B:TAS reviews: House and Garden

(11/3/09)

Most episodes of Batman evoke a 1940s atmosphere.  Gritty streets, detective stories, heavy shadows; all of this is reminiscent of the era’s succulent pulp thrillers.  House and Garden evokes the 1950s in its juxtaposition between a Norman Rockwell kind of domesticity and sci-fi horror surprises.  I have never seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers, which so many people often compare to this episode, but I have seen enough episodes of The Twilight Zone to understand the trend of making ideal middle class American life seem eerie and sinister under the surface.

But Dini’s primary objective is not to riff on old genres, but to revisit a character that has yet to be treated well by a script.  Poison Ivy has been the raving environmental terrorist whose only dignified major appearance has been in a Thelma and Louise comedy caper.  Now she is humanized, no longer a hollow shell reliant on a gimmick, but a psychologically fragile woman who cannot pursue her most deeply rooted emotional wants and needs without filtering them through her own psychosis.  The link between the jollily domestic and the covert grotesquerie lies in Poison Ivy’s twisted conjoining of basic human want and misguided obsessions.

See No Evil already presented us with an ominous Gotham suburb in its desolate neighborhood of rickety fences and condemned buildings.  It is worth noting that Gotham City in daylight rarely looks as natural as in the night.  Oftentimes the sky is oversaturated in its bright orange hues, casting uncomfortable shadows on and within buildings.  I find this true of Pamela Isely’s new house.  Its reveal is set to a jovial theme and yet it is externally drab with the sun blaring down on it.

There is a kidnapping plot mid-story that I could personally have done without.  It adds a reasonably well-staged fight scene on a smoky dock, but it slows down the propulsion of the narrative, which had already started to meander in its revelation of new information.  As soon as the ordeal on the wharf is over with, Robin immediately reveals the first handful of big shocks and suddenly the action speeds forth unhindered.  Though I am not usually so hesitant about giving spoilers in my reviews, as I assume anyone who reads one has already seen the episode in question, the third act of House and Garden simply cannot be written about casually.

I will say though, that Poison Ivy’s defense of her actions, in which she states that she meant everything she said about wanting a family, constitutes Diane Pershing’s greatest vocal performance in the show.  It’s so unplanned and forceful; I can feel her frustration in not wishing for her actions to be viewed as perverse for the sake of perversity.  She has done these things for innate human reasons, even if they have resulted in crimes against nature.  I feel that the thievery aspect might cheapen the effect, as it really is more selfish generic law breaking.  It does spark the investigation, and yet might not her genetic experiments speak for themselves?

Before descending into the realm of cold, pale inhumanity of her The New Batman Adventures redesign, Ivy had this tour-de-force of an emotional examination that forever made her one of Batman’s most sympathetic adversaries in the animated series.

B:TAS reviews: Avatar

To the average viewer, Avatar represents the lowest point in Ras Al Ghul’s animated career, as it compromises a sacred standard of realism in Batman: the Animated Series, which so many fans embrace as dogma.  But it isn’t simply a physical realism but a narrative one as well.  The entire diegesis is plagued by an almost hyperbolic melodrama as well as fantastical physical happenings that seem to defile the gritty beauty of Batman’s world.

But this mode of thinking is not only hypocritical, given that things far more bizarre than ancient Egyptian resurrected queens make appearances al throughout the remainder of the DC Animated Universe, but also slightly inconsistent.  There is a lack of realism whenever the show draws on cartoon conventions, a recognizable example being whenever Batman dodges machinegun bullets, and yet it is an acceptable instance of belief suspension, given that so much can be chalked up either to chance, coincidence, or Batman’s seemingly godlike powers.

