The Dark Knight Rises

It occurred to me recently that Christopher Nolan's Batman films are mostly about fear. They explore the fears not only of everyday citizens but also of a man most of us likely thought was never scared: the Dark Knight. Batman probably follows the advice to never let anyone see him bleed, but we see his premonition that perhaps one day he won't be able to prevent terrible things from happening. There are some really scary, terrible things in our world. A recent Gallup poll found that the things Americans fear the most are terrorist attacks, spiders, death, being a failure, war, heights, criminal or gang violence, being alone, the future, and nuclear war. All of these (except spiders and to a lesser extent heights) are featured prominently in Nolan's "The Dark Knight Rises," his final installment of his Batman trilogy.

Years after defeating the Joker and Two-Face (while keeping the true identity of Harvey Dent secret), Batman has left Gotham largely in peace. The Dent Act has kept police officers on the streets, and there is no need for Batman. Bruce Wayne is still injured from previous events, and largely remains a recluse, with hardly anything to do in the world, certainly not protect Gotham.  

But then Bane enters. He is played by Tom Hardy, as chiseled and intimidating as he was in last year's "Warrior." Bane's main goal seems to be to give the power of Gotham "back to the people." But democracy without rules isn't a democracy, it's anarchy, and this is perfect for Bane. He plans on getting his hands on a nuclear bomb and doing a whole lot more to severely disrupt the order of things. Batman is hardly a match for Bane's strength, and Bane seems to enjoy taunting him. "Oh, you think darkness is your ally," he mocks. "You merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, modeled by it...The shadows betray you because they belong to me." (This is Shakespeare compared to the last time we saw Bane, in the dismal 1997 film "Batman and Robin.") How haunting he sounds as he instructs Bruce Wayne that once Gotham is ashes, only then does he have Bane's permission to die. But it's not simply Bane and his malicious army Batman has to worry about--Selina Kyle, better known as Catwoman (Anne Hathaway), is causing quite a bit of mischief as well.  

Nolan is a director who knows his visuals. The opening sequence is a reminder of his talent for unusual, acrobatic stunts, and he seems more prone to use minimalist makeup and a lack of green suits for his characters (which certainly makes him part of a minority among directors). When he does use visual effects, he convinces the audience that every effort was taken to make it look as realistic as possible. One of the previews before the movie was for Sam Raimi's "Oz: The Great and Powerful." The movie looks like it will be filled with computer-generated effects. I was reminded of the visuals of "The Wizard of Oz" from 1939 (the same year as the first "Bat-man" comic) and I thought to myself that while I basically know that Raimi and his team used CGI for the effects, decades later I still don't know how the effects were made for "The Wizard of Oz" and yet they look so much better. The feeling I get from "The Wizard of Oz" is the feeling I get when I watch a Christopher Nolan movie; I'm so amazed at the attention to detail, and his appreciation of visual imagery and his shunning of lazy film making.
 

There are some flaws, of course. Do we need all of these characters? Michael Caine as Alfred, Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon, and Morgan Freeman as Lucious Fox are all back, but why have Matthew Modine here as an ambitious cop? What purpose does Marion Cotillard's character really have here?  I'm as big a fan of Joseph Gordon-Levitt as anyone, but what is he doing here?  (My question was answered at the end of the film, and I had mixed feelings about it.) There's a henchman who kind of looks like Willem Dafoe, and I was more interested in him than I was in numerous other characters. The Catwoman scenes are nice, but also are unnecessary. Additionally, this might be the most confusing Batman movie ever. There's something about the stock market and something else about a congressman or something like that. Three hours is a lot to ask for from an audience, and "The Dark Knight Rises" is unjustifiably long, overly ambitious, and increasingly clunky as it moves along. My reaction to "Batman Begins" was excitement that Batman was back; my reaction to "The Dark Knight" was excitement because I recognized that I had just seen a masterpiece. My reaction to "The Dark Knight Rises" was a bizarre sense of being simultaneously overwhelmed and underwhelmed, though ultimately feeling that it was efficient and satisfying.

Likewise, I had mixed feelings about Tom Hardy as Bane.  I admired his physical force, his performance that relies heavily on his voice and eyes, and the thought he likely put behind it.  Still, my reaction to his peculiar voice was similar to my reaction towards Bale's voice as Batman.  At times it works perfectly, and at times it sounds utterly ridiculous.  

At times I was so bored with the movie that I began to compare it to the previous Batman movies by Tim Burton; I still believe his "Batman" from 1989 is the superior one, as I have a preference towards fantastical stories and prefer it to the grittier Nolan versions. Still, one cannot deny Nolan's talent or understate our appreciation for him resurrecting what was surely a dead franchise. Beyond saving it, he brought it back with intelligence and force. Nolan toys with our emotions, as is the case with the scene where Bane and his crew shoot up Wall Street; Nolan shows us the criminality and horror of such weaponry and visualizes the chaos of terrorism.  

