The Dark Knight

Copyright 2008, Warner Bros. Pictures

You know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go "according to plan"...even if the plan is horrifying. If, tomorrow, I told the press that, like, a gang-banger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics because it's all part of the plan.--The Joker

Those words are spoken at nearly the end of a lengthy stretch of The Dark Knight that, for me, is as perfect as a movie can be. I wasn't actually aware of how long that stretch was until I wound up with the Blu-ray disc a few weeks back, but I knew it began right around the party that the Joker crashes as he tries to pull a trifecta of murder and ended as the same shrewdly insane criminal walked away from his latest avenue of destruction in a nurse's outfit. Turned out that stretch is just about 75 minutes long, a good half of the very best film of 2008.

Only two films got as close in my mind to such perfection: WALL-E and The Wrestler. Unfortunately enough, only the former film has a section that still burns in the memory (although I've only just seen the latter and want it to continue simmering). Though some have laughed off the comparison of The Dark Knight to films such as Heat or The Godfather (though, let's be honest, that one is a hell of a stretch, and not one I'd make for the obvious reason and also, because...they're completely different animals), it's just as hard to compare this to Spider-Man or, God help me, Fantastic Four. The Dark Knight, at the end of the day, is a harder film to quantify in such simplistic terms.

Is it the greatest film ever, as some have professed? Well, of course not, and anyone who chooses to use such hyperbole about any film as it's being released is spouting lots of hot air (I'm looking at you, Rex Reed). But, as many smarter than myself have pointed out, some movies hit this country at the right time. The other film that's really hitting home for some people this year is Slumdog Millionaire, a vastly different picture, but one that masses are swarming to, in smaller numbers.

What's worth noting, though, is that within the span of under a year, Hollywood delivered two villains as memorable as Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter: Javier Bardem's Anton Chigurh in last year's best film, No Country For Old Men, and Heath Ledger's definitive version of The Joker. Like Lecter and Chigurh, the Joker doesn't hog the screen for the majority of the film, but just like them, he dominates, he permeates the proceedings. Though he hovers over Gotham like a wraith, the Joker is felt sometimes more than he is seen, and that's chiefly because Ledger's final complete performance works so well on so many levels. It's a credit to him that he's not only able to embody a character as far away from Ennis Del Mar, but he's able to make the Joker frightening, sympathetic, funny, cruel, and more without even having an arc.

Even in the film's slickly designed opening bank heist, when we barely see his face, when we're not even sure which clown mask is hiding his visage, the Joker captivates us. Director and co-writer Christopher Nolan, showing a massive amount of growth in talent here, deserves kudos for not making us question the logic of every one of the Joker's schemes, school buses and ferries alike. Questioning whether the plans (which the Joker does have many of, though he says otherwise in that scene quoted above) make sense is the wrong thing to do, not because the answer is, at best, a convoluted "Yes," but because the successful ride doesn't involve nitpicking. So it goes for any story, even the aforementioned Slumdog Millionaire; there's a point when you go along for the ride or you don't. In the feel-good India-set tale, it's when the million-dollar question is revealed; in this film, it's when the Joker gets away on his school bus after the successful heist. You buy it or you don't.

But in all the hullabaloo of Ledger (which would have been deserved if he were still alive, let it be said), we forget about Christian Bale, with less and more to do here. Less because Bruce Wayne's arc was mostly completed in Batman Begins, but more because he's got to be Batman, the real Bruce Wayne, and the public Bruce Wayne, sometimes in the evolution of one scene, as in that party crashing. Bale makes it looks so seamless that people almost ignored how solid a leading man he's become.

Fortunately, every other actor is given at least one moment to make a solid mark in our minds. Maggie Gyllenhaal, as the new Rachel Dawes, is flirty and feisty; though Katie Holmes wasn't nearly as accomplished, she had, ironically enough, more to do in the first of the series than Gyllenhaal gets to work with. Still, in her scenes with Bale, she's more tender, more human. Morgan Freeman gets to work his fatherly vibe as Lucius, the honorable elder of the Wayne enterprise who gets his faith rewarded, as Batman puts it, in one of the final shots. Still, his best scene is one of the funniest, where he plainly and calmly reminds a turncoat financial consultant exactly who he's trying to blackmail. Michael Caine, once again the trusty Alfred, proves that he's playing more than a butler, more than Michael Gough (certainly a fine actor delivering a fine performance in the Tim Burton version) was able to prove with his lesser material. His cunning and his sadly inevitable final decision help lend a realism to The Dark Knight, a realism not felt anywhere else in the iconography of the caped crusader.

