Holy DC Multiverse, Batman! Time has not been kind to the old caped crusader: with each new incarnation, he's strayed further from the campy antics of Adam West, star of the 60s TV show, and become increasingly bitter and twisted – not to mention monosyllabic.
And the films themselves have darkened along with their strong-jawed protagonist: Christopher Nolan's desaturated trilogy in particular seemed a rebuke to the gleaming blues and oranges of Marvel, purveyor of a more gung-ho species of heroism. Why so serious, indeed.
In the much-hyped, COVID-delayed Batman reboot helmed by Matt Reeves (Cloverfield; Dawn of the Planet of the Apes), the vigilante crime fighter delivered by Robert Pattinson (last seen on the big screen in Nolan's Tenet) is so dour as to make both the Michael Keaton and Christian Bale versions seem like they just might be able to do the Batusi.
He stalks Gotham by night, a "nocturnal animal", intoning ominous, quasi-nonsensical diary entries in a gravelly voice over: "They think I'm hiding in the shadows, but I am the shadows." (Certainly the script by Reeves and Peter Craig tests an accomplished cast with its surfeit of clunkers.)
Through near-constant torrents of rain, the city glows red and orange: it's a hellscape in which Batman, two years into his experimental crusade, is still establishing his place; neither the fledgling of Nolan's Batman Begins, nor the seasoned operative of The Dark Knight (or the Tim Burton/Joel Schumacher films).
Nemeses inevitably await him: first up is The Riddler (Paul Dano), refashioned as a cipher-loving incel type in surplus army gear, whose obsession with exposing Gotham's political corruption manifests in the staging of elaborate, clue-laden murders.
The Bat's investigation – Reeves's vision of the character is more PI than action hero – is assisted on and off by Zoë Kravitz's Catwoman, who does her best to be a bad-ass while contending with the film's flimsiest backstory and most cringe-worthy lines. (Her quips about "rich white assholes" play exactly like the badly shoehorned bits of social commentary they are.)
The gruesome trail of breadcrumbs left by The Riddler steers Batman into confrontations with shady club owner Oswald 'The Penguin' Cobblepot (Colin Farrell, riffing on Brando's Don Corleone) and mob boss Carmine Falcone (John Turturro) – and into the annals of his own family history.
From Jack Nicholson's rictus grin Joker to Heath Ledger's take 20 years on, from Danny DeVito's fish-munching Penguin to Jim Carrey's flame-haired Riddler, Batman's rivals have long injected the franchise with a jolt of lunatic energy, and often lurid colour too.
Less so here: Reeves's baddies are perhaps the most egregious victims of the trend towards an ever grittier mode of blockbuster 'realism'. Their makeovers smack of an anxiousness to establish the comic book movie as a legitimate form of entertainment for grown-ups – never mind the fact that this is a film in which The Penguin isn't even allowed to smoke a cigar.
Patterned after the likes of the Zodiac Killer and the 2003 "pizza bomber" case, they seem sprung from too many late nights binging Netflix true crime shows rather than anyone's neo-Gothic nightmares.
The costuming is also disappointingly drab. With Dano's features hidden by a gimp mask-adjacent head-covering, Farrell unrecognisable beneath prosthetic cladding, and Turturro consistently sporting sunglasses at night, the film seems determined to hide its stars' lights under so many bushels.
Pattinson is hardly put to better use: though he's proven a much more intriguing performer than his Twilight years augured, Reeves affords him limited dialogue and facial expressions.
When he's free of the Batsuit – a rare sight, mostly reserved for the scant minutes of daylight in this three-hour dirge of a film – the nervy Brit wears his features like a mask, fixed in a blank scowl, fringe plastered limply across his forehead. With eye sockets sometimes still blackened by make-up (presumably applied the previous night before donning his pointy-eared headwear, not that they'd dare show us that), he looks to be channelling Conrad Veidt's somnambulist from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari by way of emo band My Chemical Romance.
And this Batman does, for some reason, exude something of the energy of that early 00s subculture.
The suggestion of a shower by the ever-dutiful Alfred (Planet of the Apes alum Andy Serkis, in a rare CGI-free performance) elicits a rebuke from his employer: "You're not my father." He may be 30-odd years old and a billionaire, but Pattinson's reclusive Bruce Wayne still acts like a petulant teen.
Indeed, Alfred's offer of berries at breakfast time – a non sequitur, to which no response is given – winds up being the closest The Batman comes to anything that could be called a joke: this waxen Master Bruce looks like he subsists solely on the blood of small mammals, say, or maybe microwaved pasta.
And yet it would be wrong to present Pattinson as the first emo Batman – and not because that title surely belongs to Edward Cullen, the brooding vampire through which he achieved heartthrob-dom, but rather because to do so would be to forget that "emo" is short for "emotional".
Any emotions this guy once had seem to have been drained expertly away, along with the colour from his cheeks and, hell, the joy from the franchise.
Even a smooch from Catwoman fails to fire up the Bat. Never has the sexual tension between the pair seemed more tacked-on, or less convincing.
The Batman – the man, the film – is so hard-boiled it's nigh on turned to stone. Alas, the writing is nowhere near strong enough to support this weight.
"I think I'm his last target," the Bat tells Lieutenant Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) a few crime scenes into the Riddler's spree. "You?" replies the Lieutenant. Given that each body thus far has been accompanied by a card addressed "To the Batman", you'd think this idea would already have crossed at least one of their minds.
Is this Batman helping to solve crimes, or is he unintentionally fomenting them? (The latter premise could make for an interesting film, but this ain't it.) Is he a fighter for justice, or just looking for a fight?
When he stands on a tower rooftop with arms outstretched, preparing for the first time in the film to leap and hopefully fly, he's the very image of a martyr for Gotham's many sins. By the time the credits rolled, however – after the obligatory scene teasing the next instalment – I had to wonder if he wasn't trying to take the audience down with him, suckers for punishment all.
The Batman is in cinemas now.
