The tricky thing about reviving a long-lived franchise is, it’s always going to be compared to its predecessors. And, as the caped crusader goes, that history is awfully long and speckled. Tim Burton dealt with this when he helmed the 1989 iteration, dodging complaints that it was so fundamentally different from the Adam West camp of twenty years prior. Christopher Nolan fought an uphill battle in overcoming the damage inflicted by Joel Schumacher’s missteps. Now, in the wake of Ben Affleck’s turn beneath the cowl, Matt Reeves faces a different, but similar fight in justifying his vision of a spandex-clad detective in the crumbling urban decay.
Reeves gives us a younger Batman, less seasoned and polished than the Kilmer/Clooney/Affleck years, but also not a rookie. This isn’t an origin story; this bat’s reputation has already been established in Gotham and he’s fostered a tenuous working relationship with certain members of the police force. He’s visible enough to draw the attention of a violent, counter-culture master criminal who addresses hints and clues like love letters and sprinkles them around his prolific crime scenes. But he lacks that grand, accomplished sense of supreme confidence: a patrolman who’s still learning his beat, he makes mistakes and takes lessons from them. Actually, he makes a lot of mistakes. This Batman is neither impervious in a fight nor unmatched in an intellectual sense. He often seems like he’s out of his depth, reacting and improvising to events beyond his control. That can be humanizing, but it also limits his aura. In terms of raw energy and dramatic appearances, this rendition ranks near the bottom. I might even call him dull.
That’s a problem with the whole film, in fact. It has inspired and effective moments, isn’t demonstrably bad, but constantly feels clinical and lethargic. There’s very little dramatic spectacle, so I was never wowed. For all the boastful talk about emphasizing the detective aspect of his character, Batman himself doesn’t actually solve much. Alfred cracks most of the riddles, and when he’s eventually indisposed, the Riddler complains that his counterpart isn’t getting to the answers fast enough. Robert Pattinson’s take on the leading role is... okay. He looks the part while in costume, but often overacts, and his take on the brooding Bruce Wayne, as I’d feared, falls on the wrong side of the emo spectrum. Paul Dano’s Se7en-influenced Riddler is a fresh reimagining, but the conclusion of his story (or lack thereof) leaves an empty feeling. Hints and implications are dropped all over the place - about Gordon, the Penguin, Catwoman and other noteworthy rogues who shall remain nameless - but none go beyond the level of superficial winks. Batman and Robin’s Mister Freeze, for all his cheesy one-liners and bad costume effects, had a more cohesive, satisfying story than any of these characters.
I don’t want to give the wrong impression. This isn’t a bad effort. I admire its influences, and its chutzpah for wearing them loudly on its chest. Gotham is dark and gritty, its corrupt politicians serving as an appropriate mirror to their real-life counterparts. The costumes and set designs look great. But, in a strange way, I feel that it tries too hard to match the execution of 2019’s Joker without really grasping what made that movie tick or why the two should be distinctive. Both are deathly serious, heavily visual, mood-reliant character pieces, but where Joker limits its iris to a small, tight group of characters, The Batman is overwhelmed by its cast. Joaquin Phoenix takes us on a private journey in the former film, and it’s meaningful when his arc is resolved. Pattinson, by comparison, never progresses beyond looking mopey in the rain.
Review by drqshadowBlockedParent2022-05-11T17:41:50Z
The tricky thing about reviving a long-lived franchise is, it’s always going to be compared to its predecessors. And, as the caped crusader goes, that history is awfully long and speckled. Tim Burton dealt with this when he helmed the 1989 iteration, dodging complaints that it was so fundamentally different from the Adam West camp of twenty years prior. Christopher Nolan fought an uphill battle in overcoming the damage inflicted by Joel Schumacher’s missteps. Now, in the wake of Ben Affleck’s turn beneath the cowl, Matt Reeves faces a different, but similar fight in justifying his vision of a spandex-clad detective in the crumbling urban decay.
Reeves gives us a younger Batman, less seasoned and polished than the Kilmer/Clooney/Affleck years, but also not a rookie. This isn’t an origin story; this bat’s reputation has already been established in Gotham and he’s fostered a tenuous working relationship with certain members of the police force. He’s visible enough to draw the attention of a violent, counter-culture master criminal who addresses hints and clues like love letters and sprinkles them around his prolific crime scenes. But he lacks that grand, accomplished sense of supreme confidence: a patrolman who’s still learning his beat, he makes mistakes and takes lessons from them. Actually, he makes a lot of mistakes. This Batman is neither impervious in a fight nor unmatched in an intellectual sense. He often seems like he’s out of his depth, reacting and improvising to events beyond his control. That can be humanizing, but it also limits his aura. In terms of raw energy and dramatic appearances, this rendition ranks near the bottom. I might even call him dull.
That’s a problem with the whole film, in fact. It has inspired and effective moments, isn’t demonstrably bad, but constantly feels clinical and lethargic. There’s very little dramatic spectacle, so I was never wowed. For all the boastful talk about emphasizing the detective aspect of his character, Batman himself doesn’t actually solve much. Alfred cracks most of the riddles, and when he’s eventually indisposed, the Riddler complains that his counterpart isn’t getting to the answers fast enough. Robert Pattinson’s take on the leading role is... okay. He looks the part while in costume, but often overacts, and his take on the brooding Bruce Wayne, as I’d feared, falls on the wrong side of the emo spectrum. Paul Dano’s Se7en-influenced Riddler is a fresh reimagining, but the conclusion of his story (or lack thereof) leaves an empty feeling. Hints and implications are dropped all over the place - about Gordon, the Penguin, Catwoman and other noteworthy rogues who shall remain nameless - but none go beyond the level of superficial winks. Batman and Robin’s Mister Freeze, for all his cheesy one-liners and bad costume effects, had a more cohesive, satisfying story than any of these characters.
I don’t want to give the wrong impression. This isn’t a bad effort. I admire its influences, and its chutzpah for wearing them loudly on its chest. Gotham is dark and gritty, its corrupt politicians serving as an appropriate mirror to their real-life counterparts. The costumes and set designs look great. But, in a strange way, I feel that it tries too hard to match the execution of 2019’s Joker without really grasping what made that movie tick or why the two should be distinctive. Both are deathly serious, heavily visual, mood-reliant character pieces, but where Joker limits its iris to a small, tight group of characters, The Batman is overwhelmed by its cast. Joaquin Phoenix takes us on a private journey in the former film, and it’s meaningful when his arc is resolved. Pattinson, by comparison, never progresses beyond looking mopey in the rain.