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Nolan's sequel surpasses the original with an intense, disturbing masterpiece.
It isn't an overstatement to call The Dark Knight the most sophisticated and ambitious work of its kind. Superior to all three Spider-Man installments and even its amazing predecessor in terms of conceptualization, writing, acting, and direction, Nolan's follow-up to Batman Begins is a dark, complex and disturbing film, not the least of which because it grafts its heroics onto the blueprint of actual reality rather than that of spandex-clad supermen. And while such a distinction may make little difference to those already eagerly anticipating the return of the caped crusader, suffice it to say that The Dark Knight qualifies as the first official comic book adaptation that truly succeeds in being a great artistic achievement in its own right.
Christian Bale returns as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy who moonlights as Batman. Having eased more comfortably into a lifestyle of excess, Wayne lurks on the fringes of his family's corporation as CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) runs the boardroom. But when an ambitious district attorney named Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) comes forward to challenge Gotham City's villainy through proper legal channels, the man also known as Batman sees an opportunity to replace his vigilante persona with a figure of virtue who will truly inspire the best in the citizenry.
Unfortunately, Batman's success as a crime fighter has generated new problems for Gotham, including a consolidation of the crime lords who once controlled the city independently. Meanwhile, a new adversary named The Joker (Heath Ledger) proves particularly dangerous because he seeks not only to advance the cause of Gotham's underworld, but obliterate the foundations of liberty and order that Batman protects. Torn between championing Dent and meting out justice as a masked vigilante, Wayne soon finds himself at a crossroads between being the hero that Gotham needs and the one it deserves.
The great triumph of The Dark Knight is that it manages for the first time ever in the history of the genre to transplant comic book theatrics into the real world and moreover, to examine precisely what it could mean if a person decided to strap on a super-suit and start attacking the world's criminals. The first film certainly hinted at this possibility, thrusting the hero and his alter-ego into a world where Wayne's frivolity was as despised as Batman's vigilantism. But even with real-world explanations for such improbabilities as Scarecrow's ability to scare, this was still a world where the Batmobile was cool and the climactic battle took place on a speeding train as a bomb ticked toward its inevitable explosion. Here, the Tumbler barely survives its first appearance and with the exception of one or two cooler-than-cool moves that will no doubt thrill fans, its replacement/substitute the Batpod serves as a largely utilitarian device for Batman to get from one crime scene to the next. (That said, I still want one.)
More important than this, however, is the idea that Batman is not just a guy in a suit, but a symbol and there are people in the film most notably The Joker who want to destroy that symbol. While Batman's identity remains secret and his motives unknown to Gothamites, he represents hope in a city that has little to spare and embodies a pursuit of justice and further, a code of behavior that quite literally threatens these criminals' way of life. By throwing Gotham into chaos and testing the limits to which Batman holds himself, The Joker is not merely plying death and destruction but willfully destroying the philosophical foundations of organized society. The closest such examination another comic book-oriented film has ever attempted was the emotional throughline of the Spider-Man films. Peter Parker's struggle was almost exclusively personal, whereas Wayne not only has to find a way to maintain his moral compass, but consider what the repercussions of his heroism are to both the public and the criminals themselves.
While all of this sounds lofty and it is Nolan examines these themes in beautifully human terms, projecting his examination of "the hero" into the hearts and minds of his characters. Wayne, less outwardly conflicted than in Batman Begins, sees Dent's ascension as an opportunity to stop playing dress up and reunite with Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) the one woman who knows his secret. Meanwhile, Dent and his sometimes partner Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman) look at Batman's existence as a good thing, a fulcrum against which they can enforce the law and sometimes bend rules to accomplish loftier goals. And, of course, The Joker wants to destroy all of that, albeit less because of some law of movie villainy than because he sees his existence as the necessary antithesis or perhaps ultimate extension of the murky morality of Batman's brand of justice. When, after all, was the last time a movie criminal wasn't merely mad, but had a deeper ideological motivation for his dastardly deeds?
