity while Nolan's aforementioned Memento relied most of all on its unique storytelling to convey the extent people are willing to succumb to self-delusion to recover from tragedy. Haters certainly have a point when they label Nolan's relentless nihilism as noveau-trendy and carefully crafted button-pushing for the male, generation Y crowd, and that would explain one possible way to turn The Dark Knight into a palatable product. Even though some long-winded scenes like those where Joker undertakes lengthy speeches around burning piles of money may support the notion, Christopher Nolan is still in charge, and narrative is the key to solving the conundrum. I consider the second half prisoner's dilemma to import Nolan's sentiments on the matter. In the Joker's most devilish scheme, he hijacks and wires explosives to a couple boats and offers them each two options: either choose to destroy the other ship, or do nothing for the duration, after which he will blow up both boats. Though the scene initially reeks of easily transposed psychology, perspective is crucial. In either outcome Joker succeeds in subverting society's symbols of hope and benevolence unless Batman - a fervent believer in folks' ability to do the right thing - can put a stop to him. That neither boat chooses to condemn the other is at the same time admirable and illogical; nevertheless, the situation clearly illustrates it is not Nolan's intentions to whitewash over morality when in the thematic result to this dilemma he applauds that people embrace blind optimism when confronted with irrevocable quandry.

But if the scenario is actually immutable, how does everyone escape unscathed? The answer lies in Batman, Harvey Dent, and the individual. Echoing the central tenet from his own The Prestige, that extraordinary personal sacrifice is required to sustain wonder in a time of rapid technological advance, Nolan once again examines society's demands of the individual. When the Joker wins the battle for the allegiance of the crusading Harvey Dent, his corruption represents the demise of selfless righteousness, and the reveal is that the disposition of a figurehead actually is sufficient to corrode sanguinity on a national scale because its citizens have confused the ideal of hope with its idol. Because a return to equilibrium is necessitated, Batman's singular presence enables him to salvage the Gotham's morale at the cost of his own being - the disturbing price of heroic triumph.

The problem is, it's really a tad myopic to deem The Dark Knight the greatest movie ever. The plotting checks out, wonderfully; after all, it's Christopher Nolan's strong suit. It's the elegance that's missing. There's nothing wrong with earnestness, but the workmanlike quality of The Dark Knight is frequently laborious. Scenes like that where Wayne crashes his Lamborghini as a tit-for-tat gesture to a potential whistleblower ably accomplish characterization and drama with implicitness and grace. On other occasions it requires entire speeches and copious voiceover. Formally, The Dark Knight probably brings more to the table than my current superhero favorite, X2: X-Men United, but scenes as awesomely, quietly evocative as Wolverine's confrontation with Stryker in the halls of Xavier's academy, where the freezey dude deposits a wall between them - a block of protective ice and figurative barrier to a lifetime of memories unwillingly abdicated to the folds of time - while prevalent in that film are curiously in short supply here. Perhaps in that regard, The Dark Knight really is pop perfection, but more often than not it's all at the cost of lyricism.