Batman's Human Tragedy

The “Batman” comic book series tells a dark story, and director Christopher Nolan captures that in his film trilogy, ending with this summer’s final installment, The Dark Knight Rises.  Batman is Greek tragedy, and clearly the brothers Nolan know it.  This film has a sharp and involved screenplay by Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan based on a story by David S. Goyer along with Christopher, in turn based on Bob Kane’s original characters .

One of the many posters.  (c) 2012 Warner Brothers Pictures.

The last time, in 2008, we were blown away by a tragic hero fallen, taking the rap for the unexpected villain that District Attorney Harvey Dent evolved into, Two-Face. (To have seen The Dark Knight is not required to enjoy this film, but it’s a terrific movie and you ought to see it in any case.)  Here we are eight (story) years later, the unjustly excoriated Batman is believed to have been driven away, Bruce Wayne has become a recluse, and even Wayne Industries has fallen on hard times.  Harvey Dent has taken on new life, but not as Two-Face — rather as a poster boy for a reactionary law-and-order regime.  The Harvey Dent laws would have condemned their namesake to life in prison without hope of parole since the insanity defense is no longer allowed and all prisoners are detained in a prison in the middle of the city. Bruce Wayne is still broken hearted, and Commissioner Gordon is still keeping a dreadful secret for the good of the people.  Or so he believes.

Tom Hardy -- really! -- as Bane.  (c) 2012 Warner Brothers Pictures.

A new super-villain has stepped to center stage. Bane is a masked reject of the League of Shadows. Unlike other villains in the series who threaten Gotham, Bane poses a serious physical threat to Batman himself, as well as a criminal threat to the city.  Batman and the comic book series have lots of history, much of which I’ve forgotten, but which Christopher Nolan brought us in the first film of this trilogy, Batman Begins.  The brothers Nolan do their best to bring us up to speed to fully appreciate the story they’re telling, mostly but not entirely succeeding.  For instance, the League of Shadows, which was where Bruce Wayne learned a lot of Batman stuff from Ra’s Al Ghul and Henri Ducard (Liam Neeson), until the League plotted to wipe out Gotham because of the evil that raged there.  That’s as far as my memory reaches – it is rather vague on the complexities of Bruce Wayne’s past; nonetheless I had no difficulty following the story, the characters, and the plot of The Dark Knight Rises 

Christian Bale returns as the troubled, repressed and still furious Bruce Wayne, more Howard Hughes in his later years than the powerful playboy he was in his wealthy youth, and the first two films.  Bale is a wonderful actor, whether maniacally evil or dumbly sane, and his Batman is a tragic hero whatever his origins.  Terrific work throughout this trilogy is crowned in this last film.

The old standbys are here: 

Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne and Michael Caine as Alfred.

Alfred, the Wayne butler, a handsomely aging Michael Caine.  He cries, we cry.  We knew at the time he shouldn’t tell that lie, even though he was trying to protect Master Bruce from any more pain.  Sometimes parental figures just cannot help themselves.

The wily Morgan Freeman returns as Mr. Fox, the clever fellow who runs Wayne Industries in the boss’ absence and presence.  Mr. Freeman is a figure of strength and contained power, a good guy we could wish was real.

Commissioner Gordon, loyal, strong, too honest, is played beautifully by the chameleon Gary Oldman.  Gordon hasn’t lost his touch, immediately spotting the talent and passion of young Officer Blake.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Blake and Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon.

Through these interwoven stories of people’s hearts and lives, fury and faith, we meet officer and then detective Blake in the person of the wonderful Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  Since childhood, he has had the power to hypnotize, and he’s a worthy addition to the canon of memorable characters.  He is fierce and sure and strong and makes me regret this is the end of the trilogy. 

Catwoman is this time around played with anger and intelligence by Anne Hathaway.  Hathaway’s Selina/Catwoman is flawed, she is exciting, weak and strong, and she helps make the political game believable here.  This Catwoman is one of the poor and powerless, until the roulette wheel of Bane’s plot revolves.  A truly interesting character as recreated by a largely character-driven script (despite all the explosions), brilliantly embodied by Ms. Hathaway. 

Anne Hathaway as Catwoman.

The lovely and charming Marion Cotillard plays Miranda Tate, a smart, rich businesswoman who’s quite annoyed at business partner Bruce Wayne for holding back a device that could provide unlimited energy to the city, all because he fears it would also be misused as a weapon.  Well, guess what happens.  Guess again.

Morgan Freeman as Lucius Cos and Marion Cotillard as Miranda Tate.

