Stan Berkowitz finally takes the Scarecrow in a direction that amplifies his menace and taps into his former position as a university psychologist. Batman: the Animated Series attempted three different routes with the character—revenge-crazed wacko, maniacal anarchist, and sharp crook out for a profit—and it became readily clear that the former two slipped far too easily into silliness. A man as intelligent as Jonathan Crane shines behind the veil of underworld business deals, and in his role as the manufacturer of a new product that eliminates fear, he simultaneously functions as an odd satirical target—the corrupt head of a pharmaceutical firm—and as a brilliant madman posing fascinating questions from both psychological and sociological standpoints.
The most harrowing of Never Fear’s many presuppositions is that morality and ideology, or at least certain moral and ideological tenets, are ultimately borne of fear, an emotion whose benefits we associate more with self-preservation than with developed human thought processes. For the first two characters exposed to the gas we are introduced to, fear serves as a failsafe device for physical safety and social security. When Batman, whom Berkowitz takes for granted is more guarded and mentally developed than these two men, becomes exposed, fear is viewed instead as a moral failsafe, and whether or not this is a valid theory is ultimately irrelevant when viewed in light of the thoughts and ideas it raises. Berkowitz and Conroy, who gives Batman a vicious edge, work closely to place the viewer in the position of a character so far the equivalent of a marketing device for kids. The transformation from mentor and guardian into a deadly, irresponsible authority figure invokes a paternal terror so far unmatched in the DC cartoons.
The character-specific effects of Berkowitz’s thought experiment intertwine with broader ideas about how people construct their morals and how what is taken for granted about behavior often corresponds to social conditioning. This is aptly demonstrated in the second test subject’s sudden assertiveness, having his whole life been stricken with the fear of offending the established social order. There are several morsels of ideas pertaining to the sociological importance of fear and the inhibitions it places on people, all of which accumulate in the logic behind Scarecrow’s grand scheme, to advertise fear as a hindrance only to demand big money for an antidote once his new toxin submits Gotham to utter chaos. “Fear is the glue that holds society together,” he addresses to the camera, and it is a statement that may very well have more than one implication.
Scarecrow himself now resembles a ghastly, grim reaper figure whose only concrete accoutrements are his hat and coat, walking stick, and noose dangling around his neck. The details of his actual person are deliberately enigmatic; not only is his face a sludgy swirl of malformed skin, broken up by shadows and craggy teeth, but one has no way of knowing whether this is actual physical deformity or an extension of his costume. His horrifying physical demeanor may as well be a promotional image for all of the foreboding imagery that Never Fear gets away with. The blood-red skies of Gotham finally work as a figurative device, a premonitory canvas against which all of the action takes place. The production team also exploits a censorship double standard to make us believe for an instant Bruce Wayne has met a grisly end in a whirlpool of blood. Never Fear takes the opportunities offered by Warner Bros. lax censorship to reflect its grueling story in equally horrific imagery, a formal synthesis that makes it a surefire contender in any canon of greats.
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