Review: "The Dark Knight"

Christopher Nolan has created a movie that is darker, graver, and one thousand times better than I ever, in my wildest dreams, could have imagined. It is an incredibly grown-up movie, one boob or f-word away from an R-rating, somewhere near the intersection of drama, action, and horror. "The Dark Knight" is paced with the utmost restraint, revealing one scene after another like sand being poured from glass to glass. No spills, not even a trickle. Each exchange has a purpose, each moment equipped with an arsenal of foreshadowing and suspense. The movie builds upon these moments, growing immensely until it is no longer just a cohesive collection of wonderful scenes (like most good movies are); it is a force. Good movies make us feel a certain way. When a film is well-rounded in its writing, directing, acting, etc., it always leaves us with a sense of closure in the end, even if (like in "Lost in Translation") the ending is ambiguous. Good movies feel like brown paper packages and a simple piece of yarn. Everything is square and complete and clasped into a little bubble of perfection. "The Dark Knight" begins as a good movie and ends as a force. It's like the sky or the sun, something that exists on its own accord. It succeeds in the way a black hole succeeds, and by the end, a story about Bruce Wayne/the Batman becomes an ensemble drama about the people of Gotham City, their relationships, plights, madness, and pain. This is the best movie of the year so far.

The film is lead, without doubt, by the tour de force of Christian Bale. He is a masterful Bruce Wayne, and "The Dark Knight" is, essentially, about the undoing of Batman the hero. Batman is not a hero, but a guardian who must make decisions that nobody else can. It is not his eternal goodness that defines him (Bruce Wayne is human, and no Clark Kent) but his ability to do what must be done, regardless of the consequences. He trusts the people around him, and they trust him. Even if the whole of Gotham does not.

The film is stolen, however, by the late (and painfully missed) Heath Ledger. It is not a question of how he 'captures' the Joker in "The Dark Knight." It's not a question as to whether he's consistent or on his A-game, or what his methods are or whether or not this was the role that killed him. There are no questions. Heath's final completed role is a force, just like the movie, somehow separate from the finished product yet crucial to its success. Heath's Joker is a complete reinvention of the idea of Joker as villain. It is incomparable to Jack Nicholson's Joker, but not because it is inferior or superior in any way. Heath Ledger's Joker is a young man with no plan, no real idea of what's going on aside from a sadistic yearning for destruction and, as Gordon once said, "a taste for the theatrical." While negotiating with mob boss Sal Maroni, the Joker demands a payment of "Half." Half of what, exactly? Nobody knows. Not even the villain himself. The surrounding criminals laugh, assuming the clown means money. It becomes quite clear later on in the film, however, that money, things, and people mean zero to the Joker. The Joker describes himself as something of a dog chasing cars: that if he ever actually caught one he'd never know what to do with it. "Some men just want to watch the world burn," Alfred says. The Joker is an enigmatic character. He speaks his own unique, psychotic language, and he's frightening. He's frightening because of his smile, his laugh, his slithering childhood anecdotes. Because there's nothing in the world that he, himself, is frightened of. Not death, not pain, and definitely not the Batman. In the beginning of the movie, he tells the mob crew to kill Batman, that this will return Gotham to its original state. But the Joker does not want to kill the Batman. The Batman is far too much fun! Some small part of me believes that the Joker merely tells the criminals to kill the masked vigilante so that he can watch each one meet his uncanny demise. Sadistic, I know. This is the villain of "The Dark Knight."

Another stand-out performance in "The Dark Knight" comes from Aaron Eckhart, an actor who is good at being handsome and charming (like in "Thank You for Smoking"), but is not necessarily known for his dramatic character work. The transformation of Harvey Dent is, perhaps, one of the most enticing character transformations I've ever seen in a movie. He begins as the classic Eckhart gem: tall, masculine, devastatingly handsome, clever in the way that Alan Shore is clever. It is then revealed, however, that Harvey Dent is more than just a ballsy District Attorney. He brings down half the mob (with only a little help from Batman), and suddenly he's Gotham's 'White Knight,' a real hero with a face and an identity. He's also got Rachel Dawes on his arm (the new and improved Miss Dawes, via Maggie Gyllenhaal), a development that causes Bruce to wonder if, perhaps, the bat suit has unwillingly botched his chances. He throws a fundraiser for Dent, in hopes that the DA's heroic tendencies will eliminate the need for Batman in Gotham. His hopes are thwarted, however, with the Joker shows up, clad with cronies, knives, and semi-automatics. Instead of leaving the saving to Harvey Dent, Bruce is forced to incapacitate the handsome DA, hide him in a closet, and stuff the villains himself. I will not mention anymore on the transformation of Harvey. None of it will be given proper justice in this article. You will have to see it for yourself.

