WRITER'S CUT: Will the '89 "Batman" Please Stand Up?

"WRITER'S CUT": A collection of previously-published posts that have been thoroughly reexamined and re-edited by yours truly. (The following piece was originally posted on June 30, 2014.) 

The conventional view of comic-books, particularly of superheroes, consists of the battle between good and evil, the hero and the villain, the right and the wrong. In the early twentieth century, superheroes (including but not limited to Superman) were seen as mere perfect and extraordinary characters that were too great and too mighty to be taken seriously--apart from, of course, saving various people in the fantastical adventures that readers would escape into. 

In the late-1930s, graphic artist Bob Kane and co-writer Bill Finger were inspired to create a character that was based in reality. Kane's influences consisted of Leonardo Da Vinci's diagram of a flying machine known as the ornithopter, and popular masked figures like Zorro and the Shadow. Thus, the "Bat-man" and his alter ego Bruce Wayne were born.

In recent decades, various artists and writers have done more than provide escapism for comic-book readers. They've helped form and develop a modern mythology full of characters dealing with real situations. Many of today's filmmakers, from Sam Raimi to Christopher Nolan, have followed suit. But prior to the late-1980s, a young Indiana University alum named Michael E. Uslan had long dreamed of producing a "definitive, dark," and serious Batman film, as Kane had intended from the character's inception.

Following his debut in 1939, Batman found his way into serials of the 1930s and 1940s. However, his popularity would decline in the mid-1950s, due to the nation’s belief that comic books were brainwashing children. As a result, the character radically shifted to lighter, more cheesy, fare in the 1960s with the popular television series starring Adam West and Burt Ward.

Batman's debut in Detective Comics, Issue No. 27

Adam West and Burt Ward

"Is There A Six-Foot Bat In Gotham City?"

The legacy of DC Comics in film became widely successful with the release of Superman in 1978. Directed by Richard Donner and starring a then-unknown Christopher Reeve, it was the first movie of its kind that gave audiences a glimpse at what a cinematic superhero could be. It featured a compelling and captivating story with an A-list cast and enough spectacle and action to spare. It would take ten years for Batman to officially follow the Man of Steel's lead. In the mean time, writer and artist Frank Miller released his graphic novels, "The Dark Knight Returns" and “Batman: Year One," which helped change the public's perceptions of Batman by harkening back to Kane’s original intention a “dark vigilante,” thus paving the way for what was to come. 

Shot in Pinewood Studios in London, Batman took full advantage of minimal effects and practical sets, including a haunting Gotham City and slick Batmobile. Late production designer Anton Furst succeeded by echoing back to the classic serials and expressionism of the Thirties and Fourties. With an up-and-coming Tim Burton (fresh off of the Warner-produced Pee-Wee's Big Adventure) in the director's chair, Batman unsurprisingly faced numerous controversies, particularly with the casting of Michael Keaton as Bruce Wayne. (Keaton had been known for comedic roles like Mr. Mom and Night Shift, and had headlined Burton's previous film Beetlejuice.) 

To reduce such negative speculation (and to prove that it wasn’t another campy rendition), a 90-second trailer of the film was shown in theaters in the fall of 1988, much to the surprise of audiences and fans. The advertising campaign (featuring the newly-refined and now-iconic bat symbol) became a phenomenon, as well as an unprecedented marketing connection between the comic-book and film industries. Still, there was some concern from theater owners, who wondered if the film was going to be too dark. 

Upon its release in the summer of 1989, the film was a mega hit. It is dark and brooding, to be sure, and should not be taken lightly. (It could've done without some of the Prince tracks, especially during the end credits.) And even though it does spend more time with Jack Nicholson’s unforgettable performance as the Joker--and lest we forget a couple of controversial third-act scenes--it does (more than the other movies in the original series, courtesy Burton and Joel Schumacher) tap into the mystery, trauma and darkness of Bruce Wayne.

Gotham City

"Duel of the Freaks"

"I Made You, You Made Me"

Looking closely at the film's various elements (imperfect as they may be) in recent years, I find the story to be effective and thoroughly riveting. In fact, one could argue that it follows a brilliant three-act structure, holding its own alongside other brilliantly-made blockbusters of the time (1985's Back to the Future, 1988's Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and soon 1990's Home Alone). 