I don’t have this double standard.  In fact, I prefer charting new mythological territory to leaps in logic that lead to contentious rationalizations.  Avatar is a condensed Spielberg-style adventure yarn, similar in style to The Demon’s Quest in its grandiosity, and yet far more tongue-in-cheek.  I find The Demon’s Quest slightly more pretentious, though I did admittedly refer to it as a masterpiece.  It is an ambitious attempt at epic storytelling and for that I laud it.  But as I also explained, embracing wholeheartedly the romance and melodrama that accompany adventure epics can lead to moments of eye-roll.

Avatar is so self-aware that I cannot regard it as anything other than either parody or homage.  Like Mudslide, a counterpart of sorts, it does not compromise the integrity of its characters.  Even as I grin slyly at Bruce’s hammy profession of his feelings for Talia, I find myself utterly engaged by Ras’s unrelenting narcissism.  I chuckle when Bruce tells Ras that he sounds like a bad afternoon serial, but then I find myself genuinely affected when Talia forces herself to betray Batman and return to her father’s side.  Because it works on multiple layers, it can achieve the rare quality of being both parodic and tributary.

Like The Demon’s Quest, it is embellished with all manner of artistic flourishes.  I find greater care taken with establishing shots, primarily the meticulous coloration of the extreme long shot of the Moroccan streets.  At the same time, Cairo is sandy and takes on an earthy set of colors, nicely reflected in the way the blue that usually highlights Batman’s costume vanishes.  The climactic action is directed with more noticeable cinematic sensibilities, juxtaposing shots of the same action from different angles while keeping in tune with the frantic pace.

B:TAS reviews: Trial

(10/26/09)

How fitting that Trial’s first sequence would be a trial, though not the trial that is to become the episode’s centerpiece.  It is a trial that shows Batman’s troubling impact on the Gotham City legal system, perhaps suggesting that such issues are to be magnified later on.  It also creates a claustrophobic environment.  The courtroom is dim and draped with shadows, even as the outdoor sunlight makes a prominent impression on the windows.  Structurally this trial might have been used as a parallel to the trial of the Arkham inmates.  Instead, it merely contributes to a motif, without following through on the issues it brings up.  The actual meat of things is about the new District Attorney, Janet Van Dorne.

She is an infinitely troubling character.  She is defined by her contempt for the Batman, not an uncommon opinion to hold if one works in the judicial sector of Gotham City.  And yet while Batman’s vigilantism greatly complicates legal procedure, as shown in the opening scene, her criticisms are far more simplified and repetitious.  According to her, Batman has created the super-criminals of Gotham.  This is where she becomes a paradox. 

As she defends Batman in the titular trial, she comes to the logical conclusion that Batman did not create the likes of Joker, Two-Face, and Poison Ivy, based on basic information from each case.  Because the evidence contrary to her initial claims is not only irrefutable, but also highly accessible to someone of her stature, one would assume that her hatred of Batman is born of some prejudice.  But if she were prejudiced, she would not rethink her position so easily.  Because her character is the episode’s main subject, it consequently falls apart because of the incompetence of her character.

Dini seems sidetracked by the bountiful opportunities for sketch comedy to take any of the ideological queries and accusations concerning Batman’s vigilantism seriously.  Why even bother with a half-baked dialogue about Batman’s intrinsic link to his psychologically perturbed adversaries when there’s a party waiting to be had?  Dini cannot conceal depth of meaning in Trial like he does in the festive works Harlequinade and Harley’s Holiday.  He dives straight into the parade of villainy at the risk of alienating those with the desire to see something profound, or at the very least thought provoking.

On Dini’s brand of comedy, his characterization of the inmates is exaggerated, as if each character is aware that he is playing a role in an entertainment.  We might also ask how every single member of Batman’s rogues agreed to take part in such a trial, and why every single regular inmate, who need not be a maniac or a criminal, is depicted as a raving madman.  I don’t share the standpoint of those who find this offensive, but I do find the whole ordeal lazy writing.  As there are several characters thrown in without their voice actors, they come across as lifeless designs who exist to take up space.