"The Dark Knight" is a movie that does not define a genre, but redefines it completely. Most people will say that it is not only a good superhero movie, but a good movie. I've already mentioned this. It is a good movie. It's a great movie. I'm seeing nominations in almost all of the Academy's major awards (maybe even a sure win, posthumously, for Mr. Ledger), including Best Picture of the Year. But, as I also said before, this is not merely a good movie. It's an experience. It changed the way I look at, not only superhero movies, but the state of cinema as an industry. That art can exist in the form of a superhero movie, and that wonderful cinema can be enjoyed by all audiences, not just the frequenters of an art house.

I know I've talked about the three major performances, and that's about it, but for whatever reason, this is what I was compelled to focus on. Of course, Morgan Freeman as Lucius Fox and Michael Caine as Alfred Pennyworth are perfectly cast, intelligent overcast to an otherwise young and chaotic air. Maggie Gyllenhaal, as previously mentioned, brings a sultry sense of empowerment to the role of Rachel Dawes. In an article with the AV Club, she talked briefly about maintaining that empowerment in a film dominated by men. Her comments were quite refreshing, as the role of women in male superhero movies is rarely touched upon, and it's actually very interesting. The CGI goes without saying: sleek, dark, haunting. This is the kind of movie that makes me glad I love movies in the first place. Because I can sit here and think about "The Dark Knight" for hours on end--about its precision, terror, performances, writing, and scary originality of vision. Christian Bale says he'll do a third movie, but only sans Robin and if Nolan is on board. I certainly hope that it's cocked and locked, because it doesn't get much better than "The Dark Knight."

Dark Knight Approaching: Heath Ledger, Revisited

We've all, at one point or another in our movie-watching careers, experienced moments of complete transcendence. Moments when you first see an actor, usually an actor you've never seen before, and you delve, head-over-heels, into a love affair for that one person's entire existence, and then there's just no going back. No going back to the way things were before he or she walked onto the screen. I've had epiphanies with Jack Nicholson, Meryl Streep, Robert Downey Jr, Christian Bale, Kate Hudson, and countless others. They all gave me joy and sent me on movie benders that sometimes lasted for months. One of them, however, stands out in particular. I was young, fourteen years old, in a movie theater with twelve other fourteen year olds. It was opening weekend for "Ten Things I Hate About You." Allison Janney is there. "Kat. Cat! Meow." Julia Stiles flits from the shot , a combat-booted, ringlet-headed, full-fledged wafe. "As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. I'll let you get back to Reginold's quivering member." Nice . And then, enter my first really big Hollywood crush: Heath Ledger. "Only so we can have these moments together." Hello, smitten.

The day he died, I went home, opened a bottle of Australian Chardonnay, and held my glass up really high--to that one, particular moment. To his eyes, like cups of coffee, their fearless undercurrent. And now, the time has come. Midnight on Thursday (or Friday, whatever), I'll be court side to, quite possibly, the greatest superhero villain performance ever created. I will wonder how things could have been, at the career I've looked forward to following film by film all these years. There is a moment in the movie "Candy" in which Heath and Abbie Cornish have ditched their drab wedding reception for a quick bite to eat at the local McDonald's. "We're the coolest people in McDonald's," Abbie says, and Heath laughs, and there's this very real, familiar face up there on the screen looking on, making promises with the eyes. I think that, while "Candy" is not my favorite Heath movie by a long-shot, this scene will always be the scene I remember him by. If you get the chance, watch the movie. Even if only for this one moment of wonderful acting.

My favorite Heath movie (thus far) is, without a doubt, "A Knight's Tale." The movie itself is very fresh and exciting. I am, for whatever reason, glad that, before his untimely death, Heath was able to play a knight. It sounds corny, but think about it. Not every actor in the world is given the chance to play a knight, even if that knight's actual knighthood is fabricated. The character of William Thatcher/Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein, no doubt, came with a crass potential for cliche. He could have been too eager, too pushy, all brawn and no brains. Could you imagine if Paul Walker had been handed the role? But Heath brought a signature vulnerability. The result is a surly but frightened young man, one unsure of his past but determined to make something of his future. He plays the handsome dreamer, but he has a fatal flaw: compassion for the weak. Compassion for the place that he came from: Cheapside, the dregs of Medieval society, worth nothing but the dime in his pocket and the friends by his side. His hubris is short-lived and quickly corrected. Heath is the reason that William Thatcher is so worthy of his loyal followers.