The opening credit sequence (zooming through the aforementioned Bat emblem against Danny Elfman's chilling and powerful score) foreshadows the darkness and mystery ahead, as the world of Gotham City is presented in all its blackness and corruption, and the mysterious figure who stalks and scares criminals in the shadows.

Politicians and authorities are introduced, including Commissioner Gordon (the late Pat Hingle) and District Attorney Harvey Dent (Lando Calrissian himself, Billy Dee Williams), dedicated to cleaning up the crime waves of the city. There are the police, particularly the dirty cops, who are aware of the news of the "Batman". There are the crime lords, including mob boss Carl Grissom (the late Jack Palance), and his right hand man Jack Napier (Nicholson) who eventually becomes the Joker. 

There's also reporter Alexander Knox (Robert Wuhl), who searches high and low for a story on the masked vigilante, and celebrated photographer Vicki Vale (Kim Basinger) who arrives in Gotham, intrigued by stories of the "Bat". And, of course, there's the rich, neurotic, enigmatic, and traumatic Bruce Wayne (Keaton), who, like Charles Foster Kane, you want to know, but can't. 

The story itself is not as strong as the visuals, themes and ideas it generates, with the central conflict in the form of the opposing and sadistic Joker (whom Wayne inadvertently creates and ultimately has to stop), leading up to a climactic "opera" of sorts. Furthermore, what makes Batman distinct is how it poetically and operatically illustrates the "villain" exposing who he is to the public (“Winged freak terrorizes? Wait 'til they get a load of me”), while the "hero" keeps his identity in the shadows. This even creates debate over which of the two is more dangerous, or if they're just two sides of the same coin. These themes make Batman the quintessential comic-book-based film that asks the central, thought-provoking question: Does the villain make the hero, or does the hero make the villain?

WRITER'S CUT: The Batman "Returns" in the Nineties or, What Wouldn't Keep "Forever"

"WRITER'S CUT": A collection of previously-published posts that have been thoroughly reexamined and re-edited by yours truly. (The following was originally published on November 21, 2016, and has been updated ahead of the soon-to-be-released Amazon/A24 documentary Val.) 

One of the interesting things about looking back on the history of comic book characters and their leap to the silver screen is learning about (and from) their respective high and low points. This includes the respective filmmakers' creative control and Hollywood's long reputation of studio interference.

A few years ago, I had written extensively about Batman (the first--and, to this day, favorite--comic book/superhero character I ever remember) and his big-screen interpretations since 1989. In fact, it was that seminal Tim Burton-directed feature that gave new life to the character after a two-decade absence (read my initial review of the film here). Since then, I've had two other fond childhood memories of the character and the franchise: the award-winning animated series that premiered on Fox in 1992, and the 1995 sequel/reboot, Batman Forever. 

The original movies from the late-1980s to the late-1990s have generally been criticized for their style over substance, action over story, and villains over heroes. The first movie (which pitted Michael Keaton's Caped Crusader against Jack Nicholson's wild-and-crazy Joker) had an artful-yet-dark tone, for sure. The second film, 1992's Batman Returns, initially upset critics--and eventually numerous soccer moms--with its grim and nightmarish atmosphere, as Bruce Wayne (Keaton, once again) battled both the nasty Penguin (Danny DeVito) and the sensuous Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer). This backlash prompted Warner Brothers to aim for a lighter, more family-friendly approach with the next installment--despite the fact that the previous outing, the 1993 animated feature/spin-off Batman: Mask of the Phantasm, was PG-rated. Having rewatched Forever in retrospect, I stand heavily divided on it, as far as I'm concerned. 

On the positive side, Val Kilmer is an effecting Bruce Wayne at best, while an interesting and distinct Batman at least. (The Top Gun/Tombstone actor has a hypnotic and mesmerizing voice to begin with.) The motif of duality and split personalities is prevalent not just in Kilmer's rendition, but also in the supporting cast of characters from Harvey Dent/Two-Face (Tommy Lee Jones), abnormal psychiatrist Dr. Chase Meridian (Nicole Kidman), acrobat-turned-sidekick Dick Grayson/Robin (Chris O'Donnell), and scene-stealing mad scientist Edward Nygma/The Riddler (Jim Carrey). Carrey's scenes, in fact, give the film a physically-comedic vibe similar to Nicholson's in the original and Pfeiffer's in Returns. It also helps that Robin's origin story is well told in this 1995 iteration. 

