By now, we accept Batman for what he is: an idea. An idea almost inseparable from whoever carries the mantle. Bruce Wayne has been a nonchalant playboy, a vengeful orphan, a daring sleuth and even a ninja, yet all of them eventually reach the same end. So much so, it’s not a stretch to wonder if Wayne even matters. Is there any rendition of the man behind the mask — and under the hood — that can meaningfully add to the greater Bat-conversation?
Through The Batman, director Matt Reeves whispers a gravelly “yes.”
But don’t be confused. Just because this film poses interesting questions about Bruce Wayne — such as his problematic relationship with Gotham and his inability to form truly intimate connections with those around him — it doesn’t mean he’s a prominent presence. In fact, he’s in remarkably little of this outing as himself, perhaps making this the most “Batman” of Batman films.
Which is exactly Reeves’ point. Because it’s Bruce Wayne’s absence, spurred by a commitment to form a new persona at the expense of who he actually is, pulling one the most interesting (of many) threads throughout The Batman.
Low-flying bat
As he weaves through the winding streets of Gotham’s underbelly to the somber tune of Nirvana’s “Something in the Way,” the inspiration for Reeve’s caped crusader is apparent. Akin to the opening crawl of Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive or Denis Villeneuve’s Sicario, Bruce (Robert Pattinson) laments the second full year of his Batman experiment.
He’s learned to use Gotham’s darkness against itself, but in doing so, he’s only stretched how far the city’s shadows reach. Crime is at an all-time high, and as he grows comfortable in his vigilante routine, he ponders whether or not it’s all worth it. Unfortunately for Bruce, he rarely has time to dwell on his impact, pulled from one crime scene to another as the nights grow longer.
Though his legacy is part of what brought prosperity to Gotham, the abundance of crime places the Wayne name in constant doubt. Knowing he can’t relinquish the nepotism of a billion-dollar empire overnight — or maybe even over a lifetime — he grows more and more distant from the trust-fund orphan he once was. So much so, he does almost nothing to manage his own estate, instead forfeiting control in all but name to his butler, Alfred (Andy Serkis).
He becomes uncomfortable in his own skin, and the bags that form under his eyes are telling of who he’d rather be: The inhuman, benevolent force that terrorizes terror itself. As the city becomes more twisted and breeds greater violence, it likewise distorts Bruce’s perception of himself.
In order to protect Gotham, Bruce Wayne and Batman are unable to coexist, yet they’re ironically inseparable. Instead, the latter must continually pull from the former, until Bruce is all but a husk.
Twisted menagerie
As Bruce loses himself to the symbol he’s created, his actions set a precedent. And by the time of The Batman’s setting, a collection of volatile personas have gnawed away at the bars of their respective cages.
And this pains Bruce. As he “pushes harder,” the forces he desperately tries to ward off clap back in spades.
Penguin (Colin Farrell) a squat, iconic-nosed mob lieutenant slides across Gotham’s proverbial black ice, a surface made slick by the greased palms of most of the city’s elected officials. At the same time, the cat-like Selina Kyle (Zoë Kravitz) sneaks dangerously — and playfully — close to Gotham’s most powerful criminal. Finally, the Riddler (Paul Dano), a carbon copy of Se7en’s John Doe excluding his hairline, threatens to unwind the lies sustaining Gotham’s most privileged class.
While not every one of these characters is an enemy, they each challenge the validity of Bruce’s actions. And though Reeves poses the question of escalation embedded within Batman’s mythology louder than any other filmmaker has thus far, he still resolves to the most natural follow-up question: What does it matter?
After all, if Batman caused this fever-pitch of violence, the least he could do is clean up after himself. And while this chicken-before-the-egg quandary may never dissuade a hero from being any less heroic, The Batman at least insists, more so than many other films of the genre, that the philosophical tug-of-war is nonetheless agonizing.
The most puzzling question
For the sake of this film — and maybe even the potential franchise to come — there’s no Batman without Bruce. And again, there can’t really be a Batman with Bruce, either.
But this is an undeniably difficult process. As Bruce closes in on the mystery at the heart of the Riddler’s game, he questions the longevity of the Batman. For instance, if he were to be outed, what would become of his past life? Would there be anything left of Bruce, or would his life fall into the void left in the Batcave’s wake?
Yet deep down, Bruce knows this question doesn’t matter. For the Batman to work, the what-ifs of his personal life have to be cast aside.
This becomes particularly painful in his short-lived relationship with Selina. As she reveals her checkered past to him, including a precarious upbringing courtesy of her estranged and abusive father, Carmine Falcone (John Turturro), Selina pushes to make something more out of their relationship. Unfortunately, Selina doesn’t have any attraction to Bruce, nor does she know who he really is. Her heart is with Batman. Tragically, Batman doesn’t have the capacity for romance.
Bruce is forced to acknowledge a haunting truth: Any relationship he forms will be as doomed as he is. In order to protect Gotham, Batman has to be free from the emotional tethers spurring the belief that, maybe with time, somebody else can be the Batman.
This is where Reeves carves his greatest distinction. While other renditions, including Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy, ultimately argue the moniker is a sort of transferable title, although one that’s hard to let go of. But in The Batman, such convenience isn’t afforded to Bruce.
For Matt Reeves, the idea of Batman is just as much of a curse as it is a necessity.
