Seven years later and 1.5 billion dollars richer, where are we with the best comic book franchise of them all?
Most reviews of Batman: The Dark Knight Rises seem to have focused on how much the movie misses Heath Ledger; well, we all miss Heather Ledger, but to mark a subsequent episode down for this fact alone would seem highly unfair. Hardy’s prop-enhanced, carcinogen-fuelled Bane may have made headlines for a lack of clear diction, but in truth, as you bask in the sheer body-built antichrist-ness of Tom’s villain-esque telling, you will probably not even notice the dialogue. Yes, Ledger’s Joker was simply the finest piece of character acting in the history of modern cinema, by a margin as colossal as the footprint of Gotham’s metropolitan reach itself, but we need to turn a corner.
Well, the other big headline has been the addition of Ann Hathaway as Selina Kyle. Hathaway, a figure revered here in Asia until her rather humourless kit-off caper in Love and Other Drugs, gives us a different take on The Cat; sexy and deliciously insecure, but with stage-time comprehensively limited by the encroachment of Nolan’s other more superior black Aces.
Bane himself is an intensely evil figure, and just about manages to carry the animosity until the final curtain. Its a fittingly different challenge to our hero because he is such a physical presence; I found his synthesised voice to be aptly chilling, though for whatever reason, he does sound a bit like a 55-year-old, gay cricket commentator.
Zimmer’s musical score theatrically ponces about too, and suitably completes the Gotham City Show as it did in previous movies; but at times it encroaches on an otherwise beautifully balanced tale, as if screaming out to be featured amid Nolan’s voluptuous ensemble. It kicks you repeatedly in the head at some of the most inopportune moments.
The Nolan capitalist cliches are here in abundance, too; leather lined limos, choppers to the office, burr walnut tables in private jets, dwarfing skyscrapers piercing lighting clouds above, the ubiquitous Lamborghini sponsorship; and the underpaid but kind-hearted denizens punished by servitude for their own consistent willingness to uphold the moral high ground at all costs. They are the Lynchian red curtains amidst all the gloom, smoke and mirrors, and the fission reaction inside an unstoppable engine which powered Inception to becoming the best contemporary science-fiction vehicle bar none.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt is fantastic as always, playing the brow-furrowed young New York version of Commissioner Gordon; Levitt continues to demonstrate what a flexible actor he is, and brings us a likable and honest portrayal throughout. His reward is the revelation of his common name towards the end of the movie, leaving the door open for a (non-Nolan) sequel.
Worthy of mention also, is, of course Bale. One of the world’s finest dark-drama stalwarts delivers yet another stunning turn in the lead role, but such is the surround of unnervingly great support is his in-consignment to ensemble also-ran. Many early commentators nominated this as his best turn of the trilogy, but I do not know what movies you’ve been watching if you considered his outing in the second film to be in any way less than incredible. Bruce Wayne is supported by his butler and long term father figure, Alfred, played by Michael Caine, who has been let off the leash to explore a more imaginative (and genuinely heart-wrenching) performance that tugs on the strings without pulling the whole dark castle to the ground.
A cataclysmic final third sees the Fight Club-esque mockery of our modern, self-determined world falter inwards unto itself, inevitably; a fitting epitaph to Nolan’s dark indulgence and as nerve-bending to the soul’s touch as an After Eight dipped in gasoline.
There are a few disappointments, however. The cops versus civilians confrontation is a huge let-down, as both sides decide to drop their firearms simultaneously and have a fist fight; the audience was expecting a bloody, Rangoon-style underclass massacre, and received instead a St. Patrick’s day comedy punch-up. There’s a jarring continuity error too, as the NYSE execution scene takes place in broad daylight, followed, for some bizarre and highly noticeable reason, by a night time bike chase.
Still, whatever. Gotham’s third iteration is as brooding and vast as ever, and Nolan’s seamstress-sensitive perfection at tightening up the visible loose threads manages to supply an interwoven world that is genuinely captivating and believable. Whilst some of the criminals encountered may not seem all that realistic, a quick flick through the BBC news web site today revealed UK headlines that included phone jacking, investigations into Police corruption, a toxic chemical plant fire, and the trials of a rapist and a burglar ; proof positive that there are in fact some genuinely fucked-up comic book characters out there in the real world. I won’t even mention the US theatre killings here as it warrants something further in a separate piece.
Despite a middle-eight which almost collapses under the weight of its own imperialistic magnificence, and an over-riding obligation on the part of the audience to wrestle with society’s unending commitment to morality, Rises delivers in bone-crushing, foreboding, rewarding, narcissistic, irreverent shock and awe; an astonishing piece of cinema that will trouble the future of superhero filmmaking with the burden of never being able to fully recreate.
©2012 Dave Swinfen
David Swinfen Associates (UK) 
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