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‘Trial’ is an almost universally beloved episode of the series.  People love it because it’s chaotic, because it has all the great Batman villains, because it’s a ton of fun, etc.  However, if people only bothered to analyze the underlying story, perhaps they would realize that the major theme of the episode is written in the most ludicrous manner. 

The main idea is that Gotham City’s new District Attorney, Janet Van Dorne, has a major bone to pick with Batman.  She rants and raves about how Batman is a vigilante (which is true, so I’ll let it slide) and that he has created the villains he fights against.  Now wait just a second.  The idea that Batman has created his villains has always been a major idea behind many great Batman comic books, so it seems natural that finally an episode should raise that point.  However, this episode’s foundational idea is a failure.  Does Janet ever provide one shred of evidence for her case?  No.  I’ve read before that true drama arises from a situation in which two opposing characters are both right in their own way.  This is the kind of story where it’s essential that that happen.  Instead, Janet repeats herself over and over again, never bothering to give a reason.  What makes this idea even more unnecessary is that we already know how most of Batman’s villains came to be, and none of them have anything to do with Batman.  Surely Janet must know this, given the fact that she’s the Gotham City District Attorney, but no, apparently she’s either delusional or just flat out lying.  If she’s lying, then where’s the dramatic appeal of her character and the points that this character is making?  There is none.  The episode may be fun, but it’s laden with pretentious notions that have no weight behind them. 

Now, I’ll pause for a second, and get into what everyone loves about this episode, before I finish lambasting it.  Once Arkham Asylum’s inmates capture Janet Van Dorne and Batman, we get to see a plethora of villains, more than we’ve ever seen in a single episode.  People love watching Joker as the judge of the trial of sorts that he sets up, love watching many great villains like Scarface and the Mad Hatter get spotlight appearances, and find the entire ordeal to be a lot of fun. But there really isn’t that much fun to be had if you look beyond these few spotlight moments.  Once you get past a few sketches involving a couple of characters, we find that many notable villains have been shafted in the process.  Two-Face, Scarecrow, and Killer Croc do virtually nothing the entire time and are reduced to lackeys.  In fact, neither Scarecrow nor the Riddler has their respective voice actors available to play their parts.  I understand where this episode’s fans get the impression that this episode in fun, humorous, and exciting even in its flaws, but sometimes, I think that you can have too much of a good thing.  With so many characters around, for every villain that does something special, there’s another that gets do nothing whatsoever. 

Now, my major issue with the episode comes at the climax.  As horrible as Janet Van Dorne’s character is up to this point, there’s still the rationalization that she’s just raving on nonsensically because of some interesting deep-rooted prejudice against Batman.  However, as soon as the inmates get her to argue in defense of Batman, she changes her whole viewpoint.  What’s even more absurd is that, even though she couldn’t come up with a shred of evidence to support her initial proposal, as soon as she starts questioning the Mad Hatter, Poison Ivy, etc. she instantly comes up with substantial arguments.  She actually relies on factual knowledge to explain that Pamela Isely became Poison Ivy for personal revenge, Jervis Tetch was jealous of his desired woman’s boyfriend, and that Harley Quinn is who she is because of the Joker.  It’s so laughable.  All this time we’ve been watching a lunatic District Attorney make absolutely no sense defending a position that she seems to agree with one hundred percent, and now, without even undergoing a defining character change, she’s able to defend Batman like it’s nothing.  And so, after all is said and done, it seems that we’ve just watched a one-dimensional character make a completely pointless revelation in the least dramatic way possible.

Those who enjoy ‘Trial’ are still free to enjoy it.  I for one find it almost impossible to overlook all of the shortcomings in its story.  

B:TAS reviews: A Bullet for Bullock

(10/24/09)

Why is there only one episode in Batman: the Animated Series that captures the essence of film noir in both narrative and aesthetics?  I am not claiming a greatness of depth for A Bullet for Bullock, but I am claiming a greatness of atmosphere.  Noir is a common term associated with this series, but this is the only installment that embodies the genre in full.  What an oddity that there have been more screwball comedies than film noirs in what is widely known as a noir series.