Perhaps bolstered by the success of the first film, Nolan reaches out further with his storytelling and camerawork in The Dark Knight to create an ongoing, palpable feeling of tension that never relents through the entirety of the film's two and a half hour running time. There is a hugeness to the narrative itself, which Nolan enhances first by shooting partially on IMAX film stock (which will surely be lost to those unlucky enough to be too far to see the film in the format), but he then builds this haunting atmosphere steadily from one scene to the next, building anticipation for the moments when the violence will finally erupt.
That he occasionally veers into comic book glibness with one-liners undermines none of the intensity; on the contrary, these moments provide a release that is absolutely necessary to keeping the audience from succumbing to The Joker's febrile madness. Meanwhile, the violence is quite possibly the most intense I have ever seen in a PG-13 film, leaving myself and others wondering how The Dark Knight avoided an R. But what is more disturbing is the unrelenting menace that hovers over every scene like a dark cloud. Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard's leitmotif for The Joker sounds like a cross between Ligeti's "Lux Aeterna" (from 2001) and the scraping, metallic curlicue that was used in trailers for The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and enhances the clenched-fist feeling that anything can and will happen at any moment, even scenes in which he doesn't appear.
Like few other mythology-based movies, The Dark Knight truly seems to think of everything, be it conceptual or purely logical. Credit Nolan and his brother Jonathan (who also helped conceive The Prestige) for really digging into Batman's world, turning over the soil and examining its roots for possible deficiencies. While this generally speaks to the film's plausibility, they also have the presence of mind to consider such things as Lucius Fox's considerable monetary expenditures not to mention his entire division and how and where a paper trail might eventually lead to it. Again, however, these are not ideas or even subplots to which vast amounts of screen time are devoted, but simply revealed, explained and dealt with as they might arise in real life.
Bale is predictably effective as both Wayne and Batman this time around, playing both with greater assurance than in Batman Begins (indeed, he and his characters seem to possess more confidence). Though Wayne is a necessary second-fiddle to Batman, he is a better defined and more poised character in this film even when he's indulging the excesses of his trust fund and he understands the value of being in a position to help someone like Dent, be it monetarily as himself or physically as Batman. Also great is the rest of the original cast, all of whom seem as comfortable in their characters as if they'd created them themselves. Oldman in particular creates a portrait of virtue that shows a roiling well of doubt underneath, and yet always conveys effortless authority.
Meanwhile taking over for Katie Holmes, Gyllenhaal adds real depth and energy to Rachel Dawes, showing how her feelings for Bruce Wayne aren't simply unrequited, but actually based in both sincere affection and common sense. And Eckhart more or less combines all of the disparate roles he's played in the past lout, huckster, loyal companion into one seamless portrayal of a man determined to make things better but not quite sure how to accomplish that goal in the right way.
Finally, there's Ledger, whose performance I suspect will be the subject of many analyses of all sorts in the weeks and months to come. What he does with The Joker is, quite frankly, nothing short of transcendent. Early in the film he explains the origins of his trademark facial scars, and you worry for a moment that the filmmakers are giving this psychopath some kind of convenient explanation, which, talented though he was, Ledger won't be able to overcome. But by the third time he's explained where they come from each time telling a different tale you realize that Ledger was a master of his craft, only in his final years finding roles that truly offered him the chance to explore that mastery. His is the definitive movie Joker, and he owns the role and achieves a level of abject insanity that is terrifying as it is irresistible.
Overall, the film does maintain a steady pace and function with such continuously unnerving momentum that it occasionally seems like a second installment. (There are plenty of appropriate comparisons to other sequels its quality mirrors, if not possibly surpasses: Toy Story 2, The Empire Strikes Back, The Godfather Part II, etc.) In fact, so well-executed is this film that even the title or at least its true meaning seemed to catch its audience off guard, until it gets explained, expertly and poetically, at the very end of the movie.
A screenwriting professor of mine once said that what happens in a story must be surprising but expected, and Nolan's approach to The Dark Knight epitomizes this maxim. He gives you exactly what you want, but does it so well that it manages to completely catch you off guard when it happens. But there really is no better way to describe The Dark Knight than to call it a great work of art because it transcends both the boundaries of comic book moviemaking and even the parameters of good filmmaking. What Nolan and Co. have created doesn't just function as a thrill ride or even a terrific movie, but rather as a substantive and philosophical examination of why we need heroes, and then when we need them, what they mean.
