The Dark Knight, or A Bit Batty Returns

After having no luck in my cyberhunt for Killer Croc, Penny whisked me away for Nicholas's Great Birthday Extravaganza. When we returned home from eating that evening, I tried my best to play the attentive father, but my mind wandered to the wreckless reptile--and my family noticed. As I sat in my plush recliner, looking for clues to the criminal mindset in many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, my son, ever the scholar, asked me questions about the biology and [lifestyles] of various aquatic creatures:

"Dad, are sponges smarter than starfish?"

"Riddle me this, Robin--why are fish so smart?"

"Dad! You didn't answer my question!"

"Check the Cray mainframe computer down in the cave, son."

"We don't have a cave!"

"Nicholas," my wife said, "the only cave around here is the big empty spot in your dad's head."

"Alfred," I said to my wife, "would you mind fixing young Master Dick and I some cucumber sandwiches? A well-nourished body leads to a more attuned mind."

"Well then, dear, your must have the most attuned mind in town," said Penny.

"Mom! He called me Master Dick! That's not my name! Why'd he call me that? Who's Master Dick?"

Penny replied, "He is, Nicholas."

"And Mom's name isn't Alfred, Dad! That's what you were going to call me, but mom wouldn't let you. Mom, why was he going to call me Alfred?"

"Because," Penny said, "it's a combination of his father's name--Al, and my father's name--Fred."

"A combination," I mused aloud. "Hmm...half man, half reptile. Selina, if you were half man, half reptile, where might you seclude yourself?"

"Well, my daddy used to tell me that crocogators lived out in Bogue Chitto swamp with Lickum, Thang, and Raw-Headed Bloody Bones."

"That's it!" I said as I jumped from my chair. "And the nearest swampland is behind Canal Place Cinema--which is now showing The Dark Knight."

"Dad," my son said, "everyone knows that all nights are dark. Duh. That's just stupid." I ignored his ignorant insult and ran to the kitchen. I twisted the head on the Pillsbury Dough Boy atop the refrigerator and then slid down the pole now revealed in the hidden sliding panel in the kitchen wall. I emerged in my escape vehicle, and I drove to Canal Place Cinema. Luckily, there was only one guard on duty out back, and I wouldn't have to resort to violence to enter the theater. I merely distracted him by tossing a carton of cigarettes away from the door. He rushed eagerly toward the carton, drool dripping down his chin, and I easily slipped in the back door.

Once inside, I walked unnoticed through the "Employees Only" door and made my way, quietly, up the steps to the labyrinthine tunnels of the projection room. As I expected, the lights were off, and the projectors provided the only illumination--perfect. I peered around the first corner and spotted the projectionist (henceforth known only as JD to protect his true identity). He appeared to be finishing winding the film through the projector. He then walked to a small, dimly lit room, pulled out what appeared to be the movie poster of the film Wanted, Angelina Jolie front and center of the piece. He then put on his headphones, pulled an mp3 device from his pocket, and pressed a button. What I observed next will haunt me for years, but I feel I must divulge the tragic scene I witnessed as JD began singing, in falsetto, "You're beautiful/You're beautiful/It's true/I saw your face/In a crowded place/And I don't know what to do/'Cause I'll never be with you," as he pirouetted around, holding the poster as if holding a dance partner. A single tear descended from his right eye, and my own heart began to ache. I could take no more of this sad scene, so I snuck behind him, put a handkerchief (doused with a liquified sample of my breath, as Stribling's was fresh out of chloroform) over his mouth and nose, and his body slumped to the floor. I hoped his mind was at peace.

I then walked over to the tiny window overlooking the theater in which a throng of moviegoers were watching the beginning of The Dark Knight. I wasn't too late! I watched the entire movie from that perspective, leaning against the small inset window, peering closely for any signs of that repulsive reptile. Despite my stopping the film multiple times (much to the distress of the cinema's patrons, who whined and bellyached each time, even though I disguised my voice and announced "Please remain calm, it's just a mechanical malfunction, so quit staring up here"), I never saw sight of Killer Croc. I did like the movie, though.

It's much broader in scope and more ambitious than Batman Begins, as the filmmakers weaved themes of nihilism, chaos theory, and the duality of man throughout the web of various action-oriented plot machinations. It's a thinking man's action movie, but the filmmakers didn't seem to give the audience much time to think, as the movie doesn't pause long enough for reflection.

This fast pace seemed to hamper Christian Bale's performance, as he didn't have many opportunities to peform, at least not as Bruce Wayne. Whenever he does get a chance to portray Batman's alter ego, Bale shines. As the billionaire playboy, Bale's sharper than he was in the first film: he savors his lines more, his responses more sardonic, his delivery wittier. Alas, Bale spends twice as much time as Batman (with that terribly irritating gruff voice) as he does as Wayne, and this lessens the greater impact the film might have had, as the audience doesn't get the chance to feel Bruce Wayne's pain or anger; we never get to see Wayne seeth. He (Wayne/Batman) seems to be more of supporting character.

Speaking of supporting characters, the filmmakers made a mistake in choosing Maggie Gyllenhaal to replace Katie Holmes as Wayne's soulmate Rachel Dawes. As much as Holmes was criticized for being a bit lightweight in Batman Begins, Gyllenhaal here, perhaps trying to add a bit more depth by being more somber, takes the film's serious nature too far, because she's too gloomy, from her posture to her sunken facial expressions. There's no joy evident, even when there should be. I could see no reason for either of her two male beaus to be attracted to her...and I think Gyllenhaal is a beautiful woman. Holmes had charm, and she provided a contrast, a bright glimmer of hope in Bruce Wayne's rotten world in the first film. Gyllenhaal, though, just fades into the movie's somber palette.

Those flaws aside (oh...and one more: a few of the action scenes were clumsy and confusing; I'd have love to have seen a more competent action-movie craftsman (Spielberg, perhaps) direct those), I really enjoyed the movie (though leaning against a window for close to three hours is perhaps not the best way to view it); it was epic, action filmmaking with nary a bit of bloat or fat to be found. I thought all the actors (other than the above-mentioned Gyllenhaal) performed superbly, especially Ledger, who commands the screen like no villain since Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects. The movie is long (especially when interspersed with occasional pausing while looking for Croc clues), but it doesn't feel stretched or decompressed. The film starts with a bang and doesn't slow down (though I often wished it would have--my legs grew so tired standing for so long). I thought Nolan showcased some bravura filmmaking, as it's not easy to make a two-and-a-half hour movie that's both complex and action packed without letting the pace slag for the entire length of the running time. And Nolan should be lauded for allowing Ledger to take a non-traditional approach to a worldwide-known character, thus creating a performance for the ages.

Still, though, no Killer Croc. As the credits began rolling, JD began to regain consciousness, muttering "Angie," so I left the projection tunnels and exited the building. I hopped in my truck and drove home. I walked in the house, shoulders slumped, disappointed. My wife was asleep in the recliner with Georgia in her lap, and Nicholas was dozing in front of the television. My heavy thoughts must have roused her, as she raised her head and half-opened one eye. "How was it?" she asked.

"I didn't find him. No clues," I said.

"What? Wait--I thought you went to the movie."

"I did," I replied.

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I didn't find anything!" I said.

I believe my tone must have somehow startled her, for she sat up straight, her eyelids pulled back. "Well you can find something now!" she shouted.

"What?" I asked.

"You can go find our bed. Here take Georgia, put her to bed--if you can find it--and then come back and get Nicholas." I began to respond, but she interrupted. "And any more mention of Killer Croc, and I'm going to drag you to Bogue Chitto, through you in the swamp, and feed you to the alligators."