Batman Returns (1992)

THE BAT, THE CAT, THE PENGUIN

Next on the list for Batman Week is the appropriately titled sequel Batman Returns, in which Batman… returns.  Following the massive success of the first outing (despite some critical backlash, it took just over $400 million from a $35 million budget), Warner Bros. were understandably eager to capitalise on the public’s desire for further adventures of the Batman. Though neither one had signed on in advance, and were even hesitant to agree to a second film, both Tim Burton and Michael Keaton returned to Gotham for the sequel, bringing along two or three new stars for the ride.

It’s Christmas in Gotham City, but the streets are still plagued with crime, so there is still a need for Batman (Michael Keaton). A new threat comes to the city in the form of the Penguin (Danny DeVito), a deformed psychotic intent on being accepted into Gotham society, aided by crooked businessman Max Shreck (Christopher Walken), whom he coerces into helping him, which includes demonising the Caped Crusader. However, plans are complicated by the appearance of Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer), a mysterious figure with a serious grudge against Shreck.

When it came time to make Batman Returns, the initial steps were taken almost instantaneously. Right away the original screenwriter, Sam Hamm, was brought back to draft a follow-up script, which was apparently set to be a direct sequel, picking up where the characters and events of the last film left off, before the decision was made to realise not one new villain, but two – Penguin and Catwoman. Warner Bros. also asked for Tim Burton and Michael Keaton to come back. Burton was hesitant, saying that he would only come back if there was the chance to do something interesting with it; Keaton said that he would come back, but with a better paycheque (clearly still a little irked at the huge amount Nicholson made from the first film) and more to do. Agreeing to all such terms, Warner Bros. coaxed the two back, even demoting the first film’s producers, Jon Peters and Peter Guber, to executive producer status in order to give Burton more creative control over proceedings. Upon his return, and in a move very similar to the first film, Burton’s first act was to reject the initial script from Hamm (in which the Penguin and Catwoman went after hidden treasure), opting to bring in another writer to come up with a new direction. As such, Burton brought in Heathers scribe Daniel Waters (we’ll overlook his writing credit immediately before Batman Returns… Hudson Hawk), who decided to take a different approach.

The script for Batman Returns is actually really good. Whereas the first Batman had the villain try to take over the city, but spend most of his time being annoyed that Batman got the press coverage and the hot blonde, the villains here are driven by something different altogether. Max Schreck is a more classic real world-type bad guy, who holds himself in the public image as benevolent, charitable, a wealthy man with the common touch. However, he is a corrupt and amoral businessman with an insatiable desire for power, in this case quite literally as he plans to build a new and completely unnecessary power plant in Gotham that will drain more energy than it gives. He’s greedy, unscrupulous and, if pushed, murderous.

In the corner of more fantastical villainy, there’s Penguin. Drawn here, Penguin is a thoroughly tragic character, born to wealthy parents, but callously abandoned at Christmas because his hideous form and vicious nature are just too much for them to take. Literally thrown from a bridge whilst still in his basket, the river carries him to the sewers, where he spends most of his life as an urban legend to Gothamites, with a brief stint as a sideshow freak in a travelling circus. Looking to return to the city as a kind of long lost son, he manufactures a rescue of the mayor’s child and, adopting a humble public persona, becomes the new “Golden Boy of Gotham”. All the while, his bitter resentment and ferocious anger see him plotting against the citizens, blackmailing Shreck into helping him re-enter society, and culminating in a plan of such homicidal depravity that even his own henchmen start to question it, resulting in a swift gunshot to the gut. What’s great is that Shreck thinks he can benefit from this, believing he can control the Penguin, pushing him for mayoral election and thereby getting his power plant approved.

The one that no one really figured on was Catwoman, who effectively forces her way into the melee for her own reasons. Selina Kyle begins as the meek secretary (sorry, Executive Assistant) to the callous Shreck, but when she pokes around too much, he pitches her through an office window and into the alley below. Whether she survived or actually died isn’t terribly clear (the debate rages on today), she is revived by cats and comes around very traumatised and supremely pissed off. From here on, she assumes the alter-ego of Catwoman and sets herself on destroying Max Shreck. This puts her in the firing line of Batman and the romantic sights of Penguin; but this equally puts them in her line of fire.

Bruce Wayne/Batman himself is put under some stresses as he attempts to stop Shreck’s crooked deal in business, investigate the origins and motives of the Penguin, put an end to Catwoman’s destructive spree, and engage in a romantic relationship with Selina Kyle. It all becomes more complicated when he is framed for a woman’s murder, turning the city against him.

