The streets are dark, dank and grimy. A voiceover starts recanting the log details of a journal about the decaying city where crime and punishment have so little to do with one another causing the (birth and) rise of vigilantism hiding behind elaborate costumes. Hope has far left the city with no intentions of returning anytime soon. The rot is too deep and excision seems to be the only option left. Graphic novels are made of stuff as these, where the concept of victory has little to do with vanquishing the enemies, and per the necessity of continuation of the story (series), even those victories are hard to come by. The evolution of (some) super heroes from their origins in Comic books, which are essentially for fun reading, into the more adult and mature graphic novels mileu, which are seeped in the shadier aspects of life, is only but natural if they were to truly reflect the passage of time - an idealist hero in the comic boy turns into a weary warrior in the graphic movel. And no other superhero lends himself more readily to face tougher side of his life, filled with moral, ethical and psychological quandaries, ambiguities, imbroglios, vagaries and vicissitudes than The Batman. From the original fun and campy portrayal in Adam West's version to a slightly adult version in Tim Burton's take, slipping back to silly and ridiculous in Jeol Schumaker's version, to building back a lot of the lost respect the hands of Nolan, here's the latest take from Matt Reeves of a true Dark Knight, whose roots are as much in question as the other criminal elements pervading his universe, whose motivations are as much muddled as the host of crazies crossing his path, and whose instincts seem to indicate he is waging a losing battle. Welcome to the first true graphic novel version of the Caped Crusader, and as its terra firma firmly concludes, there's little fun to be had here...
Like the one off "The Joker" before, "The Batman" too pays no heed to the mythology of the character regurtitating the same origin story and instead focusses on daily grind of its hero in a city that has come to terms with the idea of a masked man fighting its criminal element. Gone too is all glamor and glitz associated with the flashy gadgetry. This bare boned, bare knuckled approach moves its hero away from all the loftiness and posturing that super hero fares tend to suffer and allows it to focus on the task at hand, which is of a mad man loose in the city killing off its citizens leaving behind a trail of clues, moving 'The Batman' into the noir zone and a procedural even. Reeves is not interested in the usual 'what makes the super hero tick?' but more on the 'how does he go about his day' concentrating on the physical and emotional toll the night life in a masked suit takes on his day job as a billionarie businessman. And Pattinson suits the role to a T wearing his cape more as a chained ball, lugging around its heft with all the burden and reluctance of a washed up gladiator. Reeves sources key aspects of the movie like the journal keeping (recanting) from the Rorschach character from 'Watchmen', the serial killer mood and lighting from David Fincher's 'Seven', the pyschological impact on the protagonist from 'The silence of the lambs', Riddler's whole persona from 'Zodiac' and the overall plot, structure, arcs almost entirely from the graphic novels (moving as far away from the comic book tone as possible), all of which keeps 'The Batman' more in stead with the original concept of him being a hard boiled detective than a swinging, swaying, swashbuckling superhero. With as many skeletons in his own closet as there as bat-suits, Reeves' Batman is a muddled hero, at times confused about his own intentions, unsure of his brand of vigilante justice, fighting villains who are almost joined at his hip as far the motivations are concerned.
The photography is top shelf capturing the brood, mood and the tone of the movie perfectly well in dark and sombre lighting, reminiscent of Fincher's thrillers and Denis Villeneuve's 'Prisoners' (and even his Blade Runner). The score persistent with its low frequency thump aims to induce a distinct sense of uneasiness and foreboding, long ways from the pumping fare of the usual lot. Reeves' Batman steadfastly refuses to join the pantheon of its commercial predecessors. It stands apart, on its own, away from the mainstream, much like how the graphic novel section is tucked away in the corners in the bookstore far from the eyes of casual leaf turners.
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