The Batman

Director: Matt Reeves
Starring: Robert Pattinson, Zoë Kravitz, Paul Dano, Jeffrey Wright, John Turturro, Peter Sarsgaard, Andy Serkis, Colin Farrell, Jayme Lawson, Peter McDonald, Alex Ferns, Con O'Neill, Rupert Penry-Jones
Running Time: 176 min.
Rating: PG-13   

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

It seems with each new incarnation of Batman comes the promise it will be darker, grittier and more realistic than whatever came before. Tim Burton's Batman kicked this off, until Christopher Nolan came along in the 2000's and fans realized what was dark and gritty in 1989 suddenly seemed much less so. But more than any other superhero franchise, Batman has always been ripe for constant reinvention, its story and characters evolving through the decades, enabling it to be explored from many angles over various mediums. So in working with a property that's withstood creative ups and downs better than most, Matt Reeves probably didn't really need to give us something spectacular with The Batman, just as long as it was different from what we've seen before. And yet somehow, he's done both. 

There's a lot going on here but the most impressive aspect of Reeves and co-writer Peter Craig's script is that it doesn't lose focus over what should be considered a gargantuan 3-hour running length.That it only feels about half that time is a rare feat that can also be attributed to some terrific editing, with everything in the picture building toward one specific goal, with all the periphery characters perfectly fulfilling their purpose and function within the narrative. 

Giving us a grungier, angrier take, more psychologically traumatized on Batman is a risk, but the bigger one is its complete overhaul of our perceptions of what's surrounding him, most specifically a villain who's never been given this prominent a spotlight, or presented in such a terrifyingly realistic way. Everything a Batman entry should be, it more deeply explores the ongoing mythology of the title character drawing from a wealth of pop culture resources to explore themes related to criminal justice, corruption and wealth inequality.  The result is a thoroughly rewatchable superhero movie that hardly feels like one, proving to be as thought-provoking as it is exciting. 

Reclusive billionaire Bruce Wayne (Robert Pattinson) is hauled up in Wayne Tower with butler and caretaker Alfred Pennyworth (Andy Serkis). Wayne's spent two years as the masked vigilante known as The Batman when Gotham City mayor Don Mitchell Jr. (Rupert Penry-Jones) is murdered by a serial killer calling himself the Riddler (Paul Dano). Working with lieutenant James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) to decipher this murderer's clues and messages, Batman remains at odds with a Gotham Police Department that views him as a public menace, But when the Riddler's notes lead he and Gordon to mobster Carmine Falcone's (John Turturro) Iceberg Lounge nightclub operated by the Penguin (Colin Farrell), a waitress named Selina Kyle (Zoë Kravitz) seems to know more than she's letting on.  

A mysterious part-time drug dealer and cat burglar, Selina reluctantly agrees to help, even as her exact motivations remain unclear. But as Riddler continues to target Gotham's privileged elite in hopes of exposing the corruption within the city and a rat informant within the police department's ranks, Batman realizes that he and his deceased parents may be more intertwined with this madman than anticipated. Who the Riddler is and what he wants is a puzzle he'll need to solve before the cerebral killer's dangerous plan for Gotham comes to fruition.

From the moment he appears on screen, Pattinson just feels right and completely at home as this version of Batman, or "Vengeance" as he calls himself. Supposedly, Reeves patterned this maladjusted, reclusive, EMO take on the character off of Kurt Cobain and you can really see it, well beyond the highly effective use of Nirvana's "Something in the Way" bookending the film. Michael Giacchino's moody score and Batman's frantic journaling and voice over narration only enhances that entire vibe, working as an ideal entry point into a tragic story that's already well under way by the time we're let in. Feared and respected, but entirely misunderstood, the idea that this vigilante can show up anywhere at any time is established immediately as the Bat signal hovers over the heads of Gotham's low-level street thugs and gangs. 