Film noir is all about a world of bitterness and corruption, where danger lurks around the corner and anyone is a potential suspect.  Harvey Bullock is our hard-boiled protagonist, living his humdrum life with a weary cynicism before he becomes the target of an unknown hit man.  Bullock summons Batman to assist him, and two clash in diametric opposition, the untouchable hi-tech crime fighter and the ordinary, unspectacular detective.  It gets me thinking about how the often cool, collected, and confident Batman fails to mesh with the mysterious, uncertain world that that is ideal for a film noir.  Bullock works much better as a noir protagonist.

Cinematically, A Bullet for Bullock strives for a grittier depiction of Gotham than usual.  Snow is ubiquitous and we are not confined to generic Gotham locales.  Most of the action takes place on the streets, Bullock’s usual territory.  The background designs are less cut from a mold.  There are specific locales that Bullock takes us to, be it the cavern-like subway tunnels, a drab apartment complex, or a vacant lot outside a donut shop.  I spot streetlights, banners draped across buildings, and smoke and haze emanating from building tops.  This is the Gotham City I have longed for, not merely a cluster of skyscrapers and empty streets but an entity in itself with a life and atmosphere flowing through it.

The animation can be choppy, but it works to the benefit of the episode’s style.  There is a slick angularity to the designs that is always in a state of flux.  Some of the posing is surprisingly noticeable as a result.  I have already discussed mise-en-scene but have not even delved into the staging of the fight scenes or the colors or the evocative use of space.  All of the fights, continuing the trend of Sideshow, make use of their environments in ways that add elements of suspense and surprise.  Bullock’s encounter with Summer is rendered in a fluorescent blue monochrome.  Rhythmic skirmishes or murder attempts fade into still long shots of atmospheric spaces or perhaps a camera pan up from the street to a full moon set against a snowy sky.

And the music, a jazz arrangement by Harvey R. Cohen, is the ideal accompaniment to such a lush genre piece.  It deviates substantially from the heavy orchestration of most episodes while still retaining its dramatic sensibilities.  Though I have no interest in awards, the fact that Cohen’s score won a Daytime Emmy speaks to its uniqueness.  It took people by surprise in how well it emulated the musical atmosphere of a classic film noir.  This rich jazzy score stands out as the most recognizable attribute of A Bullet for Bullock, perhaps the best reason for why so many fans adore it.

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While it may be an unconventional choice for a second favorite episode, ‘A Bullet for Bullock’ is right behind ‘Beware the Gray Ghost’ on my list of favorite episodes.  Now admittedly, its story isn’t terribly deep or psychological, and it certainly lacks the almost epic feel of some episodes, but nonetheless, I consider this to be one of true great episodes of the series, for one essential reason: it finally nailed down the film noir atmosphere that the series had been trying to achieve for many episodes. 

‘A Bullet for Bullock’ is an episode with perfect artistic mood.  It is reminiscent of old pulp detective stories, filled to the brim with grimy interiors, gloomy subway stations, and dark skyscrapers.  On spectacle alone, this episode is grade ‘A’ material.  It looks like classic film noir transferred to a children’s cartoon series.  But that’s just the surface.  I could go on and on about the beautiful use of shadow, the small mundane details like the steam from Bullock’s coffee mug, the beautiful monochromatic color scheme of Summer Gleason’s office, the animation work by Studio Junio, and all sorts of other artistic tidbits, but it would just be too much.  I’ll just leave off here with the point that this episode is visually beautiful in every sense of the word. 