Bane is a terrifying and dastardly fellow filled with hate — some of it righteous — played by Tom Hardy behind a mask and a beefed up body.  Honestly, I had thought it was a body double, so far was it from the lean body I’ve seen on Hardy in recent films.  Hardy bulking up for the role put me in mind of DeNiro putting on pounds of muscle to play Jake LaMotta, and I hope Mr. Hardy’s career is as solid and long as Mr. DeNiro’s in reward for his gutsy dedication and terrific character work.  There was just one problem with his performance, and that was that although Bane’s mask was appropriately creepy, it also occasionally muffled his words.  This detracted from his all-important storyline. 

If there’s a flaw in The Dark Knight Rises, it is that of any single unit of a trilogy.  The first was a long time ago (2005, to be precise), and there are moments and characters that, while they work fine on their own in this film, do not have the intended depth if you haven’t seen the first 2/3 (preferably recently).  For instance, Cillian Murphy reappears as Dr. Jonathan Crane, here the Judge in the masterful courtroom scenes.  We met him in the first film, Batman Begins, and his presence here makes good sense if you (1) saw that film and (2) remember it, or (3) if you’re a fan of the comic books, in which case you’ve already accomplished (1) and (2).  For the rest of the audience, powerful as these scenes are, just a little bit is lost. The “trial” scenes were beautifully recreated in the style of starkly detailed comic book panels, showing the devolution of Gotham society to one reminiscent of the French revolution as Gotham goes mad.

The Dark Knight Rises has all the requisite fights, chases, explosions (really clever ones), and other forms of action.  There are more good performances in roles large and small, but it’s out there on the big screen, and I advise you to go see it.  Christopher Nolan has done a superb job directing the fast-moving script that knows when to slow down, pause, then kick it back up.  The film runs a bit long, but darned if I’d know what to cut.

I look forward to owning three DVDs to watch in order on a dark and rainy — or snowy — weekend, but the power of the images on a huge screen is undeniable in a film like this.  It is terrifying and disturbing to see chunks of my city blowing up — Gotham is way too familiar and realistic.  This is not a criticism.  In The Dark Knight Rises, there was no attempt to make believe Gotham was part of a comic book, as other interpretations of the great city have done.  If a tad fantastical, that was our city — whatever city you live in.  And we all want a Batman to rise to help us help ourselves.

As for the ending of the film….I leave that up to you.

~ Molly Matera, signing off, wondering if I should see it again at the Imax….

Ah, To Be In Paris at Midnight

How generous is Woody Allen!  The filmmaker gives us Paris, romantic street scenes in the sun, in rain, at twilight, into Parisian evenings.  He doesn’t rush.  He envelopes us in Paris, wraps us in the flowing shawls of her cafes, her cobblestones, her great edifices, her odd conjunctions of ancient and modern, lights on the Seine, the Paris of dreams. Allen knows quite well that his audience is full of hopeless romantics who wish that the Paris he offers was real.  Absurd imaginings of fantastical and fanciful artistic life in Paris, this is his promise. 

Having conditioned his audience to be in love with Paris in the springtime, the title “Midnight in Paris” flashes on the screen.  As always, Woody Allen directs his own screenplay with precision and freedom, creating his best film in years.  We meet Mr. Allen’s traditional alter ego, this time in the person of ...a writer.  Owen Wilson is his avatar, if you will, a screenwriter who wishes to be a novelist à la F. Scott Fitzgerald (one cannot imagine him as a Hemingway), stumbling through pre-marital rites with a spoiled fiancée and her right-wing parents.  Ah, to be rich in Paris in the springtime.  Well, not necessarily.  They weren’t having any fun.

Owen Wilson has Woody Allen down pat without merely imitating him – he has drunk Allen’s rhythms in, he inhabits the exemplary soundtrack, he is a nebbish via Hollywood, who somehow speaks in a California twangy drawl with Woody Allen’s inflections and timing.  Physically, you might think Woody played the scene and said to Wilson “Do it like this,” except that Wilson has absolutely made this guy his own.  All of it works. 

Wilson’s Gil Pender is a successful screenwriter for some reason engaged to a mercenary little rich girl named Inez, who is brilliantly embodied by Rachel McAdams.  I wouldn’t have seen McAdams in this role but she’s so on, pitch perfect with her pauses and her takes. Her disrespectful control of her father and fiancé are lazily flawless. 