Batman has been such an important part of Americana. Originally meant to be a complement to the pride and patriotism (and frankly, lack of realism) of Superman, Batman, particularly Nolan's version of him, has intrigued Americans as the darker, more psychologically and sociologically interesting of the two, and indeed of any American character. Britain recently has shown us a lot of its pride with the Olympics, and who can blame them? After all, they have Bond, the Beatles, and Mr. Bean.  But America has and always will have Batman.

Movies, movies, theater, cinema, watch, watching, watches, view,  see, saw, cinema,  film, flick, motion picture, Dark Knight Rises, Bane, Christian Bale, Christopher Nolan, Batman, Anne Hatheway 

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Empire of the Sun

Steven Spielberg has created a legacy as the ultimate magician of the cinema. His movies have, for the most part, been bright, magical pictures, as is the case here in his 1987 film "Empire of the Sun." With this film, a coming-of-age World War II story, Spielberg indulges in familiar formulas: a lost boy without his parents, a yearning towards reconciliation, a feeling of miraculousness.

Almost always, Spielberg's combination works. Here it does at times, but there is no concrete epicenter, and instead it oversimplifies things and overly-complicates others. "Empire of the Sun" is a movie that often has that Spielberg quality of excellence but more often feels too long, too boring, and even too Spielberg.

A young Christian Bale plays Jamie Graham, the son of wealthy parents living in Shanghai in the 1930s as war breaks out between China and Japan (and the world, of course, for that matter). Jamie is as imaginative and charismatic as he is spoiled and selfish, but he is also quite interested in planes. In fact, it is his toy plane he tries to retrieve which separates him from his family during the chaotic and frightening invasion. Lost, scared, and confused, he returns home where food will run out. Often exactly in the right place, he joins an American sailor named Basie (John Malkovich), and the two develop a friendship, despite Basie constantly betraying him. The two are eventually captured and moved to an internment camp and wait for the war to end.

As mentioned, "Empire of the Sun" is either too complicated or too simple. It is too complicated as it involves an enormous amount of characters which were probably given their proper explanations in the autobiographical novel by J.G. Ballard which the film is based on. There is a doctor, a young Japanese man Jamie befriends, a brutal Japanese captain, an impatient British couple, and parts of Basie's gang which are all practically ignored. It is often too simple, as well. Towards the end of the film, Jamie, now called Jim, witnesses a bright and sudden light approach and push against his body. Instead of allowing reasonably intelligent viewers to ascertain that this is most likely one of the atomic bombings on Japan, Spielberg inserts a radio broadcast to provide exact details of the event. If that still could not suffice, Jamie offers out loud his realization of what has occurred and how he mistook it.

Most of the film is wonderful to look at. It involves dreamlike visuals and another majestic score from John Williams. But at times it feels like another attempt at "E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial," though it is worth noting that in 1987, Spielberg, along with his 1985 period piece "The Color Purple," was emphasizing his directorial range, shedding the perception that he could only direct children fantasy stories. (Then came "Hook" in 1991, and he would have to wait another two years with "Schindler's List" to finally secure the reputation he deserved and strived for.) Again, at times the quasi-fantastical nature of "Empire of the Sun" feels justified, and at other times it feels gratuitous. It is also noteworthy, though, that Spielberg discussed in interviews about this story being the anti-Peter Pan story in that this is about a boy who has grown up too quickly. And so far, no praise has been given by the reviewer to the performer playing that boy, Christian Bale (the future American Psycho and Batman). It is a very commendable performance, as are the other performers throughout this film (including Ben Stiller, who has said that he first gained the idea for his 2008 film "Tropic Thunder" while making "Empire of the Sun.")

Overall, "Empire of the Sun" has the feel of a inspirational picture that does not exactly inspire the feeling of being inspired. Instead the film drags on; there is a beginning, middle and end, but the middle seems of epic proportion and unjustly too long. It seems that as matter-of-fact as the story could be, it instead chooses to lack a definitive sequence of events. At times it's "Oliver," at other times it's "Stalag 17," and at other times it at least looks like "The Color Purple" but feels like it possesses the youthful optimism of "Hook." It is an interesting hybrid, and another example of his interest in World War II. World War II, a war Spielberg's father fought in, has often been the setting for Spielberg's stories. His first Hollywood attempt at the subject was "1941," then this film in 1987 (ignore the Indiana Jones films for now), and he finally secured a masterpiece with "Saving Private Ryan" (or "Schindler's List" if you prefer to consider that film the "third time's a charm" entity).

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