Now the story is really just a linear detective whodunit affair.  Now, in the case of other episodes such a predictable and straightforward plot as this one would be criticized, but here, it’s done wonderfully.  Even though it’s easy to tell from the beginning that Nivens is the man who’s been gunning for Bullock, it doesn’t matter at all.  The joy isn’t in awaiting the identity of the culprit, but rather the mood and atmosphere that emanates from such a classic noir storyline.  Even though I know it’s Nivens, I’m less concerned about the goal of Bullock’s and Batman’s investigation than I am with what happens to them along the way.  And besides, when it’s finally revealed to be Nivens, it’s actually hilarious and ironic, in the sense that our two protagonists have been searching for the vilest scum in Gotham, and in reality the villain is someone so utterly sophisticated that he was too repulsed by Bullock’s filthy demeanor.  It’s brilliant. 

But that’s just the plot, as for the dialogue and character interplay, this episode is almost unparalleled.  Witty lines of dialogue just roll off the tongues of the characters.  Alfred’s comparison between Bullock and an unmade bed and Bullock’s reply to Montoya’s question as to what he’s doing for New Year’s are both hilarious and it’s such a treat to not only get a dark moody episode, but one filled with funny dialogue as well.  But the real star here is Bullock.  Part of the reason that the plot’s predictability isn’t worth criticizing is because Bullock is one of the most likable, funny, and all around enjoyable characters in the series, and it’s a pleasure to watch him on screen so much that the story really isn’t of interest.  But here’s the thing: the episode isn’t just an excuse to show off Bullock and his quirks, but it actually raises some interesting points about his character. 

The episode really puts the viewer into Bullock’s shoes and makes his behavior understandable.  We find that he lives in a rundown apartment, that he’s always busy, that he’s had bad relationships, and that his whole career hasn’t done much of anything for him.  With such an unhappy life, it’s no wonder he dislikes Batman, who doesn’t have to play by the rules, who has earned the trust of more people than he has, and who has fancy gadgets and vehicles.  It’s interesting watching Batman speak down to Bullock and Bullock’s irritated reaction.  It’s easy to sympathize with him, no matter how much of a lowlife he is.  At the end of the day, this episode makes the viewer appreciate that Bullock finally got his own spotlight episode, and it leaves you with more respect for the man than one might ever think possible. 

The final aspect I’ll address about this episode is absolutely perfect musical score.  Honestly, the jazzy music of this episode is probably my favorite music in the entire series.  Not only do I adore jazz music, but it also fits the noir atmosphere of the episode so perfectly.  If the visuals weren’t already enough to make this episode a perfect homage to classic pulp detective films, then the music certainly completes it.  It seems to have been such a bold choice on the composer’s part to almost do away entirely with traditional orchestral music and rely completely on classic jazz.  Not to bash the orchestral music of the vast majority of the series, but after a while, there’s a point where it all sounds too similar and the music almost feels the same from one episode to another.  The distinct sound ‘A Bullet For Bullock’ really makes the episode stand out from the rest of the series.  Hearing the ‘Batman’ theme performed jazz style is too great an experience for words. 

Overall, I absolutely adore ‘A Bullet for Bullock’.  It’s an episode that I could probably watch once a day for the rest of my life, and sometimes I wonder why I don’t.  It’s really that much fun. 

B:TAS reviews: Sideshow

(10/22/09)

Killer Croc’s only true character spotlight is remarkably imbalanced.  The first eight minutes involve a chase through a forest of grand stature, causing the rest of the story to hurry lest it fails to meet its twenty-two minute deadline.  As a result, the sideshows are contrived embodiments of perfect morality while Croc is the coldhearted unambiguous monster that can only survive through deceit.  Might things be more interesting were the morality skewed?  Perhaps the band of outsiders might rejoice in Batman’s captivity, a mirror image of their prior lives that sets the scale in their favor, regardless of its moral drawbacks.  Or at the very least, Croc might successfully maintain his charade so that Batman is successfully demonized by his new contemporaries.