The two actors, though, who slipped just under the radar are Gary Oldman and Aaron Eckhart, as Jim Gordon and Harvey Dent. Eckhart's more memorable performance, enhanced by his colorful transformation in the last hour, was strong; Oldman's is much, much stronger. Gordon is the real hero of the piece, mostly because he's not wearing a cape, because he doesn't triumph. Though he does save Batman from the Joker in the defining action showcase of the film, Gordon remains human in the final showdown with Two-Face, unable and unwilling to sacrifice his son's life for bravery. Yet the pride in his voice when he tells his son of his own derring-do, as he flashes back on the amount of skill involved in his own convoluted plot, is deserved and is what adds to the pain we share with Gordon in the climax.

Eckhart, though, does run the gamut of emotion in his role, even before he finally decides to give in to the dark side, as it were. If you were to listen to his impassioned cries as he realizes his true love's fate by themselves, it might seem comical. In the context of the film, in terms of how he grows and simultaneously devolves, the harshness in his voice even then wounds us. Dent's fall from cocky glory, seen in that first courtroom scene where he impresses even himself, is the only true connection to American jingoism of the past decade, if something from this film can even begin to compare to such a complex idea.

That such ideas can even be thought of in connection with The Dark Knight is praise enough, even if Nolan and his brother, Jonathan (the other writer) had no intention of making a connection, or nothing as deep. Some looked at Batman as either a condemnation of or compliment to the Bush years, but it's doubtfully accurate. Yes, torture and terrorism are hot topics in the film, but Nolan did honestly profess to wanting to make a damn good blockbuster, chiefly, and he has succeeded.

The requisite ending to any review of this film must, I suppose, come back to Ledger, but let me do so by starting a tangent of sorts. As I sat through the final half-hour of Gran Torino, I reflected on the notion that Clint Eastwood may retire officially from directing and acting soon. I thought and still pray that Gran Torino is not his last film. It's not the movie I'd want Eastwood, a legend for many good reasons, to go out on. Not the man behind the Man With No Name, Dirty Harry, and Unforgiven. I was no fan of Changeling, but it was still filled with more skill than Eastwood's recent affair.

The reason for my hope is obvious: whenever the sad day comes that Clint Eastwood passes on from this world, there will be some mention of his last film. I wouldn't want his last film to be a black mark, a movie people will not look back on with at least some fondness. So many actors and directors, people of unquestionable talent, end their careers on low notes; few are lucky enough to have had a full career with few or no bad films, or at least not enough to forget the classics. Eastwood may still be lucky enough to hit one final home run, or at least a triple, but it will have to come in the future.

Heath Ledger, who was not as lucky as Eastwood in having a full life on screen, left too early. This much is obvious. But when I left The Dark Knight the first time, as my wife quietly remarked on her depression that she'd never see Ledger onscreen again, I smiled on the inside. His talent was still untapped, his star would have grown in ways we'll never know, but I was and still remain thrilled at this lasting, for-the-ages performance, one that will haunt and excite millions for years and years. Though there may be initial disappointment that the Joker will never again rouse us past hanging precariously upside-down on an unfinished skyscraper, he is reborn and firmly defined here, as is the entire Batman mythos, in a film as realistic and charged as the best crime epics are.

Four stars out of four

WALL-E

Copyright 2008, Walt Disney Pictures

Part of the remembrance of film in 2008, good and bad, though this series will be admittedly shortened.

What can you say about a movie whose lead, a robot, manages to be the most heartfelt and emotionally true character of the year? Is it any surprise that WALL-E, arguably the best animated film of the last ten years, is a Pixar creation? I've grown up with Pixar, having seen their first feature film, 1995's Toy Story, when I was only 10, and I find myself more eager to see their latest now than I was back then. What is more exciting for a film buff than a studio at the top of its game, and what is more exciting for that company to be expressing emotions and images rarely touched in live action?

I will be the first to admit that hearing the quick synopses of Pixar's most recent films originally filled me with great unease. Their 2006 release, Cars, while a major achievement in animation (and a great way to show off a Blu-ray system) and a hugely successful merchandising property, is the film that impresses me least. After having watched the film more than once, I can say it's grown on me, but not in the same way that any of Pixar's other releases, even Monsters, Inc., have. Part of the issue remains the derivative plotline (switch out cars for humans, and Owen Wilson for Michael J. Fox and you have Doc Hollywood), and part of it is that the film meanders, perhaps appropriate considering the moral, but still a meander.