Yes, there is actually a lot going on in this movie. Characters and motivations are played against one another really nicely. Allegiances are made carefully and enemies are made recklessly, with the regular thematic concern of false personas, split identity and the masks worn for nefarious purposes or self-preservation. There’s also the concern of where the line is between hero and villain. In the beginning, the people of Gotham love and trust Shreck, are hesitantly thankful for Batman, are unsure of the existence of Penguin, and have no idea who Catwoman is. Over the course of the film, Shreck’s credibility will be built and diminished, Batman will be demonised, Penguin will be exalted and cast away, and Catwoman always rests in the zone between hero and villain (her first public act is to save a woman from a mugger, only to then attack the woman herself). All the while, for all of the immorality of their actions, the sheer horror of their plans, we are always given a chance to understand why they do what they do. The Joker was someone who liked to create chaos and terror because he enjoyed it; the villains here have much more relatable concerns, even if they appal us.

Tim Burton, having been given a bigger budget and more freedom to work, has gone wild with grim Expressionist flair. Shreck is a direct nod to two different villains of German Expressionism, with his name coming from the actor who first portrayed Nosferatu, and his look coming from the titular character from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. And though the city no longer exists in the filthy shadows of the first film, it has been replaced with a look that’s brighter, but no less dark for its eerie implication and starkness. I said in the Batman review that he had, in Gotham City, created one of the truly great cityscapes of cinema. The city of Batman Returns is equally impressive, with a thick layer of snow peppering the air and covering the dirt. It’s almost like the city itself has adopted a seasonal mask of snow in the hopes that the citizens will forget the unsettling truth beneath the surface.

He’s also crafted some genuinely affecting moments between these characters. The realisation between Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle of their respective identities as they dance is nicely underplayed, and the final scene with Penguin is, despite him being a monster, achingly sad. And his cast do a great job in capturing these moments. Keaton seems more comfortable in his dual role here, still able to be badass, but human as well. Michelle Pfeiffer is absolutely superb as Selina Kyle/Catwoman, beginning so meek and awkward before tearing through with a confidence and swagger that is seductive as all hell, and without screaming as regularly or as pointlessly as the last film’s heroine. Christopher Walken is an unsettling presence as always, mainly because whenever you look at him, no matter what he says, you know something isn’t right with him, that’s he’s not to be trusted. And Danny DeVito is… okay, before I make my point, I’ll just say this. For his performance in this film, Danny DeVito was nominated for a Golden Razzie, the anti-Oscar, as Worst Supporting Actor. Personally, I think that’s a damn travesty, because he’s brilliant as the Penguin. His physicality, his emotionality, his voice, that vicious streak, that angry stare, there’s not a moment when he’s not convincing… that’s not anti-Oscar material, that’s Oscar material. Damn Razzies.

Danny Elfman even ups his game with the score to Batman Returns, from his already excellent work on the first film. There’s still the dark drive and swell of the music that we had become familiar with, but it’s all become so much grander, with things ranging from the hugely operatic to the quiet delicacy of a trinket box or, more appropriately, a musical snow globe. It is a fine soundtrack that rests underneath all of this.

Honestly, I think Batman Returns is better than Batman. The script is stronger, the pace is improved, the action is handled better (although action scenes were never really Burton’s forte), there’s some actual attempts at depth and subtext in the story and characters, and, although I still really like the dark and grimy look of the first film, I much prefer the look of this film, which has a eerily beautiful, almost elegiac tone. It’s more involving, more eerie, more horrific, more tragic… yes, I prefer the second to the first in almost every way. In fact, this is one of two films that are the contenders for my favourite Tim Burton film ever. Oh, yes.

Annie Hall (1977)

A NERVOUS ROMANCE

One of the most commonly held criticisms of romantic comedies is that they’re all the same, that they all follow the same basic structure and fall into the same basic conclusions. What exactly can people take from this constant slew of generic output? How can you make any kind of personal connection to a story that is so wilfully generalised that it could have been written by a photocopier? It’s not often that you see a romantic comedy that feels like the person that wrote it actually knew what it was like to be in a relationship. That they understand all of the pain and joy that comes with the back and forth of a love story, and are still able to make it both honest and funny and personal. In 1977, one of the world’s most idiosyncratic filmmakers, Woody Allen, gave the world his romantic comedy – Annie Hall.

After breaking up with his girlfriend Annie Hall (Diane Keaton), comedian and perpetual ball of neuroses Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) looks back over their relationship, taking a stream of consciousness journey through the past and his own personality flaws trying to find out where it all went wrong.

I’m going to say it off the bat… I think Annie Hall is one of the best scripts ever. At the film’s opening, Alvy addresses the audience directly, telling two jokes that sum up how he feels about life (“full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it’s all over much too quickly.”) and relationships (“I would never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a member.”). This is frankly one of the most impressively concise and economical openings in film. In less than two minutes, Allen has touched on comedy, tragedy, name-checked Groucho Marx and Sigmund Freud and summed up his main character with a depth and simplicity that’s rarely come across these days. It’s already identified itself as being intelligent and sincere, funny and cynical. The influences are clear and the heart equally so. It’s a hell of a start.

