Image courtesy of Film Affinity.
At the center of any superhero story is the tension between good and evil. The latest Batman film, inexplicably qualified as The Batman, strategically blurs those concepts, guiding audiences to consider the possibility that our hero and his enemy may not be so different after all. This time around, the eponymous hero faces off against the Riddler.
When the film commences, Bruce Wayne’s service to the city of Gotham is ironically self-serving. He is more widely known as “Vengeance” than Batman, motivated by fury over his parents’ unsolved murder. Fervently protective of his identity, Wayne wears a mask and lines his eyes heavily with charcoal. Peering out of the mask — and rarely shedding the disguise — Batman’s eyes are the audience’s greatest source of insight. Beneath his costume, Bruce Wayne is haunted and observant.
Robert Pattinson plays a brooding, tight-lipped Batman. Angsty and stoic — though significantly less sparkly — he is not unlike Edward Cullen, the Twilight vampire that propelled Pattinson to fame in the mid-2000s. Despite the characters’ apparent similarities, not once during The Batman’s three-hour runtime did I look at the screen and mistake Pattinson for his archetypal character. (This, I consider a feat.) Pattinson’s expressionlessness also comes in direct contrast to past performances of Bruce Wayne as cocky and buoyant.
The Batman’s cast is an amalgamation of recurring characters played to varying degrees of success by new actors. While watching, it is hard to ignore the disparity between those that flourish in their roles and those that fall short. Colin Ferrall as the Penguin is nearly unrecognizable, but all the more unforgettable in his meddling mobster role. Most glaringly, Andy Serkis flounders as Alfred, Batman’s ever-loyal butler. The qualities of paternity, protectiveness, and caution typically associated with Alfred are present, but Serkis’ performance does little to deepen audience understanding of the hero and his upbringing. In one instance, the pair share a moment in the hospital after Alfred is the victim of an assault intended for Batman. The moment is more awkward than tender, and fails to endear viewers to their relationship.
Batman does not work alone in this film — he is joined by Zoë Kravitz as Catwoman. Her character toes the line between compelling and cringey, though to no fault of Kravitz’s own. As my Twitter feed has kept me privy to, Kravitz’s on-screen presence is stunning. Yet, the dialogue she is dealt by writers Matt Reeves and Peter Craig comes with limitations. In one instance, Kravitz dissents against hedge fund-types and CEOs, at one point dubbing them “white privileged assholes,” a line for which I can imagine the screenwriters — themselves white and privileged — gave themselves a pat on the back. When Catwoman admonishes the rich, she is unknowingly addressing Bruce Wayne, himself a product of the world she expresses so much disdain for. Despite Kravitz’s sincere delivery, the language reeks of performativity and is hard to take seriously.
Ultimately, however, it is the film’s villain that is most compelling. A vigilante in his own rite, the Riddler (Paul Dano) is determined to expose fraudulence in Gotham’s politics by targeting the city’s most powerful figures in the midst of a mayoral election. The murder victims are not overtaken with sheer force, but with stealth and calculation. The Riddler’s strength is not physical, but cerebral, and he leaves his crime scenes peppered with clues and puzzles in a constant attempt to intellectually undermine Batman. The brain-teasers are solved by Batman with a speed and ease that seems unlikely, each hinting at the Riddler’s motivation and upcoming targets.
The film’s ongoing theme of sight and perception is most apparent in its villain. Clothed and concealed entirely in forest green garb, the Riddler’s costume alludes to the Zodiac Killer or a soldier's uniform. Atop it all, he sports a pair of clear-frame glasses, the same ones from which the Riddler peers and smirks at the audience when he is arrested. The Riddler and his followers believe that they have the power of sight, an inability to uncover corruption that other citizens of Gotham are unable to see or unwilling to acknowledge.
Yet the detention of the Riddler by Gotham police does not bring the film to a close, as one might expect. By the end of the film, the villain has garnered a dedicated following by posting and streaming online. After he is captured and jailed, his cronies — dressed in full Riddler garb — continue to wreak havoc on Gotham, bringing the film to its dystopian close. These poorly disguised allusions to QAnon, Capitol riots, and conspiracy theory fanaticism are exactly that — poorly disguised. Though relevant, the references are on-the-nose to the point of being boring.
As with any series or cinematic universe — especially one as expansive as DC Comics — each new iteration of a story is subject to the standards of its previous imaginations. Matt Reeves’ contribution, ultimately and uniquely, is not really about the nominal superhero. Instead, it is an elaborate and unsubtle social commentary.
The Batman itself is about sight — what one can or cannot see, what one chooses to see or not see. The phenomenon occurs between protagonist and antagonist — the Riddler holds up a mirror to Batman, reflecting his flaws and interrogating his heroism. Viewing the film follows a similar line of logic: either you choose to overlook its flaws, or they are glaringly obvious.