People talk about "Brokeback Mountain" quite a bit, as if its Heath's one and only achievement. I disagree with this mentality, but I do admire the caution, the subtlety, the slight of hand that he gave to the character of Ennis Del Mer. I did not like the movie as much as most people did. I thought it was long and sweeping and made up mostly of mountain scenery. But I did like Heath. I thought that the emotional restraint was so very in tune. He was there, inside of Ennis, calculating the way this man walked and talked and spat and drank and grieved and remembered and moved on. The whole time, however, you didn't see him. There was no Heath on the outside; he was merely stirring up brilliance from within. When I left the movie, I was quiet for a very long time. I wasn't pondering the depth of the film itself, which is really quite simple. I was pondering Heath Ledger's performance, the yearning chemistry between him and Jake. I was glad he finally took a role that demonstrated his talent to its fullest extent. At that moment, that's what I thought.

I know now, however, that true talent is not released in any one fledgling moment. It is a process that, over time, cracks up from the surface of something raw and something good. The innate ability to do anything comes first, and then it is honed, and then, once its basic potential is mastered, something begins to squirm underneath. It comes alive and breaks through gradually: one foot, one hand, a belly button at a time. Eventually, the monster is loose, and you never knew until this moment, that something so vast lurked within. As I anticipate "The Dark Knight," I can only wonder: is Heath's monster waiting in a film canister somewhere in the form of the villainous Joker? Is this what he was meant to do--truly meant to do in his time here on Earth? I don't believe in fate, but I do believe in the soul finding its one, true purpose. Heath's soul has moved on. It's somewhere else, sharing cocktails with Edie Sedgwick and James Dean, looking in on us from time to time. But perhaps, at some point before its departure, it met its final aim.

Review: "Hellboy 2: The Golden Army"

When compared to superheroes like Superman or Batman, Hellboy, at first, seems to be lacking a certain slant of novelty that such powerful DC wonders have come to embody. This could be for many reasons, most notably, however, that "Hellboy" is not bred with a fantastic sense of setting. It takes place in a variety of locales, none so archetypal as Metropolis or Gotham City, and lacks that sort of color and ingenuity that most associate with comic books today.

BUT, that is not to say the "Hellboy" movies do not make up for their dubious settings with plenty of other fancy tricks. "Hellboy 2" is, well, excellent. I liked the original, but the sequel is better. The plot is stronger. The villains are scarier. The CGI has graduated from nominal to stupendous. This is all not to mention Ron Perlman, who, similar to Robert Downey Jr in "Iron Man," seems to have been born, quite specifically, to play the titular character. "Hellboy 2," much like its predecessor, is filled with one-liners and frantic reactions that, if acted by any other human being, would appear completely overdone. Perlman has created a demonic teddy bear--a beast from some Hell dimension that drinks, cusses, pities, reacts, and makes love just like a regular human. It's genius. I am trying to imagine what it would all be like had they cast Vin Diesel as Hellboy. No, I am trying NOT to imagine what it would all be like had they cast Vin Diesel as Hellboy.

"You can have any brew you want...as long as it's a Corona." Blerg.

Anyway, the plot of "Hellboy 2" is somewhat elaborate, based off an ancient myth told to a very young Hellboy by father figure Broom. According to myth, there is a Golden Army locked away somewhere and that it's controlled by a mystical crown. This Golden Army is said to be indestructible, made of magic and fancy metals that would annihilate upon demand. A truce has been struck between the leaders of the two worlds, splitting the crown into three pieces: one for the humans, two for the creatures of the dark. This truce has apparently been going strong for a long time. Now, however (and without doubt), the truce has been foiled by creepy-face Prince Nuada (Luke Goss) who has set out to steal said crown pieces from the humans with plans to wipe them out completely via brawn of the Golden Army. He's already stolen one, from an auction, due mostly to the hefty appetites of...tooth fairies.

This, of course, is where Hellboy comes in. He, along with pyrokinetic Agent Liz Sherman (Selma Blair), Abe Sapien (Doug Jones), and newcomer Johann Krauss (Seth MacFarlane) of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense are sent in to cut Nuada off at the pass. It's all very action packed. The special effects (especially the fight scenes between Hellboy and...anybody) are incredibly well done. Prince Nuada shows off the ninja skills that we saw in the original "Hellboy" through the mechanical creepiness of Kroenen. The monsters at the Troll Market (yes, the Troll Market) all but define the inventive genius of Guillermo del Toro. Oozy things. Tall ferocious things. It's almost like he's trained his mind specifically to break free from the humanoid rules of anatomy. There's even one moment, after Hellboy fights some giant, green, pod-headed mythical thinger, when all of that fancy CGI cracks wide open into a situation surprisingly whimsical. It's not anything I can explain to you here. It's something that, in the vein of Terry Gilliam's "The Brother's Bloom," does things with CGI that invoke a beautiful and childlike sense of fancy. This was my favorite part of the film.