While it's basically become a prerequisite for any filmmaker tackling this material to somehow acknowledge their fandom of the '60's TV series, there's considerable evidence that Reeves actually means it. From the Adam West-inspired stitching on Pattinson's mask to the blinking phone and Shakespeare bust, these function as the clever of Easter eggs while still believably landing within this dark, grungy, broken down universe. But that's about where those similarities end, with Reeves' approach more likely to strike a chord with Nolan fans or those who appreciated what Todd Phillips did with Joker in terms of exploring the socio-economic strife and corruption within Gotham. Pattinson has very few scenes as Bruce Wayne but they're memorable ones since he's playing him as such a departure from the billionaire playboy we're accustomed to that the line separating Bruce Wayne and Batman becomes nearly invisible. 

Scarred by his parents' deaths and only capable of seeing the world in black and white, Bruce long ago abandoned whatever his philanthropic duties as a Wayne were intended to entail. And despite the promise of renewed hope for the city in the form of  idealistic mayoral candidate Bella Reál (Jayme Lawson), he sees only darkness. As a result, his bond with Andy Serkis' Alfred is probably as fractured and complicated as we've seen in any iteration of the character, with the family butler/caretaker's loyalty hardly acknowledged or reciprocated. It makes sense considering much of the picture focuses on Bruce's rejection of his past and humanity, of which Alfred is the only living reminder. If they are to have the surrogate father-son dynamic we're so accustomed to seeing, it's going to take Bruce a while to emotionally arrive there, even as developing circumstances are about to force that change quicker than anticipated. 

Batman's working relationship with Gordon might be an even bigger deviation from what's expected, as a scene-stealing Jeffrey Wright gives one of the film's best performances as the straight edge, incorruptible lieutenant standing alone against the GCPD in his support of Batman. It's kind of odd seeing the two already with this shorthand way of communicating and cooperating well before much of the action even gets underway, with Batman frequently standing side-by-side with police at crime scenes, much to the officers' loud objections. Wright's enormous role is second only to Batman in prominence, at times even equaling it, as the wry, world weary lieutenant finds himself frequently stuck between a rock and a hard place in regard to his loyalties.

More Selina Kyle than Catwoman, Zoë Kravitz proves to be a quietly strong but powerful force, occupying a moral grey area Batman wants little to do with since he deals only in absolutes. Similarly, the Waynes represent everything about the city's cesspool of privilege that's ruined her life, as it's Batman's willingness to play ball with the police that disgusts her most. Despite their differing philosophies, both are looking to expose the same thing, but fighting to find a middle ground before realizing they're far more alike than different. If she and Pattinson have electric chemistry, Reeves is smart enough to pick his spots and not let that connection overwhelm the picture or overshadow the main crime plot, which is substantial and multi-faceted. 

Whatever criticisms could be made about the script being convoluted or overstuffed is offset by a meticulous construction that demands your fullest attention at every moment. If forced to choose, Colin Farrell's Penguin probably has to least to do since at this point he's a grubby, low-level mobster having not yet ascended to the crime lord he's better known as. But even that's fine since Turturro picks up the slack while an unrecognizable Farrell's prosthetic transformation and slimy performance as Oswald "Ozzy" Cobblepot definitely leaves a lasting impression sure to have viewers scratching their heads in disbelief that it's really him. He's also at the center of a fiery, high-speed Batmobile chase that marks the vehicle's only appearance, albeit a really memorable one. An actual muscle car customization this time around, it's a well needed and welcome departure from the series of modified tanks used in the more recent entries and accurately fits something you'd expect to see Pattinson's version of Batman drive.

Inspired by California's notorious Zodiac killer from 1960', Reeves' ingenious take on the Riddler may as well be considered a full-on cinematic reincarnation, not just physically in terms of costume, but in the character's use of ciphers and hidden messages. Frighteningly played by a masked Paul Dano as this disturbing symbol of madness incarnate, he's about as dark as any Batman villain has gotten, with his arc justifiably earning comparisons to Se7en and Zodiac. Adding a realistic heft that hasn't been fully present for Batman since he tangled with Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight, his viral videos provide the film with its timeliest evocation of true crime, while the design and conceit behind the murderous traps should remind many of Jigsaw on his best day. Reeves also wisely restrains himself from having the character overstay his welcome, maximizing those carefully chosen appearances for all they're worth.

