Batman
(1989)
(SPOILERS) There’s Jaws,
there’s Star Wars, and then there’s Batman in terms of defining the modern
blockbuster. Jaws’ success was so
profound, it changed the way movies were made and marketed. Batman’s marketing
was so profound, it changed the way tentpoles would be perceived: as cash cows.
Disney tried to reproduce the effect the following year with Dick Tracy, to markedly less
enthusiastic response. None of this places Batman
in the company of Jaws as a classic
movie sold well, far from it. It just so happened to hit the spot. As Tim
Burton put it, it was “more of a cultural
phenomenon than a great movie”. It’s difficult to disagree with his verdict
that the finished product (for that is what it is) is “mainly boring”.
Now, of course, the Burton bat has been usurped by the Nolan
incarnation (and soon the Snyder). They have some things in common. Both take
the character seriously and favour a sombre tone, which was much more of shock
to the system when Burton did it (even given the shake up in the comic books
character at the time). Both give him a voice like gargled gravel (Keaton,
concerned about logic of his concealed identity, lowered his voice a register).
Neither has a great grasp of action (ironic for a superhero, that he has been
consistently ill-served).
But Burton’s film is a fantasist struggling to ground his
vision, while Nolan is almost competely the reverse. Batman is a movie so weighed down by elements (both of
character/narrative and marketing) so foreign to Burton’s unfettered sensibilities
that it is frequently left inert, struggling for something, anything to drive
it forward. Mostly what it has is art direction, and that just isn’t enough.
I guess Batman is
due respect for what it gets right, but I was left profoundly unmoved by the
picture upon its release. I couldn’t fathom what people (and critics, including
– perhaps surprisingly – Pauline Kael but Rogert Ebert notably aside) were
seeing in it. I mean, yes, it was hyped, but it appeared to be genuinely liked.
I didn’t actively dislike it; Jack
Nicholson’s Joker is irresistible, Michael Keaton lifts his (Bruce Wayne)
scenes through merely being present, there are scenes here and there that show
off Burton’s more lunatic side to good effect. But overall I found it stodgy,
stolid. Revisiting the picture merely reconfirmed this.
This movie’s one of the reasons I tend to respond dubiously
when naysayers argue how far Burton has fallen so far of late. He’s always been
a patchy moviemaker, and only his first two pictures could be argued as
maintaining any kind of consistent quality between projects. Admittedly, Beetlejuice left me cold on first
viewing (I’d argue for it as his second best picture after Ed Wood now) but there was never an epiphany when I gave Batman a second or third shot. I’d even
say he’s become a much better filmmaker on certain fronts (the action in Sleepy Hollow and Planet of the Apes is leaps and bounds beyond the disinterested
fights and chases here, so he at least now knows how to make good use of a
second unit).
Evidently, there was a hunger for a Batman done “right”,
even if the public didn’t know it until they were told. Jon Peters and Peter
Guber had been attached to the project since 1979, and Tom Mankiewicz wrote a
script that formed its basis through many rewrites until Burton joined in 1986
and ditched it. This is the one Joe Dante was attached to for a period (he
turned it down, saying he could not find a way to relate to the character; I’d
have loved to have seen a Dante take on the Batman, even with that
qualification), but Ivan Reitman was more concretely involved with it. He
proposed Bill Murray as Bruce Wayne (and Eddie Murphy as Robin). Given the
casting of comedy actors, it’s probably little surprise Burton found the
Makiewicz script too campy. Ironic that Burton in turn would cause much wailing
and gnashing of teeth by casting, like Reitman, a comedy actor/star he had
previous form with in the lead.
One also has to consider what Warner Bros was expecting,
from a guy who had delivered the deranged delights of Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and Beetlejuice
(Batman wasn’t actually greenlit
until the latter scored at the box office). It would have been twisted, no
doubt, but Burton cited then very recent Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns and Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke as major influences. Certainly, negative buzz was
in the air, to the extent that Bob Kane was hired as creative consultant.
Sam Hamm’s script stripped down much of the glut of
characters that has counted against subsequent Bat versions. A Writer’s Strike gave him permission to blame
changes to bat lore on those who revised it after the fact (Jonathan Gems,
Warren Skaaren, Charles McKeown), including Alfred allowing Vicki Vale into the
Batcave. One wonders if this is at the root of some of the more casual
anomalies; why don’t Bob and the Joker know who the “some guy named Wayne” is; they’d surely be aware of millionaire philanthropist
Bruce Wayne? Likewise in the climax, how does the Joker know he killed Batman’s
parents when he was a kid (reportedly, Burton didn’t even know how the
cathedral scene would end when they started filming it).