And all of these things are central to the movie's success, I assure you; however, when all is said and done "Hellboy 2" is a love story. Liz Sherman is one of the more interesting female comic book characters I've stumbled upon, and Selma Blair does her a good deal of justice. Her chemistry with Perlman is sweet and surprisingly human. I love it when two actors bring this kind of chemistry to their roles. If I can relate to the relationship between a pyrokinetic FBI agent and a big, red mythical creature from a dimension far away, then I can believe anything. It's all very touching. There's even some Barry Manilow. Not what you'd expect from a superhero movie with the word 'Hell' in the title, is it?

Review: "Hancock"

It's always kind of annoying when bad choices happen to good movies. Like, in "Hancock," for example. "Hancock" is a film expertly cast. Will Smith is always on his A-game. For somebody who started his career as the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, he is a surprisingly serious actor--one who is WAY overdue for that shiny gold statue--and he just keeps getting better. Hancock, the man, is grimy and disheveled. And it's not like he's just a little bit grimy and disheveled. He's practically that weird homeless guy on the corner with a tin cup. He is uncouth and inappropriate, a potty mouth with a flair for, not the theatrical, but the destructive. His antics frequently cost the city of Los Angeles somewhere in the several millions. Plus, most people are growing to detest the troubled hero-type, describing him as little more than an asshole.

If anything, "Hancock," is a sort of superhero movie with consequences. You know in "Spider-man 2" when Spidey destroys the monorail train, or when Doctor Octopus rolls a ball of burning energy into the river? Well, did anybody stop to wonder what the mayor of New York City might be thinking? Or the people when they realize how many of their tax dollars are going into cleaning up these gargantuan messes? Hmm. The makers behind "Hancock" did.

The film was very fresh and exciting. The special effects were unique. I liked Hancock's flying style, that it was sloppy and human, even when he wasn't totally hammered. And I liked the story. Sort of. Actually, I liked the first forty-five minutes or so. For the first forty-five minutes or so, the movie was about John Hancock, about his shabby disposition, his spent outlook on life, and his hardened struggles with the rest of mankind. After the first forty-five minutes or so, I'm not really sure, but I think the writers might have lit the crack pipe. And the last Act or so of the movie is really nothing more than a jumble of information bombs. Explosion after explosion after explosion, and suddenly, the movie isn't about John Hancock anymore. It's as if the writers abandoned the story at this point, that they really wanted to do this particular thing with the characters, and even when it didn't work, they just kept hacking away at it, and then, by the time they realized it REALLY didn't work, it was too late. And I'm sure there was a deadline to adhere to. With these kinds of summer movies, there always is. Essentially, the writers and filmmakers made a choice they couldn't stick to, and it ended up ruining a perfectly good movie about a rogue superhero attempting to relate with the people around him.

In the movie, John Hancock is a singular Superman type. He is super strong, intuitive, bulletproof, all that. Only he is not like Superman, because everyone thinks he's an asshole. He is rarely graceful when performing heroics, and the ungrateful people of L.A., at this point, would rather shoulder heftier crime rates than deal with Hancock's expensive tendencies. Eventually, however, Hancock saves the life of P.R. rep Ray Embrey (Jason Bateman), and things begin to take a turn. Ray convinces Hancock to let him handle the superhero's representation from now on. Hancock does a stint in the brig, gets out on 'good behavior,' and starts to make friends with Ray's wife Mary (Charlize Theron) and his son Aaron (Jae Head). Anyway, all of this is super interesting. It delves deep into the psychology of Hancock's torment. It does not attempt to solve his past, but it questions what may have happened to him on the night he supposedly changed. See, Hancock cannot remember anything about his life before an accident he had about eighty years ago--the accident that left him different than everyone else. This is all in the first part of the movie, the part that I really liked.

There is one particular moment, however, after all of this wonderful set-up, in which everything takes a questionable turn. It's possibly the worst choice made all year, as far as movies are concerned. And I won't tell you, because it technically gives the ending away. Though I'm not sure what kind of an ending it really is. In my opinion, it's a bad one, but I'm sure my opinion will not resonate with everyone.

"Hancock" is a decent movie. It succeeds in some places and fails in others. As a summer blockbuster, it's a pretty big disappointment, because in the end, it doesn't live up to the chops it prepared us for. By 2008, we've all seen what special effects can do, and we've all seen a million-and-one superhero movies. We need something with consistency, darkness, and brains. "Hancock" didn't have all of these things. But what can you do? Not all movies about tortured men with super powers (or billions of dollars) can be as good as "The Dark Knight."

Which, obviously, I haven't even seen yet. But I have pretty high expectations.