Directed by Matt Reeves. Written by Peter Craig and Matt Reeves
For those who like a sadder, madder, more of a detective Batman, a dirtier, punchier, angsty teenager Batman, and a grimier world for him to live in, Matt Reeves’ The Batman is here.
Except no one calls him that. Two years into his nocturnal career, Bruce Wayne calls his alter ego vengeance and the media describes him as a masked vigilante, no doubt suggested by the uneasy police force who’d rather put him in cuffs. Batman’s only ally remains Detective Gordon, now in the guise of Jeff Wright.
Case of the week: Someone’s murdering Gotham’s rich and powerful and leaving riddles behind for Batman and befuddled cops to try and solve. The elite are spooked being the target, Batman’s laser-focused on beating any criminal element to a pulp, and Reeves is keen on tapping into our class warfare zeitgeist.
The Batman doesn’t reinvent the character, but it does emphasize the gumshoe detective work that most popular renditions skirt over, usually enabling Batman’s clue-finding with some glitzy WayneTech. Here, he’s smart, runs down leads, parses over crime scenes, and uses witnesses on both sides of the law to piece it all together. It’s honestly refreshing, this street-level process. Very working man.
It’s therefore great Reeves and production designer James Chinlund have made those streets such an immersive and arresting place. Piss steams off the pavement, urban debris flies around, neon signs cast their light on city streets, docks, dilapidated orphanages, and taken together, the world of The Batman feels faithfully lifted from a comic book instead of the more sanitized pretend-real world rendition we’re familiar with.
Robert Pattinson steps into the crime-fighting boots as a leather daddy Batman, the thunk of his steps matched by the creak of his outfit as he wallops foes. Pattinson lays on the angst playing this early days version of Batman, burying Bruce Wayne somewhere far below the surface. Keaton was serious, Clooney was camp, Bale moped, but Pattinson is someone I believe is mentally ill with his all-consuming obsession, an interpretation long overdue. He’s like a hurt dog chewing at its leg thinking amputation is the cure.
Reeves brings out a lot of great performances from his cast, notably Colin Farrell as Oswald Cobblepot, the government name of the Penguin. As crude and slick as oil, the performance was so good it spawned a TV show spin-off, and it’s easy to see why with the universe already built for the adaptation. Wright also impresses as Gordon, making him hard-as-nails and equally focused as Batman, rather than a nervous law enforcement liaison for Batman to deal with. Wright and Pattinson have genuine chemistry as unlikely as the duo seems.
I always felt that Christopher Nolan’s view of Batman was on the side of veneration, letting Wayne’s tragic backstory and noble cause excuse borderline fascistic methods in pursuit of his goal. Reeves dials that back a bit, opting for a softer discussion about how we solve a broken society.
It’s not particularly sophisticated, and almost a bit saccharine, but in line with the teenage angst that bedevils this version of Bruce Wayne, the lesson is similarly taken from an after school special, telling us how a solutions-based approach is preferable to angry hammering at the symptoms. This is kid’s stuff, but so are comic books, so the rather insipid messaging that informs The Batman shouldn’t detract from the moody and well-executed detective story that it is.
I’m not usually fond of holding competing visions up against each other, but the pace at which Batman-content is being churned out almost invites it. In that regard, The Batman does feel like a new take in both body and mind, a new vision that carves out a space for itself. Reeves has earned the keys to the Batmobile.
Mikkel Frederiksen 