Batman's Evolution: Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Analyzed

Introduction

The evolution of Batman in particular, and the superhero genre in general — from comic book to television to film and back again — has reached in Christopher Nolan's Batman revamp a veritable tipping point for the character once known as the World's Greatest Detective. (That name may now be applied — or misapplied — to Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes, a sleuthing, bare-knuckle-fighting martial artist whose literary exploits have been translated into terms beholden to the superhero genre.) It originally, of course, belonged to DC Comics' Batman — a superhero quite different from the one envisioned by Nolan and company. Noted for being a darker, grittier, and more realistic vision (in which the old-fashioned Caped Crusader goes by his much gloomier moniker, the Dark Knight), Nolan's Batman is said to have elevated the superhero genre from its campy and comedic origins.

Indeed, Batman has taken on mythological status and even ventured to step into the "real world" of Gotham City — a modern metropolis where corruption riddles every known institution and capital is god. This paper assesses the ways in which Nolan distinguishes Batman from his predecessors since the hero's television and cinematic debut in the 1960s, and shows how the Batman of the new millennium has both rejuvenated and altered the perception of the superhero film.

Methodology

As Justin Lucas writes, "the study of comic books and comic book films allows myriad research methods to deconstruct the meanings behind each panel and gutter, frame and edit" (13). In other words, there is no single way to assess the superhero film, whether it be fantasy, fable, realistic, or magical realism. Lucas continues: "Since the comic book film phenomenon is relatively new in its popularity, many researchers have yet to streamline their research styles into distinct avenues" (13).

The study of the superhero has been, in a way, already undertaken by Joseph Campbell, whose Hero with a Thousand Faces attempts to be the definitive source of the hero myth. Yet cultural studies theory and psychoanalysis both allow the researcher to view the superhero differently: the latter represents an assessment of the "inner workings of [the superhero's] mind…[while] researchers like James Iaccino and William Indick look at structural mythology not from a physical standpoint but as a reflection of society's psychological tendencies" (Lucas 19). This paper, however, uses genre studies as the framework for examining the evolution of Batman. Genre is "a framework of archetypes that helps readers connect with a storyline based on experience with similar (but not the same) materials" (Lucas 24). Because Batman as a superhero has undergone a number of transformations since his creation, the study of Batman from the standpoint of genre appears to be the most readily accessible vantage point.

Batman's Beginnings

Batman was created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger in 1939 for Detective Comics, and for more than two decades the character was defined by his mystery-solving techniques and a cast of quirky characters against whom his braininess and eccentric costume could be balanced, along with his knack for solving crimes. By the 1960s, Batman found himself in the midst of social revolution; camp was the fad, and Batman adapted by jumping from the page to the screen and enlarging the campy nature inherent in the Caped Crusader.

The 1960s television series starred Adam West and Burt Ward as the Caped Crusader and his sidekick Robin, respectively. The duo takes part in a number of campy and unrealistic battles with villains ranging from the Riddler to the Penguin. Both the series and the film that followed its first season in 1966 were cartoonish live-action productions; Batman was a kind of academic Robin Hood for the twentieth century — a superhero whose brains were more powerful than his brawn. His costume was nothing more than a leotard with a mask and a cape — a far cry from the rigorous, metallic, Kevlar body armor sported by Nolan's Batman in 2005 and 2008.

Adam West's 1966 Batman was a scientist complete with laboratory and learning: a combination of scientific know-how and daring acrobatics, accompanied by a moral compass epitomized by the classic scene from the 1966 film in which Batman attempts to dispose of a bomb only to be thwarted at every turn by a marching band, a pair of nuns, an eatery, a pair of lovers, and a group of ducks. Not willing to endanger any of them with an explosion, he makes a comedic dash to the end of the pier and is nearly blown to bits himself. By comparison, Nolan's Batman opens The Dark Knight by pulverizing a parking garage with the hi-tech, militarized Batmobile. In other words, Batman in the twenty-first century is less sensitive to his surroundings — or perhaps the public simply demands greater spectacle, more carnage, and a higher scale of destruction. In either case, Nolan's Batman is no Adam West; he is a playboy by day and a crusader by night.