More significant in this regard is the Joker revealed as the
murderer of Bruce Wayne’s parents. The latter makes sense in terms of economy
of storytelling (if they wanted to get a flashback in to show Batman’s genesis,
it was the most logical way to do it), but it can’t help but feel like a
contrivance, and one that doesn’t have a palpably moving effect on Bruce (it’s
not that kind of movie).
Indeed, while Burton holds that he was fascinated with the
freakish natures of his main characters, and the duality of Batman, this only
really comes across in terms of the Joker. And the latter is a big, bold
caricatured maniac in the vein of Beetlejuice; anarchic, immoral and gleeful in
the mayhem he causes. It works thematically that Keaton, someone who could
easily have played the Joker, is set opposite Nicholson, as it creates a
tension of two figures who are on the edge. Keaton gives good incipient madness
behind the eyes. But he’s ill served by a script that does little to give
either identity much substance.
Batman: I want you to tell your friends about me.
Hoodlum: Who are you?
Batman: I’m Batman.
As Batman, Keaton has no trouble dismissing the doubters. The
trouble is more what Burton does, or doesn’t do, with the character. There’s
nothing thrilling about Batman’s antics, because Burton has zero interest in
action scenes. There’s almost a perverse disinterest in creating anything
approximating tension. One might argue the chunky shots are coded to give a
sense of the comic book, except the blocking of the action is clumsy, the
staging of the sequences crude, and the languid pace conflicts directly with
the reader’s ability to enjoy a series of panels as breathlessly as they wish.
Nolan would take the reverse approach; lots of cuts with any sense of coherent
space made up in the edit. With Burton, it the problem isn’t confusion over
where things relate to each other spatially, it’s that the environment is slack
and slow. This is ‘60s Bond
filmmaking (or slower), not post-Spielberg.
Batman can descend on someone and berate them efficiently
enough, but fighting a ninja is painfully unexciting (and that’s probably the
“best” bit of action in the movie). Where Burton succeeds is in perfectly
understanding the iconography. He doesn’t always shoot Batman with the greatest
of ease, and the employment of dry ice becomes a self-aware crutch after a
while, but he gets and seems to enjoy the mythic aspect (all the talk of Batman
drinking blood, you get the impression Burton would have preferred it if he actually
did).
Bruce Wayne: He’s psychotic.
Vicki Vale: There are some people who say the same thing
about you.
The conversation about Bruce’s own fractured development is
more lip service to the themes underpinning Wayne/Batman that anything able to
take root in the picture (when Vicki suggests he is “not exactly normal” he replies that it is “not exactly a normal world”). This is evidence of a picture
required to play to the needs of too many masters. Bruce’s childhood trauma:
okay, dealt with that (“Ever danced with
the devil in the pale moonlight?” is a memorable phrase, but the scene is
very much of the mandated kind; it’s only a blessing that Hamm prevailed in not going the full origins route). By
the end Wayne’s out batting about while Vicki waits for him at home, getting
sloshed on champers.
The Joker: Where does he get those wonderful toys?
The failures in Bat action extend to his wonderful toys. The
much-vaunted Batmobile is pretty uninteresting when it comes to utilising it in
a chase sequence. The Batwing never looks like anything other than a model,
probably explaining how the Joker can shoot it down with a four-foot pistol. I do
actually like that bit, but it serves to emphasise the disconnect between
Burton’s planes of action. Burton has created an arresting vision of Gotham, a
Gothic noir combination of Anton Furst’s production design, a ‘40s dystopia of
over-elaborate architecture and hat-wearing gangsters, but it only ever feels
studied. The cityscape (like Derek Meddings’ visual effects) only ever looks
like model work, while the streets are filled with not nearly enough extras to
convince as a thriving metropolis (the opening scene is an exception, but only
before it takes us to the backstreets).
As Bruce Wayne, Keaton has more to work with. Admittedly,
the romance with Vick Vale (Kim Basinger, who has zero presence, and less
chemistry with Keaton; none of this is particularly her fault, as the script
leaves her stranded, either to be placed in peril or scream, once it has
established her Pulitzer winning credentials and her fascination with bats) is
the dampest of squibs and, since a large measure of his scenes concern this,
the overall impact of Bruce is impaired. Likewise, I may be in a minority, but
Michael Gough’s fusty Alfred meets the idea of the perfect Alfred rather than
someone who particularly suits the movie or has a good rapport with Keaton.