But despite a brilliant flashback sequence showcasing Bruce's evident and complex past (along with Kilmer's aforementioned voice and haunting narration), the two disadvantages of his performance are his sex appeal, and the character's lack of mystery and terror. Moments of sensuality between him and Kidman's Meridian are unnecessary, especially when trying to appeal to a broader audience. Plus, the now-infamous rubber Batsuit nipples are more than a distraction, as they are for many other viewers. 

The newly-styled Batmobile in Batman Forever

George Clooney and Chris O'Donnell in Batman & Robin

While the complexity of the Caped Crusader does surface at times, all of that really takes a backseat to the popcorn entertainment and action that permeates this movie. The filmmakers have stated that the look of Gotham City here was inspired by the comics of the 1950s, and they even paid clever homage to the first appearances of Robin and the Riddler from that era. On the other hand, one reviewer compared this film's Gotham City to Las Vegas, while producer Peter Macgregor-Scott described it as "Saturday Night Fever on acid." Some of the action sequences (including the stylish Batmobile speeding up the side of a building) are pretty cool and spectacular. But there's, also, the film's biggest disadvantage, in terms of over-the-top pyrotechnics and characterizations (Jones' Two-Face is extremely overkill, I should add). And this "overkill" would unfortunately dominate the critical and commercial disappointment that was 1997's Batman & Robin, and leave the franchise in the dust for a time. 

George Clooney (who replaced Kilmer in the 1997 movie) has stated that doing Batman & Robin was one of his biggest career regrets, while O'Donnell summed it up to a tee: "When I made Batman Forever, I felt like I was making a movie. When I made [Batman & Robin], I felt like I was making a toy commercial." Clooney and director Joel Schumacher have since apologized, while recently there has been a demand for a reported "Schumacher Cut" of Forever (said to be much darker and less cartoony than the finished product).

When interviewed years later on the general public's response to both Schumacher films, executive producer Michael E. Uslan (who's been a producer on the franchise since 1989) described it this way: 

The best way I can answer that is probably to talk generally about the industry, as opposed to talking specifically about Batman. There are times when you need to step back and realize that movie studios today are not necessarily the same things that they were many years ago. Many movie studios are international conglomerates now. They own everything from theme parks to toy companies to T-shirt companies to video companies. There's a lot of different wheels to be greased. Sometimes, over the decades, the tail started wagging the dog. In some cases, decisions were being guided more by toys and Happy Meals than by creative filmmaking. The danger there is that the entertainment you're making starts to feel like an infomercial for toys, as opposed to great film. Rather than being in a position where a studio dictates that a movie should be light, bright, and kiddie-friendly and family-friendly, with three or four heroes and three or four villains, and each one having two costume changes and two vehicles, to satisfy the toy and merchandising requirement, I think just letting filmmakers-great filmmakers-just go out and make great films, with a belief that if they make great films, you're going to sell merchandising and video games and things anyway, is the best way to do it.

Tim Burton behind the scenes of Batman Returns

Michelle Pheiffer, Danny DeVito and Michael Keaton in Batman Returns

Uslan makes a great point in starting with films first, and then having toys and merchandising spin off from that. I think one of the reasons Batman Forever and its mind-numbing follow-up don't hold up today is because, at the time, they seemed to fulfill the supposed expectations of what Hollywood thought a conventional comic-book movie should be (complete with a hip, pop soundtrack album), instead of allowing filmmakers to bring their own creative visions to life. (The same thing happened with the Superman franchise in the 1980s.) 

This is why Burton's respective films in the series stand out, what with their artful, intriguing and provocative undertones. (To be fair, Returns is more episodic, and absolutely not for children.) On the other hand, all of the films here (preceding Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, which brought much-needed dignity back to the series in spades) showcase Batman's adaptability to both art house-style filmmaking and summer blockbuster entertainment (for better or worse), as well as to comic books and animation and other mediums. Personally, I'll take complexity and morality tales over glamour and glitz any day of the week. 

WRITER'S CUT: The Many Hybrids of "Roger Rabbit"

"WRITER'S CUT": A collection of previously-published posts that have been thoroughly reexamined and re-edited by yours truly. (The following was originally published on February 28, 2018.) 

In a world where human beings and cartoon characters co-exist, a hard-boiled private detective is assigned to help a superstar rabbit who is framed for murder. That's the basic premise of the 1988 Disney-produced full-length feature, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, a film that not only broke new ground in seamlessly combining live-action and animation, but with other unlikely elements, for better and/or worse. To understand this film's impact, one must understand two things: where the Walt Disney Studio was at around this time, and where the state of Hollywood was. 