It isn't an overstatement to call The Dark Knight the most sophisticated and ambitious work of its kind. Superior to all three Spider-Man installments and even its amazing predecessor in terms of conceptualization, writing, acting, and direction, Nolan's follow-up to Batman Begins is a dark, complex and disturbing film, not the least of which because it grafts its heroics onto the blueprint of actual reality rather than that of spandex-clad supermen. And while such a distinction may make little difference to those already eagerly anticipating the return of the caped crusader, suffice it to say that The Dark Knight qualifies as the first official comic book adaptation that truly succeeds in being a great artistic achievement in its own right.
Christian Bale returns as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy who moonlights as Batman. Having eased more comfortably into a lifestyle of excess, Wayne lurks on the fringes of his family's corporation as CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) runs the boardroom. But when an ambitious district attorney named Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) comes forward to challenge Gotham City's villainy through proper legal channels, the man also known as Batman sees an opportunity to replace his vigilante persona with a figure of virtue who will truly inspire the best in the citizenry.
Unfortunately, Batman's success as a crime fighter has generated new problems for Gotham, including a consolidation of the crime lords who once controlled the city independently. Meanwhile, a new adversary named The Joker (Heath Ledger) proves particularly dangerous because he seeks not only to advance the cause of Gotham's underworld, but obliterate the foundations of liberty and order that Batman protects. Torn between championing Dent and meting out justice as a masked vigilante, Wayne soon finds himself at a crossroads between being the hero that Gotham needs and the one it deserves.
The great triumph of The Dark Knight is that it manages for the first time ever in the history of the genre to transplant comic book theatrics into the real world and moreover, to examine precisely what it could mean if a person decided to strap on a super-suit and start attacking the world's criminals. The first film certainly hinted at this possibility, thrusting the hero and his alter-ego into a world where Wayne's frivolity was as despised as Batman's vigilantism. But even with real-world explanations for such improbabilities as Scarecrow's ability to scare, this was still a world where the Batmobile was cool and the climactic battle took place on a speeding train as a bomb ticked toward its inevitable explosion. Here, the Tumbler barely survives its first appearance and with the exception of one or two cooler-than-cool moves that will no doubt thrill fans, its replacement/substitute the Batpod serves as a largely utilitarian device for Batman to get from one crime scene to the next. (That said, I still want one.)
More important than this, however, is the idea that Batman is not just a guy in a suit, but a symbol and there are people in the film most notably The Joker who want to destroy that symbol. While Batman's identity remains secret and his motives unknown to Gothamites, he represents hope in a city that has little to spare and embodies a pursuit of justice and further, a code of behavior that quite literally threatens these criminals' way of life. By throwing Gotham into chaos and testing the limits to which Batman holds himself, The Joker is not merely plying death and destruction but willfully destroying the philosophical foundations of organized society. The closest such examination another comic book-oriented film has ever attempted was the emotional throughline of the Spider-Man films. Peter Parker's struggle was almost exclusively personal, whereas Wayne not only has to find a way to maintain his moral compass, but consider what the repercussions of his heroism are to both the public and the criminals themselves.
While all of this sounds lofty and it is Nolan examines these themes in beautifully human terms, projecting his examination of "the hero" into the hearts and minds of his characters. Wayne, less outwardly conflicted than in Batman Begins, sees Dent's ascension as an opportunity to stop playing dress up and reunite with Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) the one woman who knows his secret. Meanwhile, Dent and his sometimes partner Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman) look at Batman's existence as a good thing, a fulcrum against which they can enforce the law and sometimes bend rules to accomplish loftier goals. And, of course, The Joker wants to destroy all of that, albeit less because of some law of movie villainy than because he sees his existence as the necessary antithesis or perhaps ultimate extension of the murky morality of Batman's brand of justice. When, after all, was the last time a movie criminal wasn't merely mad, but had a deeper ideological motivation for his dastardly deeds?
Perhaps bolstered by the success of the first film, Nolan reaches out further with his storytelling and camerawork in The Dark Knight to create an ongoing, palpable feeling of tension that never relents through the entirety of the film's two and a half hour running time. There is a hugeness to the narrative itself, which Nolan enhances first by shooting partially on IMAX film stock (which will surely be lost to those unlucky enough to be too far to see the film in the format), but he then builds this haunting atmosphere steadily from one scene to the next, building anticipation for the moments when the violence will finally erupt.