Keaton’s left trying to salvage something, then, and it’s to
his credit that he pulls out memorable moments. There’s the dinner scene with
Vicki, where they’re sitting at opposite ends of a long table and he suggests
uncertainty if he’s ever actually been in this room before. And the earlier
scene with Knox and Vicki, where he reveals himself as their host (“Oh, and er, give Knox a grant”) invests
Bruce with an offbeat, slightly goofy energy, which is seen to best effect in
his one scene (as Bruce) with the Joker. He’s shown to be inventive (utilising
an ashtray as a bullet proof vest) and crazy (wielding a poker at the Joker).
Generally though, we get little more idea of Bruce than, say, the one Knox has.
It’s down to Keaton that there’s a sense of a guy uncomfortable in his skin (Christian
Bale, in contrast, can only ever bring the intense).
Then, of course, this isn’t really about Bruce Wayne. It’s
about the Joker. Just look at the top billing and who made the most money:
Nicholson. Jack Napier lets his freak hang out, and Burton only comes alive
during the Joker’s weirder antics. Any chance to go “off script”, and you can
practically hear Burton cackling. Unfortunately, such craziness can’t sustain
the whole. Perhaps that’s more obvious now as a consequence of Nolan’s Bat
world, where he’s watchword is grounded. Really though, I think it’s a result
of the sorry state of a listless script. There’s no momentum, and this isn’t
exactly rare for the series. Batman
Returns was all over the place too, but it had the virtue of being a fully-fledged
Tim Burton movie. The Schumacher pictures fully embody the “villains in the
place of a plot” crutch of too many superhero movies, their benefit (the first
at any rate) being they pulled the wool over the eyes of the public through
being fast-paced and glossy.
The Joker: Winged freak, terrorizes, wait until they
get a load of me.
Jack as Jack Napier plays with the conventions of the small
time hood, and there’s a passing resemblance to his boss (Jack Palance),
helping the overall conceit. But this pre-Joker is only psychotic because other
characters tell us he is. That’s to the good, since it holds back for his
transformation. What’s most appealing is how slapstick and unleashed Nicholson’s
mugging is. He’ll try anything, and fortunately enough of it works. He adopts a
crazy cackle or a Herman Munster wheeze. His lines come most frequently in
staccato bursts, rather than eloquent expositions. There’s also an effective
dissonance Burton is fond of returning to, with Jack playing it big to the
background of classical or serene music.
The Joker: Haven’t you heard of the healing power of laughter?
His dialogue often takes the form of asides, almost commenting
in the third person. There are some standout scenes and moments. The first
reveal of his new face at the basement plastic surgeon is a dank, Universal
horror moment with added deranged sizzle. Later, the Joker assembles a meeting
of hoods that ends soon after he has electrocuted one (“Oh, I’ve got a live one here”). He then conducts a conversation
with the smouldering corpse before concluding “I’m glad you’re dead”.
The Joker: Honey? You’ll never believe what happened to
me today.
The perfunctory relationship with his unfortunate squeeze
Alicia Hunt (Jerry Hall) is far more engaging than Bruce’s with Vicki. While Bruce is given some slightly off
moments with Vicki (what were the makers thinking in the scene where Batman
says he wants something else from Vicki, the screen cuts and then she awakes in
bed; it’s an unsettling transition, designed to suggest the possibility of
assault until we learn he’s only stolen her camera film), the Joker’s gleefully
abusive treatment of Alicia makes for an effective illustration of his
infectious insanity. It’s unsurprising that she commits suicide (‘But, you can’t make an omelette without
breaking some eggs”) and notable for the mockery the Joker makes of the
henpecked male (“Jack, you said I could
watch you improve the paintings”; “Oh,
I’m in trouble now”).
The Joker: He was a thief and a terrorist. On the other
hand, he had a tremendous singing voice.
Nicholson is given/improvises a raft of memorable lines (“Never rub another man’s rhubarb”; “This town needs an enema!”; “Stop the press. Who’s that?”; “I have given a name to my pain, and it is Batman”;
“If you’ve got to go, go with a smile”;
“And where is the Batman?”) and
sudden impositions, be it showing up at the Town Hall steps in a top hat, wielding
a murderous quill, or his mock-TV commercial complete with shopping cart (“Love that Joker”). He’s big, broad and
very much what the movie needs. Burton’s buttoned-down elsewhere; just compare
the vibrant Beetlejuice score to
Danny Elfman’s earnestly portentous work here. It dilutes any sense of fun and,
without going whacky, Burton (tends to) has little to offer.