So when I first saw that their next film was about a rat who wanted to be a chef in Paris, it didn't matter that Brad Bird, the man behind The Incredibles, was the director. All I thought was, "Can they pull it off?" My faith was bolstered in watching Ratatouille, one of last year's best. Though the entire film still works wonders for me (even its shift in focus from Remy to Linguine halfway through, much as WALL-E seems to shift), it's the review by Anton Ego that solidifies my eternal love for this movie.

I vividly remember seeing the film last year the Saturday of its opening weekend, in a theater filled with families and, obviously, many children under the age of 10. I almost wish I wasn't old enough to fully appreciate Brad Bird's philosophical musings on the nature of the critic-artist relationship masquerading as a potentially evil character reading a restuarant review. Can you imagine what the kids were thinking? I wouldn't have grasped it, and I remember thinking that was exactly the point. That Bird and company could pull it off--making an animated film that's far easier to appreciate if you're not a kid--impressed me immensely. Though The Incredibles does touch heavily on adult themes, the main idea--that greatness is suppressed in favor of mediocrity--wasn't as developed as I hoped. Of course, that idea was shifted in place of some great action sequences, so I won't complain.

It was at the screening of Ratatouille that I saw the teaser trailer for WALL-E. I knew of the movie somewhat, that it was from Andrew Stanton, who'd been with Pixar for a long time and had helmed Finding Nemo. In fact, the teaser, which gave Stanton more face time than the title character, didn't garner my whole attention and some unease until the very end, when the film's title appears onscreen and is repeated by WALL-E himself. I sat up straight in my seat and wondered. Were these guys getting in over their heads? A movie about a robot with, if not knowledge of English, a strange and possibly creepy voice? After finally seeing WALL-E, I learned to stop being uneasy. My faith was bolstered again with this journey into the future.

To humor you, let's get the plot synopsis out of the way; WALL-E is a small trash compactor robot. His mission is to clean up Earth so it can be sustainable for humans again; the humans trashed the planet and have vacated it for a cushy space station. WALL-E is the only one of his kind left and is very lonely, until he meets EVE, a probe droid sent by the humans to check on the progress of the clean up. They fall in love, WALL-E first, and he ends up chasing her back to the space station, where much action takes place.

But before that action takes place on the Axiom, the humans' space station, what magic there is and in such a desolate place. Earth in 2800 is an awful thing to look at, the biggest landfill in the world. Thanks to sloth and gluttony, there's so much trash that skyscrapers can be constructed from it. How could this not be a turn off to viewers, not only in the brown-tinged landscapes but in its message? How to place a strongly worded message about promoting environmentalism? What Stanton did was something Pixar's been looking for: a memorable character. Yes, Woody and Buzz are memorable characters, but not lovable on the same level as WALL-E, the best character they've created.

Again, this has been something they've been trying for a while. First, it was Sully in Monsters, Inc. Then, it was Dory in Finding Nemo. Mater in Cars. Excluding Brad Bird's films, where lovable is not a necessary trait, Pixar has wanted to created someone or something kids and adults could latch onto. Lo and behold, a binocular-inspired Chaplinesque robot.

His charm is what pulls us through the first 40 minutes (yes, 40; it does take just under 40 minutes for us to be introduced to the humans of the future and, thus, any real dialogue), where not only is WALL-E the main character, but he is frequently the only character. Watching a robot play with a bra, a diamond ring, and bad showtunes shouldn't work, but dammit if WALL-E isn't the elixir. When EVE comes on the scene, her realistically crabby nature at her presumably futile job is a strong contrast for WALL-E's childlike optimism and determined focus. Getting struck by lightning, having a welcome gift snubbed...nothing truly wears him down with her.

Who knows? Maybe WALL-E knows instantly that EVE is a kindred spirit (or maybe just after she attempts to blow him to bits). That EVE warms to WALL-E is part of the magic this film holds, from her initial coldness and anger to humming his favorite tune to rouse him out of his stupor. Despite the criticism leveled at the film (mainly that the humans having such a major role in the film's second half), there are few moments in film this year to rival EVE and WALL-E's last scene; the emotion there in EVE is this close to heartbreaking.

Recently, there's been talk of the film getting nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars. No, it's not likely (though not as unlikely as you may think), but it's a film that lingers far more than earlier releases from the year, and even more so than some year-end releases (I'm looking at you, Slumdog Millionaire). Love in its purest form, between robots or humans or anything else, is a powerful bond, one we can link ourselves to as strongly as we do to anything else. I'm not sure that WALL-E will get a nomination for Picture (though I'd be thrilled if it does), but I am relatively certain its message, its characters, and its many perfect scenes and sequences will be thought of fondly in years to come, more so than the live-action spectacles being offered to us as Oscar fodder.