First, Disney. The company had been in a slump since the death of Walt in 1967. That's not to say the theme parks and live-action movies didn't do fairly good business (which they did). Plus, a new generation of animators were being trained by the old guard at the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts). The thing is, the company's animation division was in decline for over a decade. Enter 1984. Management had shifted that year with the announcement of Michael Eisner and Frank Wells as the company's new CEO and President, respectfully, while Jeffrey Katzenberg and vice-chairman Roy E. Disney (nephew of Walt) oversaw the animation department. 

1985's financial disappointment that was The Black Cauldron (which had been in development at the studio for years) was Disney's attempt to keep in step with other adventure blockbusters of the time (namely, Raiders of the Lost Ark and Star Wars). Meanwhile, another project that had long been in development was a script by writers Jeffrey Price and Peter Sherman, based on Gary K. Wolf's noir novel, "Who Censored Roger Rabbit" (which centered on comic-strip characters instead of "Toons"). Add in director Robert Zemeckis (fresh off of 1985's Back to the Future), executive producer Steven Spielberg (a lifelong animation fan), veteran animator Richard Williams and cutting-edge visual effects, and the rest is history. 

Hollywood, on the other hand, had been making radical shifts in onscreen content since the 1960s. Particularly in the 1980s, various studios released several "PG-rated" films (some produced by Spielberg) that, while box-office hits, contained dark, sinister, violent and/or nightmarish elements that have traumatized children for years. (Remember Large Marge in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, or the green creatures in Gremlins? Of course you do.) 

In the fascinating 2009 documentary Waking Sleeping Beauty, veteran Disney producer Don Hahn recounted a survey that the studio did years prior, which stated that "a majority of teenage moviegoers wouldn't be caught dead near a Disney movie [let alone an animated one]." (Go figure.) This dark period in the history of the Mouse House arguably began to turn in 1986 with the release of the well-received The Great Mouse Detective. But it was Who Framed Roger Rabbit that was reportedly responsible for reviving critics' and audiences' interest in the medium.

One could argue that the story in Roger Rabbit is that of a man (Eddie Valient, played by Bob Hoskins) rediscovering who he used to be--before a tragic incident sent him into a downward spiral--as well as his faith in cartoons and what they represent, by way of solving a murder case (and stopping a deadly plan to put an end to the existence of "Toontown"). How's that for an interesting real-life parallel? 

Bob Hoskins side-by-side with his animated co-star,
after "bumping the lamp"

"Smile, Darn Ya, Smile" 

Disney had combined animation and live-action before with films like the "Alice Adventures" from the 1920s, followed by Song of the South (1946), Mary Poppins (1964), and Pete's Dragon (1977). And who could forget Gene Kelly's ever-popular dance with Jerry the Mouse in the classic MGM short from 1944? 

Of course, this hybrid between both mediums has been done so often--especially in this day and age of CGI action extravaganzas involving giant robots, superheroes, and goofy minions--that many forget (or may not even know) that there once was a time where cell drawings were the norm, not to mention a rare achievement. Especially if they were done right, cinematically-speaking. In other words, by really convincing audiences that both the characters and/or worlds were occupying the same space, was there the suspension of disbelief. 

Richard Williams had been making a career out of bending the conventional rules of what animation was capable of, whether in the hundreds of commercials he and his team created since the 1960s and 1970s, his Oscar-winning short version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, his feature-film adaptation of Raggedy Ann & Andy, or his years-in-the-making passion project The Thief and the Cobbler (but that's another story). 

When meeting with Robert Zemeckis to discuss Roger Rabbit, Williams sought to break several preconceived "rules" when integrating animated characters in the real world: moving the camera around as much as possible, having cartoons interact with real objects and people as much as possible, and incorporating special lighting and shadow effects that had never been achieved to such an extreme. The resulting film is a culmination of these unconventional and modern approaches, along with other unlikely elements and factors that had never been achieved before either: special effects in a period film-noir setting; and animation that echoed the first Golden Age of Disney, characterizations that echoed Warner Brothers, and off-the-wall humor that echoed Tex Avery shorts. Even Roger's character design, according to Williams, is a combination of various classic characters (i.e., Goofy's pants, Porky Pig's bow tie). Yet the zany rabbit stands as his own, especially with his trademark speech impediment.