And yet, as hard as it tries, Nolan's Batman cannot fully rise above the inherent ridiculousness of its subject. On the one hand, it attempts to tap the film noir roots of the Batman story (Ebert) — the conflict between good and evil, law and disorder. On the other hand, it attempts to make sense of a fantastic world in which a man disguised as a bat, with seemingly unlimited technology at his disposal, acts as a kind of hammer of justice. The fact is that Batman is better read as a myth — one in which the mystery is neither probed nor dismissed, but accepted with proper respect for the fantastic. Tim Burton's 1989 Batman adhered to this principle particularly well, blending the fantasy of the subject with the darker forces inherent in the material — neither dismissing the darkness of the narrative nor diminishing the childlike lens through which it is viewed. In this manner, Burton revived the entire Batman myth, as well as the superhero genre, by playing to its strengths and accepting its conditions on their own terms.

Burton's Batman was fantastical; Nolan's Batman is literal. Nolan's Batman steps out of the realm of fantasy to probe the underlying themes that have brought him and his arch-nemesis the Joker into existence. The Dark Knight is a meditation on two things: human nature and transcendence. Where Batman fits into that puzzle is a question posed through a series of precarious events involving a fantastic bank heist, a fantastic underworld, and a fantastic villain — one who undermines his own philosophical position (subversion of the totalitarian state through anarchy) by turning into a totalitarian himself. Thus, Nolan undermines his own effort by presenting a villain who is internally inconsistent and a film that does not know whether it is real or fantastic. It is only the Joker's tragic-comic mask and his classic line, "Why so serious?" that saves the film from sinking under the weight of its own premise — which is, essentially: what are we to think of Batman?

The Dark Knight

Nolan certainly takes his character more seriously than any other comic book film or television adaptation to date (save, perhaps, Ang Lee's Hulk), yet the difficulty of solving the riddle of Batman without breaking the confines of the superhero genre ultimately proves insurmountable. Ang Lee's Hulk attempted to make sense of Bruce Banner's rage and produced a quasi-psychological superhero picture in which the climax was a kind of pseudo-metaphysical battle between the Hulk and his inner consciousness. Nolan's Batman faces the same dilemma: at the same time that he desires to make the film seem realistic, Nolan appears to be aware that, in the end, this is not a film about a man dressed as a bat but a fantasy about a superhero — and as hard as it tries, it cannot successfully merge the fantastic elements of Batman with the realism Nolan wishes to convey, for Nolan himself cannot simply accept the fantasy without dissecting it. Magical realism accepts without dissection. Nolan dissects before accepting — but as the poet states, "We murder to dissect" (Wordsworth). Nolan's Batman may be all grown up, but by the time he arrives, he is a cold slab on the dissection table. What remains is neither a living, breathing fantasy nor a living, breathing reality. What Nolan has fashioned instead is a dialectic between modern totalitarianism and old-world chivalry — with Batman as the synthesis.

Shaun Treat reports on the way Nolan distinguishes his Batman from those that have appeared in the past by quoting the director himself: "We just write from the perspective of the world we live in, what interests us and frightens us…And one of the things we're very aware of right now is the idea of society breaking down. That's what we're doing with the Joker. He's essentially an anarchist" (Treat 103). As Treat shows, Nolan admits to taking the superhero genre and fashioning it to meet the reality of the day. What Nolan sees as relevant in the real world is what his Batman must ultimately come to face.

Nolan's The Dark Knight is an expression of the breakdown of the rule of law as far as social order is concerned — and it is worth noting that the homonym in the title also conveys a spiritual crisis, as in "the dark night of the soul" described by St. John of the Cross as a struggle within the interior life. The Dark Knight likewise presents a struggle, but its struggle centers on the question of law. In effect, the film desires to transcend the superhero genre, in which good and evil are readily defined through archetypes. Nolan's Batman belongs, in a sense, more to the film noir genre than to the superhero genre, in which heroes like Superman and Professor Xavier assume responsibility without question. Nolan's Batman is more of a question mark: the delineation of good and evil is less easily made out. What is good can easily become evil (as is seen in the case of prosecuting attorney and heroic figure Harvey Dent, who falls from grace and becomes the villain Two-Face at the end of The Dark Knight), and what is evil can easily be enjoyed (for all of his murderous ways, Nolan's Joker is a beloved villain precisely because he refuses to bow before the totalitarian regime that is as corrupt as the underworld it pretends to prosecute).