As McAdam’s rich Republican father, Kurt Fuller is constantly agitated in a low-key way, his dark circled eyes always sad even when he’s excited.  The man never learned to live and would prefer the world suffered as he does.  Fuller is fantastic.  His equally mean-spirited wife, whose disdain for future son-in-law Gil she doesn’t even attempt to hide, is acerbically well played by Mimi Kennedy.  You just know McAdam’s Inez is going to grow up to be her mother, sharing their rolling eyes and manner of manipulating their men.

Inez’s pedantic friend Paul is smarmily played by Michael Sheen, his eager and adoring wife by Nina Arianda.  The threesome of Carol, Paul, and Inez is so antithetical to Gil that he can barely breathe when they’re onscreen together.  He’s not allowed.

There is an escape.  It is not explained.  It needs no explanation any more than Jeff Daniels stepping off the screen in “The Purple Rose of Cairo” needed an explanation.  Explanations are for science fiction; “Midnight in Paris” dips and tangos into fantasy.  Walking the streets of Paris in the night, a little drunk, a little lost, as a church bell tolls midnight, Gil is picked up by the most beautiful cab you ever saw, a 1920 Peugeot Landaulet. It is yellow, it is shiny, it is driven by an impeccable chauffeur, and exquisitely dressed drunken people happily drag Gil in to their cab, their lives, and their decade. 

Paris in the Twenties.  What American who writes anything and doubtless majored in literature doesn’t dream of stepping into a shiny Parisian night in the 1920s.  Gil meets Scott and Zelda – yes, that Scott and Zelda -- who introduce him to just everyone.  Tom Hiddleston steps up, charming, loving, embodying a dreamy, untroubled version of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Alison Pill’s little round face is so petulantly Zelda, she’s marvelous.  With Cole Porter at the piano, these partying people don’t sound like they’re drunk, they are all still clever and witty and look swell.  Then there’s Hemingway, quietly hilarious as played by Corey Stoll, who brings Gil along to meet Gertrude Stein, utterly believably played by Kathy Bates.  These two icons of Paris in the Twenties become Gil’s friends and literary mentors.  Quite a dream world.

We come upon Ms. Stein critiquing a painting by Picasso to Picasso, claiming it does not in fact capture this lovely woman leaning in the doorway -- Adriana as embodied by Marion Cotillard.  She is perfection, with shapely legs below her flapper dress, her soft face and the most amazing eyes.  They’re not more beautiful than anyone else’s eyes, but they are dark and stormy, starry, reflective of her every feeling and thought, from curiosity to hurt to disappointment to determination.  Unlike many films in which all the men are stumbling over each other for some charisma free mannequin , it is perfectly clear why Cotillard’s Adriana draws all eyes, downright sensible that everyone wishes to hear her speak or watch her listen as he speaks.  She is the muse of great painters of the time, and perhaps, just perhaps, she might be Gil’s.  Paris in the Twenties is her time, the fantasy of Gil.  Her idea of the perfect Paris, though, is the Belle Epoque.  The fantasy dances on. 

In the present in daylight, Léa Seydoux as Gabrielle sells memorabilia in an open-air market, rather like the protagonist of Gil’s novel-in-progress, who runs a “nostalgia shop.”  Their chats about Cole Porter show her to be much more compatible with Gil than Inez.  Carla Bruni is equally charming as a museum tour guide who recognizes Paul’s pedantry, which earns a guffaw from the audience.  This is Paris, and possibilities abound.

All of the casting is unerring, Mr. Allen’s direction so true, that everyone might be ad-libbing, but we all know they’re not.  This is a symphony, and everyone is sounding the right notes at the right time and achieving Mr. Allen’s goals.  This is not another treatise on death and misery.  “Midnight in Paris” is a celebration, a diversion into another time that seems golden only in hindsight.

Note:  While not a chick flick, this isn’t your typical guy’s summer movie either.  There are no car chases, although there is one very classy classic car.  There are no gunfights, although war and shooting things are discussed in passing.  There’s lots of drinking but no sex, the beautiful women are smartly dressed, and nobody but nobody in this film is in a hurry.  So if you need quick cuts, fast cars, semi-naked bimbettes, loud noises and ignorant characters, this movie is not for you.  If, however, you might enjoy a romantic evening’s entertainment with charming and amusing characters, beautiful scenery, chilly air conditioning and, as we have come to expect in a Woody Allen film, a superb soundtrack, stroll on over -- through a light rain -- to your local cinema and revive in Woody Allen’s Paris.

~ Molly Matera, signing off for cocktails on the back patio and some cleverly mellow Cole Porter.