This precision is strewn throughout the film, and is full of so many great lines and memorable characters, that it’s truly something to behold. A scene in which Alvy mentally revisits his old school, recalling the beginnings of his fascination with girls and all they represented to him in later life, is brilliance and sheer comedy gold, especially as some of his classmates announce where they are when all grown up. If you’ve seen the film, you know what I’m talking about… If you haven’t seen the film, I’m not spoiling it for you. Just watch it and thank me later.

The intelligence on display is so striking that it’s almost a bit intimidating, which is perhaps why we really don’t get stuff like this anymore. Characters openly and eruditely discuss art, film, history, death, psychology, media theory, politics, war… and the amazing thing is that you never feel beaten down by it, or left behind by it, because it’s all related back to the central relationship so well that it seems like the most natural thing for these people to do.

And it’s so damn funny. You could blindly point a finger at any page of the script and find a great line, from the very dark (“My grammy never gave gifts. She was too busy getting raped by Cossacks.”) to the satirical (“they don’t throw their garbage away, they turn it into television shows.”) to the oft classics (“Hey, don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone I love.”). Christ, the rate of jokes being fired off could almost rival Airplaine!.

The original title of Annie Hall was meant to be Anhedonia, which is the inability to derive pleasure or joy from anything, and is most definitely the thing that defines Alvy. Annie herself is described as polymorphously perverse, which means she can derive pleasure or joy from anything. The fact that the title was changed shortly before release because it would have been too difficult to explain is neither here nor there. This so wonderfully sums up the nature of the central relationship of the film. It identifies why these two, given their track record, find each other so appealing, but also why it can never work for them. She’s open to everything new; he’s open to nothing new. She sees the glass half full; he sees no point in discussing the contents of some glass because we’re all going to die someday. The fact that Alvy tells us at the beginning that this relationship never works out still doesn’t detract from our hopes as we watch it grow. They look they’re having such fun with each other, they seem to compliment each other so well in that ‘opposites attract’ kind of way. It may be clear that it never works out, but… how can it not work out? And who hasn’t been there in a relationship? This is what I was talking about earlier, about the feeling you get that the person talking to you in the film knows the realities of relationships. The giddy awkwardness of first attraction, the comfort of the intimacy, the gradual dulling of intensity, the sense of restlessness of at least one half of the couple, the bitterness and pain in the break-up… it’s a hell of a roller coaster when you look back on it all, full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it’s all over much too quickly.

Allen’s direction is as rich and dextrous as his script, and is something of scattergun genius because of it, always alive and engaging. The whole film is a flashback as recounted by Alvy, whom we know to be someone so full of splintered thoughts and half- contained neurotic diatribes that it’s a wonder he can get anything done without working himself into knots. Allen’s direction, therefore, matches this sensibility perfectly. The film is a melting pot of filmic techniques and methods that help to tell the story: split-screen; flashbacks within flashbacks; subtitles to show what character’s are really thinking during a conversation; Alvy dragging other people into his story for help and advice; Alvy directly addressing the camera; other characters addressing the camera; and scenes of fantasy, from dragging in intellectual theorists to settle arguments to a straight animated sequence where Alvy can’t even hold a decent relationship with the queen from Snow White. This sounds like an absolute torrent to deal with, but it remains so absolutely approachable that we never lose the train of Alvy’s thoughts or his heartache. It also goes without saying that Wendy Green Bricmont and Ralph Rosenblum’s editing is rock solid.

The acting is above reproach, even in the little roles. Christopher Walken damn near steals the whole show as Annie’s seriously unnerving brother; Paul Simon makes a convincingly slimy L.A. douche type; and Shelley Duvall and Carol Kane make a great, but understated impression as past girlfriend’s of Alvy. Allen himself is on top form, though it’s often said that he presented himself no great challenge since he’s playing himself. However, that’s just it, he’s not playing himself, not really. He’s playing a heightened version of himself, more shambolic and nervous, more prone to brazen self-importance. His half-apologetic defiance of a police officer in L.A. is great to watch. Above all, you can see and feel Alvy’s sincerity when he talks about himself or his views or, most importantly, Annie. And it’s not hard to see why. Diane Keaton is utterly superb as Annie, every inch the smart, ditzy, frustrated, radiant woman in Alvy’s heart. There’s not a moment where you don’t fall for her a little yourself every time you see her. And Allen and Keaton work so damn well together.

The true wonder of this wonderful film is found in how it ends. Yes, we know they don’t wind up together, even though you may spend the whole film wishing it so. Despite this, the film ends on a hopeful note. It’s hopeful because even though Alvy is still obsessed with death and a paralysed with self-analysis and psychosis and he didn’t get the girl, he came close. He got to see and feel genuine love for someone else and if he can do it, anyone can.

To this day, Annie Hall remains as funny and sad and poignant as it was when it was released, and is still one of the best examples of what a romantic comedy can be when done right. I love this film, and I do hope that you will give it a try if you haven’t already.