Dano's demeanor and voice fluctuates over the story's progression, his silence evolving into a deep, menacing tone until the end where he really lets loose, giggling with high-pitched, shrieking delight at the chaos he and his followers unleash. When Edward Nashton does eventually get cornered (in a cafe scene masterfully captured by cinematographer Greig Fraser as a nod to Edward Hopper's famous Nighthawks painting) and his true intentions are revealed, Dano somehow escalates the character's creepiness, expressing his own twisted gratitude to Batman for helping create him. And it's during their face-to-face confrontation that we realize Riddler may have equally inspired Bruce's Batman to finally turn his attention to fighting for hope rather than vengeance.

Much has been made about the Joker cameo, but the film doesn't even really need it and is actually far better off rolling with the idea that he's the "Unseen Arkham Prisoner" stated in the credits. Either way, Barry Keoghan's appearance does little to detract from the fact this is Riddler's movie through and through. Considering we've had more than our fair share of Joker already, it would be far more interesting for Reeves to move forward with a different, underexposed villain more ripe for reimagining in a new context, much like Riddler was.

The much discussed closing scene with Catwoman undeniably leaves a door open, hinting that as close as Batman's come to accepting his role, Gotham's been left in decay, with no guarantee the worst isn't still ahead. With each developing twist and turn in The Batman, we become more involved, leading to a final act that delivers on all the promise and suspense preceding it. And by Reeves returning the character to its earliest dark noir detective roots, it earns a place in the upper echelon, telling a story much more intricate and layered than we've settled for from comic book tentpoles this size and scope.

Let Me In

 

Director: Matt Reeves
Starring: Kodi Smit-McPhee, Chloe Grace Moretz, Elias Koteas, Richard Jenkins, Cara Buono, Sasha Barrese, Dylan Minnette
Running Time: 116 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

Let Me In, director Matt Reeves' American remake of the acclaimed 2008 Swedish horror film Let The Right One In is not a movie about vampires. That detail is wisely a backdrop to what's a coming-of-age period film and mood piece featuring a character who happens to be a vampire. It's a means to an end, important in identifying why the film succeeds and how it escapes the pitfalls always accompanying this genre. Having still not seen the original I can't compare, but can still somewhat appreciate the uphill battle Reeves faced in justifying such a project's existence. One group will hate it because they reject the idea of their favorite horror film being remade or just assume any foreign property will have to be dumbed down to appeal to mainstream audiences. Everyone else won't care at all because they've never heard of it. Reeves manages to overcome both those obstacles with an unusually smart, suspenseful film that's beautifully photographed, lushly scored and fully absorbing from start to finish. And that statement comes from someone who usually can't stand anything having to do with vampires and considers it a lazy, overused film topic. If only the final product could turn out like this more often. The few scenes depicting that are handled surprisingly well, but the real horror is found in the emotional pain of growing up.

It's 1983 in Los Alamos, New Mexico and an apparent suicide of a disfigured patient at the local hospital panics the local police detective (Elias Koteas), who finds only a note by his bedside reading: "I'm sory Abby." We flashback two weeks earlier to meet 12-year-old Owen (Kodi Smit McPhee), lonely, depressed boy going through some serious issues with his parents' impending divorce and brutal harassment from bullies at school. With no one to turn to and too afraid to retaliate, he internalizes everything and creates imaginary scenarios of revenge with his pocket knife and a tree. If ever a child were destined for a future filled with trips to the school psychologist's office, it's him. Relief comes in the arrival of Abby (Chloe Grace Moretz), a girl who claims to be his age who moves in next door with a solemn looking middle-aged man (Richard Jenkins) who appears to be her father. After some reluctance on her part to befriend him they start to grow closer and it becomes clear she isn't a twelve year-old girl and that isn't her father. But let's not call her a "vampire," because doing that would be a betrayal of how intelligently the narrative unfolds and the restraint with which her situation is presented. She simply needs to blood to survive. This becomes a problem as she forges a closer relationship with Owen, who inches closer to the truth about her as she teaches him to stand up to his tormentors.