That he occasionally veers into comic book glibness with one-liners undermines none of the intensity; on the contrary, these moments provide a release that is absolutely necessary to keeping the audience from succumbing to The Joker's febrile madness. Meanwhile, the violence is quite possibly the most intense I have ever seen in a PG-13 film, leaving myself and others wondering how The Dark Knight avoided an R. But what is more disturbing is the unrelenting menace that hovers over every scene like a dark cloud. Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard's leitmotif for The Joker sounds like a cross between Ligeti's "Lux Aeterna" (from 2001) and the scraping, metallic curlicue that was used in trailers for The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and enhances the clenched-fist feeling that anything can and will happen at any moment, even scenes in which he doesn't appear.
Like few other mythology-based movies, The Dark Knight truly seems to think of everything, be it conceptual or purely logical. Credit Nolan and his brother Jonathan (who also helped conceive The Prestige) for really digging into Batman's world, turning over the soil and examining its roots for possible deficiencies. While this generally speaks to the film's plausibility, they also have the presence of mind to consider such things as Lucius Fox's considerable monetary expenditures not to mention his entire division and how and where a paper trail might eventually lead to it. Again, however, these are not ideas or even subplots to which vast amounts of screen time are devoted, but simply revealed, explained and dealt with as they might arise in real life.
Bale is predictably effective as both Wayne and Batman this time around, playing both with greater assurance than in Batman Begins (indeed, he and his characters seem to possess more confidence). Though Wayne is a necessary second-fiddle to Batman, he is a better defined and more poised character in this film even when he's indulging the excesses of his trust fund and he understands the value of being in a position to help someone like Dent, be it monetarily as himself or physically as Batman. Also great is the rest of the original cast, all of whom seem as comfortable in their characters as if they'd created them themselves. Oldman in particular creates a portrait of virtue that shows a roiling well of doubt underneath, and yet always conveys effortless authority.
Meanwhile taking over for Katie Holmes, Gyllenhaal adds real depth and energy to Rachel Dawes, showing how her feelings for Bruce Wayne aren't simply unrequited, but actually based in both sincere affection and common sense. And Eckhart more or less combines all of the disparate roles he's played in the past lout, huckster, loyal companion into one seamless portrayal of a man determined to make things better but not quite sure how to accomplish that goal in the right way.
Finally, there's Ledger, whose performance I suspect will be the subject of many analyses of all sorts in the weeks and months to come. What he does with The Joker is, quite frankly, nothing short of transcendent. Early in the film he explains the origins of his trademark facial scars, and you worry for a moment that the filmmakers are giving this psychopath some kind of convenient explanation, which, talented though he was, Ledger won't be able to overcome. But by the third time he's explained where they come from each time telling a different tale you realize that Ledger was a master of his craft, only in his final years finding roles that truly offered him the chance to explore that mastery. His is the definitive movie Joker, and he owns the role and achieves a level of abject insanity that is terrifying as it is irresistible.
Overall, the film does maintain a steady pace and function with such continuously unnerving momentum that it occasionally seems like a second installment. (There are plenty of appropriate comparisons to other sequels its quality mirrors, if not possibly surpasses: Toy Story 2, The Empire Strikes Back, The Godfather Part II, etc.) In fact, so well-executed is this film that even the title or at least its true meaning seemed to catch its audience off guard, until it gets explained, expertly and poetically, at the very end of the movie.
A screenwriting professor of mine once said that what happens in a story must be surprising but expected, and Nolan's approach to The Dark Knight epitomizes this maxim. He gives you exactly what you want, but does it so well that it manages to completely catch you off guard when it happens. But there really is no better way to describe The Dark Knight than to call it a great work of art because it transcends both the boundaries of comic book moviemaking and even the parameters of good filmmaking. What Nolan and Co. have created doesn't just function as a thrill ride or even a terrific movie, but rather as a substantive and philosophical examination of why we need heroes, and then when we need them, what they mean.