If Pixar can impress people so thoroughly this year with a lovestruck trash compactor, perhaps they'll do the same with their next release, May's Up. You want to talk about crazy premises? How's this: a 78-year old (Ed Asner!) decides to forgo a retirement home, so he lifts his house from its roots with thousands of balloons and flies to South America to fulfill his late wife's wish. Consider me psyched, and here's why: it's not that this is from Pixar...it's that I wonder if this film could be equal to or better than Ratatouille and WALL-E. Is it even possible? One can only, as WALL-E does every night, hope beyond hope and dream.

Four stars out of four

Doubt

Copyright 2008, Miramax Films

Doubt is a play that should probably not be a movie, which is unfortunate because, as is evidenced above, this is not advice well taken. Don't get me wrong: the movie has four truly accomplished actors working, for the most part, at the top of their game. But performance do not a good movie make.

It's ironic that the director of the film adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize winner, John Patrick Shanley, has surprisingly little faith in the source material, since he is also the film's screenwriter and the man who wrote the play. And yet, he relies on far too many heavyhanded symbolic flourishes, from imaginary feathers flying in the wind to purposely odd camera angles to lightbulbs popping out in the office where most of the film's action takes place.

Shanley's directorial choices are even stranger when considering that his top-name technical crew are among the best in the business; when you have Roger Deakins as your cinematographer and Dylan Tichenor as your editor, why should there be any problems with the technical aspect?

Despite all this, the acting in the film is mostly top-notch. I say "mostly" with regards to Meryl Streep, who certainly does much better here than her other 2008 film, the execrable "Mamma Mia!" Streep, however, continues to perpetuate the idea here that she searches for a way to integrate her gift of accents in just about every role. Not that her Sister Aloysius, a nun and Catholic school principal suspicious that her parish's priest is involved in a relationship with the only African American boy in school, shouldn't have an accent (the film is set in the Bronx), but Streep's well-known proclivity for voices fails here, as she sometimes sounds like she's from Noo Yawk and sometimes like she's just Meryl Streep.

The other three main performances, from Philip Seymour Hoffman as the potentially pedophilic priest, Amy Adams as an extremely innocent nun and schoolteacher who brings the situation to Sister Aloysius' attention, and Viola Davis as the African American boy's mother, are affecting and filled with genuine emotion. It's Streep who always feels a little fake here, always a bit uncomfortable in the habit she wears throughout.

The real problem, whatever there may be, lies with Shanley, who liberally adds some scenes in the school, mostly involving the kids in Sister James' (Adams) class. On stage, Doubt only has the four characters played by Streep, Hoffman, Adams, and Davis, and even fewer scenes outside Sister Aloysius' office. Why, then, does Shanley show us three different boys in Sister James' class, one who appears to be a bad seed but one who finds Father Flynn (Hoffman) to be creepy; one who's relatively nice despite shouting at his teacher; and Donald, the African American boy who sees Father Flynn as a father figure?

There's much too much buried under the surface of these scenes, something that adds to the intricacies of the adult characters, and something that takes away from whatever mystique there may be in Father Flynn's seemingly disturbing meeting with Donald in the rectory. I imagine Shanley knows what's going on here, but he should have let the actors in on the secret.

Speaking of secrets, a little has been made online about Philip Seymour Hoffman's reaction to what appears to be the most common question asked of him by entertainment press: did Shanley tell Hoffman before filming if his Father Flynn was guilty of an illegal relationship with Donald? What is most fascinating is exactly how definitely we know the answer to, if not that question, the general question that Father Flynn is a guilty man, a man who should not be near children. Is there really a mystery here, when the movie answers it so completely?

It's this knowledge that makes the final scenes a bit frustrating; what we are meant to glean from the scenes, the only ones where Streep is able to channel humane emotion, is that Sister Aloysius isn't just that horrible stereotypical nun who rapped our knuckles with her ruler. While Streep sells the emotion perfectly, the dialogue behind her tears falls flat.

With the Oscars around the bend, the acting in Doubt, especially that of Ms. Davis, whose one scene in the film is powerful and compelling enough to get her a nomination, deserves mention. The film itself, while posing many challenging questions (and for that, high praise is indeed warranted), will not resonate as well as its original production still does, with only a bare stage and four people whose words may save or damn them.

Three stars out of four