Did Nicholson deserve the huge pot of cash he made? Well,
they were willing to pay him, so I guess that’s the answer. He brought Tracey
Walter on board, which is to his credit (and causes him to exit in casually
impressive fashion; “Bob: gun”).
Knox: Lieutenant, is there a six-foot bat in
Gotham City? And if so, is he on the police pay role? And if so, what’s he
pulling down, after tax?
The rest of the casting is sufficiently in place that Burton
really had little excuse not to make more of his Batman/Joker relationship. He
was young of course (he turned 30 during production) and there was pressure on
him like he’d never conceived, but hardly any one comes alive. Not Basinger,
Not reliable Pat Hingle as Commissioner Gordon, not Billy Dee Williams as
Harvey Dent. They’re dull and reliable. Palance brings some fire to his few
scenes, but surprisingly the most engaging character outside of Nicholson is
Robert Wuhl’s quick-fire journalist Alexander Knox. He’s kind of annoying, but
that’s as it should be. Apparently he improvised a lot, and that’s pretty
obvious from the way he attacks the material and the looser, more invested feel
of his scenes.
Because this picture really plods along. By the time we get
to the big climax, with the floats, the Batwing, and the cathedral showdown, does
anyone care any more? It’s been said the cathedral scene plays out in real
time, and it certainly feels it. The plus side is Nicholson getting to go for
broke, spitting out clockwork teeth, donning a pair of glasses so Batman won’t
hit him, and thoroughly disrespecting the rules of engagement through responding
to Batman’s continued assaults by laughing in his face. The final shot, of the
fallen Joker in the rubble with a recorded laugh on loop, emanating from
somewhere upon his person, might be the best single moment in the picture.
There’s a reading here that America, as Batman, creates its own monsters
through its unchecked aggression, but it isn’t one that resonates. The picture
has too many masters for such consistency.
One of those is the soundtrack. I recall really being
nonplussed by Prince’s contributions at the time, including with the Number one
hit Batdance. Today I don’t mind them
really, even though the crutch of sampling dialogue causes the lines he
appropriated to pop out when revisiting the picture. Bits of Prince even show
up in the first scene, but the centrepiece is Partyman. The song’s okay, but the choreography of vandalising the
art gallery never translates as anything other than a strained pop video obligation
on Burton’s part (cut off with a decent art crit line as the Joker sees a Francis
Bacon and instructs “I kind of like this
one Bob, leave it”). It’s a sign of things to come, almost instantaneously
run aground when Disney procured Madonna for Dick Tracy. The next instance of merchandising might pulling out
the stops for a picture would be Jurassic
Park, mercifully sans song tie-ins.
That’s the Peters and Guber effect, though (for some reason
Burton was inclined to reteam with former for the ill-fated Nic Cage Superman Reborn/Lives). They wanted Michael Jackson as well (he didn’t have time). Batman became a merchandising monster in
the summer of 1989, selling more than $750m worth. The picture was Oscar
nominated, and won, for Best Art Direction. It took The Dark Knight to become more of a Bat phenomenon at the box
office (inflation-adjusted, Batman is
the second most successful movie). Big as it was, it had to settle for second
place to Indiana Jones and the Last
Crusade worldwide that year. Nothing else came close to those two, however.
Burton probably should have taken note of the challenges of Batman more closely. Whenever he sails
close to a big brand, or potential behemoth, he experiences artistic, if not
financial, woes. He would be roundly savaged for Planet of the Apes, undoubtedly the picture he has made with the
least of his personality in. Charlie and
the Chocolate Factory might have too much; a gaudy, sugar rush mess, while Alice in Wonderland dwarfed everything
else he’s done but may have been his most misjudged adaptation of existing material
yet. Batman wins on tone and design,
and bundling Nicholson all that money at least partially pays off, but it’s
hamstrung in almost every other apartment. A series of disconnected elements
waiting for a screenplay to coalesce them, it ends up stranded. And, as Burton surmised,
boring. Artists aren’t always the best judges of their own work, so it will be
interesting to hear if he can interrogate Alice
in Wonderland as clinically when a few more years have passed.
