It's a case of superhero identity theft. Born in 1939 as a dignified, somewhat haunted hero, Batman by the late 1960s had become a parody -- a goof in tights.
It didn't happen all at once. First, the comics of the '50s and '60s went over the top. (Remember the Merman Batman? Batman as a giant genie?) Then, the campy 1966 Batman TV series, starring Adam West, infiltrated our living rooms. And in 1997, George Clooney's wretched Batman & Robin dragged the franchise to a new low.
But beginning about 20 years ago, a few traditionalists began battling for Batman's soul, making works that scrubbed away much of the glitz and silliness. Graphic novels by Frank Miller, David Mazzucchelli and others gave Gotham a gritty, post-apocalyptic edge. And Tim Burton's two Batman movies were respectful and dark (visually, at least).
The latest schlock-free Batman chronicle, Batman Begins, trims away a lot of the sensational stuff. There's no Robin (and so no giggles at his costume), no theme villains, no bright costumes and a minimum of wisecracking.
Instead, Batman Begins tells the story of a regular guy in search of redemption, a driven man who pushes himself to extremes. It's a common theme in American cinema -- see The Searchers, Taxi Driver and a handful of other classics.
Except ... Batman Begins is a superhero movie. And in Batman Begins, all the rules of Hollywood blockbusters and the superhero genre apply.
So, by the time the final credits scroll, Batman's got to do more than save himself. He has to save the world or, at least, Gotham.
That leaves director Christopher Nolan, best known for the low-budget, told-in-reverse thriller Memento, with a major challenge. Can he weave a small-scale psychological study into a $140 million, effects-driven Hollywood blockbuster?
At first, Batman Begins is promising. Nolan spends most of the opening hour following Bruce Wayne, a guy who wasn't born super. Bruce, don't forget, has no genetic advantages (unless you count the bottomless bank account he inherited).
So how and why can someone become a hero? That's what Batman Begins explores, combining info from the existing Batman universe with Nolan's own ideas. Bruce falls into a bat-infested well, sees his parents gunned down in a dank alley, gets manhandled by a crime lord and survives a violent Bhutanese prison.
By the time Bruce comes of age, he's become a supreme street fighter. Henri Ducard, a mysterious mentor, helps Bruce add stealth and deception to his toolbox. To complete the package, Bruce acquires a caveful of high-tech gadgets -- retrofitting a bunch of prototypes from a military R&D lab.
Fueled by anger, trained to the nth degree, outfitted with bleeding-edge Batgear, Batman is now street-ready.
Unfortunately, that means phase two of Batman Begins is about to begin, and the film's thoughtful verisimilitude starts to slip away. Batman Begins looks right -- it's dark and a bit hellish -- but the plot is convoluted, involving a gaseous drug that forces inhalers to confront their worst fears.
And Nolan's no action director, at least not yet. His fight sequences are murky -- it's never quite clear who is smacking whom -- and his Batmobile chase scene has no rhythm.
Nolan also violates Hollywood's "show don't tell" laws. In one scene, a group of deranged convicts escape, and we are told that a section of the city is "tearing itself apart." But except for some smoke rising above the tenements, Batman Begins provides almost no visual evidence. Nolan ducks the graphic stuff, a no-no for any comic-inspired movie.
But the problems with Batman Begins -- the clumsy action scenes, the increasing unreality, the dense, self-serious dialogue -- never sink it.
Nolan's concept has too much integrity, and he's put together a cast that helps bring the universe to life. Most of the cast, including Michael Caine as Alfred, Gary Oldman as James Gordon and Liam Neeson as Ducard, along with Morgan Freeman, Tom Wilkinson and Cillian Murphy, give the film some added weight.
On the debit side, Katie Holmes, who plays Bruce's childhood friend, is unwatchable. Well, unwatchable's not the right word for her. But she is very hard to listen to, mangling dialogue that's a few degrees too difficult for her.
It's not just her fault -- some of this stuff wasn't meant to be said out loud, at least with a straight face.
Still, Christian Bale, who plays Bruce and Batman, manages to pull it off. In fact, he slips so easily into his character that he may help redefine it for a new generation. Can Bale erase some of the bad memories? Will we think of him, instead of Adam West or George Clooney, when we hear the word Batman?
If so, we'll consider Batman Begins a success.
