"It's not underneath, it's what you do that defines you," Rachel Dawes (Katie Holmes) confides to Bruce Wayne after a seven-year absence.
Since the death of Bruce's parents and his self-imposed exile, Gotham City, once a burgeoning, progressive metropolis, has since festered with corruption and sin, a compost heap of social classes, shady authorities, and a sinister mafioso who governs the populace.
On a personal journey to make sense of his life, Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) stumbles across Henri Ducard (Liam Neeson), a prominent member of the League of Shadows, whose mission to maintain order and justice within the surrounding area leaves a lasting
impression. When Henri takes Bruce under his wing, helps him learn the art of fighting, and teaches him to confront his personal demons, Batman — the legend, the caliginous arbiter of justice— is born.
Director Christopher Nolan's take on the Caped Crusader avoids the pitfalls of the dull (Ang Lee's "Incredible Hulk"), the lackadaisical ("Elektra") or the ostentatiously goth-chic (“Batman & Robin”). Batman Begins improves on previous films, staying loyal to the series' story arc, while singularly emerging as a fluid prequel of beauty and masterful filmmaking, pairing gritty urbanism and heightened reality with astounding
finesse. None of this is more evident than in the vision of Gotham itself as a tactile, looming urban orifice wallowing in smoke, hunger, oppression and sin. It's a tad less seedy than Sin City, a possible glimpse of New York City in 30 years time, with elevated trains, obscenely rich and dismally impoverished citizens.
As Bruce recovers the life he left behind, the chess pieces in this dark retelling emerge: Dr. Jonathan Crane's psychotic (Cillian Murphy) Scarecrow, Henri Ducard, Lieutenant James Gordon (Gary Oldman), and Bruce's childhood friend Rachel. When Bruce loses himself in the batsuit, the audience loses themselves in the vision, a breathless race to the finish, brimming with unbelievable fights and surprising sincerity.
There are certain images that indelibly leave their mark: a bevy of bats at the film's start or Bruce's transformation into Batman in the Batcave. Nolan, unlike Joel Schumacher, doesn't abuse the bat motif for kicks (nipples on the batsuit? Blasphemy!), but earnestly explores it. Batman is everything he should be: stealthy and cautious, reserved and unerring.
"Mind your surroundings," Henri repeats to his eager student. But if anything, the person listening wasn't just Bruce, but Nolan too. Smoke and mirrors have rarely been applied so well, be it Batman's disquieting emergence from the shadows in the film's first fight or
his visually arresting escape from Arkham Asylum. Batman isn't just some vengeful dude in a batsuit, Batman embodies the animal he bases himself on — he is the bat.
In Bale, Bruce Wayne’s multi-faceted character finds an authentic voice. Bale, whose eclectic and varied resume could make his peers green with envy, goes the way of Johnny Depp, only instead of a respectably breezy turn in a popcorn flick like "Pirates of the Caribbean," Bale perpetuates a serious, thoughtful sangfroid throughout this blockbuster, a talent that last surfaced in American Psycho. As Bruce, he's emotionally vulnerable, yet steely, convinced of his own invisible hubris as much as he truly believes he can save his fellow Gotham denizens.
Bale is bolstered by some talented back-up. Liam Neeson is perfect as Bruce's mentor, even if his spotless choice in apparel oftentimes (a suit in a refugee prison) is questionable; Cillian Murphy as the Scarecrow sufficiently oozes slime, while Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman and Michael Caine turn appropriately low-key performances. Even current Tom Cruise gal pal Katie Holmes does well, stifling her sudsy roots.
As for the Batmobile, early images of it on the net left many fans, well, batty. What should have been the car — the Cadillac Escalade of superhero vehicles — looked more like an ugly piece of metallic dung. But, when you've seen this baby scream through the Gotham freeway at mach speed or soar through the rooftops unfettered by debris, you'll understand it's the perfect precursor.
Let the inevitable comparisons between Nolan’s work and Sam Raimi’s Spider-man begin. Some stalwarts may argue Spider-Man 2 remains the pinnacle of comic book-cum-film adaptations, but however successful Sam Raimi's film was, it never asked for and received audiences' emotional investment — Christopher Nolan's artful blockbuster does. Nolan has not only reinvigorated a franchise on life support, he's crafted a film that stands solely on its own as the summer movie to beat.
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