Vampirism always seems to fare best in films when it's treated as an affliction or almost a disease of sorts, as it is here. Abby's condition isn't glamorized in any way, she doesn't think it would be cool to live thousands of years, dress in gothic clothes, sleep all day or hang out with werewolves. Instead, this is a curse ruining her life and preventing her from ever forging a meaningful bond with anyone. That you could probably replace being a vampire with any other physical or psychological affliction and still emerge with a story just as strong proves how much more is going on beneath the surface. It's really about two lonely, troubled kids brought together with their friendship tested by this huge obstacle put in front of them. The question becomes whether Owen can still accept her and whether Abby can withstand the temptation to use him as she does everyone else, including her "father." There are times that this budding childhood romance is handled with such special care that if not for the dark, somber undercurrent, the storyline would recall My Girl before it would a horror film.  What scares there are come not from the few, well-placed and suspenseful vampire attacks from Abby but instead the bullying Owen endures at school by Kenny (an effectively menacing Dylan Minette) and his gang, which is more terrifying than any of the the graphic blood-drenched events that unfold during the picture.

As smart as Reeves' script (based on the novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist in addition to the Swedish film) is in putting the emphasis in the right place and cloaking the vampire elements in a coming-of-age tale, casting was crucial. Thankfully, the young performers are amazing. Kodi Smit-McPhee is subtly devastating as the fearful, lonely Owen so disconnected from everyone else that even his mother (played by Cara Buono) is barely shown on screen at all, her face covered or out of view throughout.  After going two for two in 2010 with this and Kick-Ass, Chloe Moretz is emerging as an actress whose career bares watching in much the same way Natalie Portman's did in its early stages. This is a complex role requiring her to be doomed killing machine in addition to conveying the emotional pain of a lovestruck young girl sentenced to spend her entire life in childhood. This dark, heavy material but these kids get it and rise to the challenge. Just as strong in a small but pivotal role is Richard Jenkins as Abby's guardian, with his sad eyes and morose expression revealing more than any line of dialogue possibly could. And during one memorable stretch of the film, he still somehow does it with a bag over his head. As a character added for this adaptation, Elias Koteas is the eyes and ears for the audience as a nameless local cop, but he gets us to care what happens to him, even if against better judgment we find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of rooting for a vampire to escape.

The early 80's setting present in both the novel and original film was retained and is maximized to great effect through the perfect placement of certain classic rock songs of the era and period details that leave no doubt this takes place in the 80's without ever hammering us over the head with it. The time and setting feel like an natural extension of the plot, like a dream or memory that if updated to modern day could somehow ring false regardless of one's familiarity with the source material.  Only the best period pieces understand it's not so much about the clothes, hairstyles or music (though it's a factor), but capturing a certain mood or spirit of the time that takes you back. The somber tone of the film is spot-on and never waivers, reinforced by Michael Giacchino's creepy, melancholy score and cinematography from Greig Fraser that's soaked in washed-out browns and a yellowish amber tint that creates a visually unsettling atmosphere. That such a methodical, introspective film came from the director of 2008's shaky-cam monster movie Cloverfield is kind of a shock. This is about as far from that as can be while still vaguely straddling a similar genre.

When Stephen King named Let Me In his favorite movie of 2010, calling it the "best American horror film in the last 20 years" I was skeptical knowing his history of overpraising mainstream fluff.  If the statement is a bit of an exaggeration (and as much a testament to all the inferior horror films we've suffered through), it isn't much of one. Nothing about this movie feels mainstream and it's too intelligent to ever be mistaken for the latest Hollywood cash-in slasher remake. If nothing else, it teaches the lesson that the best movies are rarely about what they're actually about and horror can't truly unsettle unless you care about the characters and their situation. Let Me In gets this right, proving all remakes don't have to be pointless and aren't necessarily destined to fail.