But alas, these circus freaks have less depth than the similar collective in Hitchcock’s decidedly shallow Saboteur.  They are not catalysts for probing the depths of Croc’s mind, nor do they have a noticeable impact on him.  He remains a beacon of pure depravity the whole way through, and while the episode seems to argue that his lack of compassion to those who have endured similar trials as he is ultimately tragic, it also seems ultimately lazy.  It is an unnecessary point to prove, solidifying Croc’s monstrosity when I don’t think anyone doubted it in the first place.  It is a principle of Batman’s universe that his adversaries cannot change.  Sideshow is a dull illustration of this principle.

The episode ends with Croc in Hannibal Lecter attire, being transported via helicopter.  The seal boy, standing for banal childhood pathos, asks Croc why he did such things to his friends.  He responds by saying he was just being himself.  I like this ending.  I at first took it as a worthless appeal to our emotions; we should feel bad for Croc because he just cannot be accepted anywhere.  Obviously this is not effective, because Croc by nature is an immoral, violent person.  But thinking about it further, that is what is so tragic about the ending.  He is doomed to a state of monstrosity, both physically and morally.  Perhaps if the story was not so formulaic it could have arrived at this conclusion in a more shocking manner.

Directorially this is a sign of things to come in Superman: the Animated Series.  I do not usually associate Boyd Kirkland with riveting and inventive fight sequences, but Read My Lips and Sideshow are causing me to rethink that.  As I have said before, sometimes Gotham City can be too confining.  It can be so confining and homogenous, in fact, that action scenes are often interchangeable; rarely does a scene in which Batman disarms a thug and knocks him out depend on surroundings.  Batman’s battle with Croc not only utilizes surrounding props, but it also expertly navigates through specific areas of the sideshows’ stronghold while always aware of the larger structure.

I feel that Sideshow and other hollow episodes of the series produced at about this period are both enticing and underwhelming.  Enticing because they aesthetically foreshadow some of the DC Animated Universe’s high points, but underwhelming because of their banality.

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I don’t like this episode.  I know a lot of people think that it fleshes out Killer Croc’s character, but personally I always felt it dehumanized him.  The episode really tells a story that has been told many times before in one way or another, but here, I don’t think it’s any good. 

The basic story is that Killer Croc is being transported to a penitentiary by means of train, and he ends up escaping and fleeing into the woods.  Batman, as usual, is hot on his trail.  He ends up meeting a kindly group of misfit circus performers who accept him into the fold.  This is the kind of story that I’ve seen and read many times over, that archetypal tale of the outsider that finds a group to which he can belong, and all that nonsense.  The twist in this episode is that Croc is an evil cruel-hearted person who is really out to take advantage of the performers’ kindness.  This is even worse in a sense than the traditional route, because that means that Croc, who we spend most of our time with, isn’t much of a protagonist and he really has no sympathy, despite the pointless hints the episode drops to make it appear as if he’s got some heart to him. 

What is even more absurd in my opinion is that the traveling band of misfits just happens to have a fund they’ve been saving up, giving Croc an awfully convenient criminal motive.  Come to think of it, the band of misfits is also terribly clichéd.  The little seal boy just happens to be nice and cute like most disfigured boys; the giant strong man happens to be nice and kind in the same vein of every gentle giant that has ever been put to film; the Siamese twin sisters argue with each other just like every character in film or television with a dual nature; and of course the elderly hunchback who leads the group is a sophisticated chap who quotes Shakespeare.  These are all very familiar figures and really aren’t interesting characters.  They’re mainly just foils for Croc, which is sort of ironic because Croc doesn’t have much of a characterization himself.  What we have here is a cast of one-note characters, none of whom are the least bit original. 

It’s always a relief when I watch this episode to find that Batman has finally entered the scene again after such a long absence.  It’s frankly boring watching Croc and the circus freaks interact, and really, in such a bland story, action scenes are the only thing that can salvage the episode.  Thankfully, they don’t disappoint.  I find the staging of the final showdown between Croc and Batman to be very inventive and exciting, and it really helps me forget about how boring the episode as a whole is.  Unfortunately, the excitement doesn’t last, and soon we’re at the end of the episode with Croc being carried off by a helicopter in a straightjacket.  The last line of dialogue is the last attempt the writer makes to be profound, as Croc professes that he was only being himself.  Now, if that was a stab at sympathy, it fails completely, as that is no excuse for the cruel behavior that Croc exhibits.  On the other hand, perhaps it’s just a way of saying that Croc is so evil that he’s beyond change or redemption, in which case it’s certainly more meaningful, but makes me wonder why we needed an episode to affirm what is pretty easy to infer from episodes like ‘Vendetta’: that Croc is a bad guy. 