Nolan therefore explores the superhero genre by way of the noir genre. While Burton does this to a degree in Batman (1989), his film uses noir primarily as a film style and an archetypal guide. Nolan uses noir as a springboard for analysis. The crime and noir film genre has been used to represent a dual mentality in the American social fabric: "The first gangster cycle condemned and glorified the brutality of the underworld" (Mast 270). Nolan uses the noir genre to probe the underlying complexities normally glossed over in the superhero genre. He wants to know why Batman thinks he can do what he does; he wants to know what others think of Batman's vigilantism; he wants to know how far a realistic society would accept, mimic, or condemn Batman's actions. Indeed, The Dark Knight begins with a group of young men attempting to perform the heroics of Batman himself. Batman quickly disabuses them of their righteousness — and one asks, "What makes you so different?" To which the Caped Crusader replies, "I'm not wearing hockey pads." The implication is that Nolan's Batman is realistically equipped to confront the militarized evil in Gotham City. In other words, militarism meets militarism — and it is presumed that one of them is good and the other bad.

But Nolan is not content to assume that either is what it is presumed to be. For example, The Dark Knight contains a scene in which Lucius Fox, Wayne's technological assistant, protests against Batman's surveillance tactics — a scene that immediately conjures public fears regarding the Patriot Act. Batman insists that the surveillance is necessary to find the Joker. Fox capitulates, but only because he is assured that the equipment will be destroyed once it is used. Batman's assistant may believe this is true — but audiences are more skeptical, seeing no end in sight to the encroaching reach of the totalitarian regime that continues to tighten around them.

Nevertheless, the observation of the totalitarian tendency is present: Nolan distinguishes his Batman by placing him directly in the real world, and he elevates the superhero genre by viewing it through the lens of the crime and noir film — a genre traditionally more complex and more insistent on a shadowy, gray-scale coloring of surroundings as a reflection of the divide between good and evil within everyone. In Nolan's Dark Knight, Batman is no longer legendary or mythical; he is real — and he has issues that must be resolved. As Joel Butler writes, "inevitably, in real life as in the movies, vigilantes justify their actions (or their actions are justified by their supporters) on the basis that the 'official' means of ensuring justice have failed. This too is the case with Batman" (6). Nolan's Batman is both praised and condemned by those who see him as a savior and those who see him as a man outside the rule of law. But the rule of law has itself collapsed. The question is: can Bruce Wayne exercise the rule of law in the person of Batman? "It is only when Gotham City has turned into a jungle of crime and the police are powerless to stop the bad guys that there is a need for Batman," states Butler (6). Butler further affirms: "Actually, the law allows us to take things (reasonably) into our own hands on most occasions to protect ourselves (and our property)" (7).

Where the problem arises is that Batman is not only protecting others — he is also prosecuting men who appear to be involved in criminal activities, as seen in the opening fight sequence of The Dark Knight. The supposed criminals, armed and menacing, meet for an exchange of some kind. Batman only arrives once the young faux-vigilantes appear to do what he does, but he rounds them up alongside the supposed criminals and departs in a flash. Is justice served? Are lives saved? Or are these the mere antics of a superhero who finds himself in a real-world situation? The latter appears to be the case — and the audience must ultimately go unsatisfied by Nolan's attempt to bring the fable to real life. There are plenty of complexities, but the serious issues Nolan wants to address are often treated in a back-handed manner, as though, in the end, Batman will forever belong to the fantastic no matter how realistic we make him. And if that is the case, why the emphasis on realism?

That question is ultimately unanswered. But The Dark Knight remains as an example of the synthesis of superhero fantasy and noir film grit. Even if it does not securely belong to either genre fully, it succeeds in elevating the superhero genre to a higher and more serious art form — one in which philosophy plays a significant role and characters and scenarios are contrived to raise questions that are topical and reflective of the world in which the director finds himself.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Batman has undergone a serious transformation since first appearing on screen. Adam West and Burt Ward portrayed the dynamic duo for camp and laughs in the 1960s — and while they were initially enormously popular, the fad soon lost favor with audiences as the series offered little in the way of seriousness. Tim Burton revived the character of Batman after Frank Miller injected the long-dormant Caped Crusader with age and a hell-bent determination to keep society from crumbling at the hands of fascist dictators and their puppets. Miller's Batman was the definitive noir hero in graphic novel form. Burton likewise used the noir style to craft his 1989 Batman — but his hero was firmly rooted in the fantastic. Batman was shrouded in mystery, and he posed no great questions about social order and the rule of law; he represented a kind of divine retribution.