I'll reiterate, as many can attest here. The animation in Who Framed Roger Rabbit is phenomenal and unparalleled, and represented a landmark in motion pictures. (I'll never forget that opening scene in the film, where Roger and Baby Herman walk off an animated movie set and into the real world.) All animation (save for three shots of stop-motion effects) was done by hand and required not only flat drawings, but optical effects as well to give each character a three-dimensional look while retaining a classic mid-20th Century authenticity. Hoskins (who sadly passed away in 2014) does an incredible job making us thoroughly believe he's really interacting with "imaginary" characters, getting the eye-lines and emotions down to a tee. 

A great example of these elements combined is the scene where Eddie is trying to saw a pair of handcuffs off of him and Roger in the back of a local bar, after accidentally bumping into a lamp. The term "bumping the lamp" was created during the making of Roger Rabbit, referring to the animators and technicians going above and beyond to make certain moments feel extra special, even though most viewers probably wouldn't notice them.

We have to also mention the unique mechanical devices that were created to mimic various character actions on set (before being traced over in post-production), whether it was the henchmen weasels carrying guns, Baby Herman smoking and gesturing with a cigar, or Roger smashing plates onto his head one by one. It's one thing for real actors to pick up animated props (like a boxing-glove hammer), but it's entirely another for cartoons to do the same thing with real objects. It's hard to believe that no computers or tracking software were used for any of these effects, and the film is all the richer and idiosyncratic for it. Plus, it makes the setting (and its VistaVision cinematography) representative of the late-40s . 

Reportedly, the most amazing contribution that Spielberg made was convincing several studios to loan out their cartoon stars for cameo appearances--and for good trivial fun. In fact, this was the first and only time that characters from Disney and Warner Bros have been in the same movie. Remember Donald Duck and Daffy Duck's piano duet in the Ink & Paint Club, or Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny sky-diving? Or how about Eddie's first walk through the Maroon cartoon studio as he passes "half the cast of Fantasia"? 

Roger Rabbit and Eddie Valiant

"The Parts That I Don't Like, I'm Gonna Edit Out"

This is all great news, in terms of keeping the craft and creativity of the medium alive. And the film was very worthy of the Academy Awards it received for its film and sound editing, and for its visual effects, not to mention its overwhelming raves from numerous film critics like Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert. However, when it comes to "family" entertainment in retrospect, this is a film parents of young children ought to think twice about.

Sure, the movie's funny, clever, and imaginative, especially for cinephiles and animation geeks. (I'm one of them.) And even though critic Leonard Maltin once wrote that the film's true high mark was "making us believe that Roger and his cartoon colleagues actually exist," don't let Who Framed Roger Rabbit make you believe it's appropriate for kids. The film-noir atmosphere (with support from Alan Silvestri's bizarre score) makes it equally thrilling, sometimes unpleasant, even provocative. Roger's sexy wife Jessica (with her revealing and exaggerated wardrobe and bosom) is unfortunately made a figure of unnecessary objectification. Baby Herman can be misogynistic. And lest we forget, veteran character actor Christopher Lloyd (as the menacing Judge Doom, with his Toon-killing "dip") has a shocking revelation that still frightens me--and many others--to this day. (Zemeckis has had a reputation for dark comedy, having gone on to executive produce the anthology T.V. series Tales From the Crypt.)

One would wonder how the writers and filmmakers got away with, as Eddie describes, "a story of greed, sex, and murder" in a PG-rated film. "It was the Eighties," joked Zemeckis at a 2013 Q&A/cast and crew reunion, while adding that this movie couldn't be made today for those reasons (The film's effects, meanwhile, have never been attempted since.) Michael Eisner, to his credit, considered the film "too risque" to be distributed under the Disney label, and instead released it under their more adult-oriented Touchstone Pictures banner. At least the three spin-off Roger Rabbit shorts (1989's Tummy Trouble, 1990's Roller Coaster Rabbit, and 1993's Trail Mix-Up) were less problematic, and the quality of animation at Disney continued to rapidly grow for kids and adults. Like the wall that breaks between both the real world and Toontown at the end of the film, there was hope for the medium, and for other characters and stories to captivate and humor audiences beyond just pencil drawings. If only they could do that again today like they did then, sans the gratuitous elements. "Pppppppplease."