I will give the episode points for the different locale.  Sometimes Gotham City can be too confining, and the outskirt forest is a refreshing change of scenery.  I love the sound effects and the attention to detail on the background art.  I mentioned earlier how much I enjoy the fight scene at the end.  In addition to being expertly directed, it’s also very well animated.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Dong Yang has really become a great studio at this point.  Croc has never looked better, and it’s worth noting that the great studio Spectrum animated his spotlight episode ‘Vendetta’. 

I don’t hate ‘Sideshow’, but I definitely dislike it.  It’s unnecessary and pretentious, but I still have to give it points for the visual spectacle that it is.

B:TAS reviews: The Worry Men

10/21/09

Has there been an episode so visually black as The Worry Men?  In the opening scenes at the Veronica’s little high society get-together, the foliage intended to embellish the room is obscured by shadow.  Nighttime Gotham seems darker than usual, and even the daytime scenes are unusually foggy.  Usually I applaud heavy shadows in an episode, but there is nothing expressive about its use here.  If it doesn’t externally manifest anything about the nature of the plot or the nature of the characters, then it seems almost tawdry.  I became distracted, and environments that should have made separate impressions visually overlapped.

And no, there is nothing thematically dark about The Worry Men.  The Mad Hatter is enacting a plan that is easily traced to him due to his obvious mastery of brain manipulation technology.  This time he feels inclined to stick with a Mayan theme.  When once I mourned that villains like him and Two-Face, after stellar debuts, were relegated to the realm of common thievery (as Batman astutely points out), I now see it as part of their essential tragedies.  Initial complexity must deteriorate into gimmickry.  Oh, but what a bland affair it is!  It leaps from plot point to plot point with no grace.  Batman delves into forced exposition at the slightest nudge from Alfred.  The Mad Hatter even sparks a flashback of an event that has already been explained in a less than smooth fashion.

So what does this have going for it?  The only scene I can say I enjoy is the third act set piece that even in its extravagance raises questions on the Mad Hatter’s motive in constructing such a bizarre assortment of puppets resembling Batman’s rogues gallery.  Who is even controlling the puppets anyway?  His four henchmen clearly aren’t, as they stand motionless on a platform for the entirety of the fight.  While I enjoy a jack-in-the-box Joker with a giant mallet, I also recognize that this extraneous bit of action not only makes little sense, but is also the only thing that stimulates any enjoyment.

The third act action sequence also speaks to a great ambition regarding the fight scenes.  This can also be seen in Batman’s skirmish with one of the Hatter’s Mayan henchmen in the beginning of the episode.  Though I disapprove of the excessive shadows, Dong Yang proves it is adept at animating them as they move across characters drifting in and out of varying degrees of light.  I also think that Dong Yang’s color choices surpass that of previous episodes.  Again note that when they contribute to the muddled atmosphere I cringe, but there are some saturated hues I don’t believe I have seen the artists use before.  There is a disparity between tone of story and tone of visual design that constitutes a definite flaw, but the skill involved in achieving the episode's unsuitable atmosphere is still to be commended.

But ultimately Dini proves that he does not work well with formula.  His episodes tend to veer from the usual in their stylistic ambition, be it screwball comedy romps or psychoanalyses framed by grim, contemplative structures.  The Worry Men does not utilize any of Dini’s trademark skills.  It is unmemorable for good reason.

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This is Paul Dini’s first Mad Hatter script since the character’s brilliant debut in ‘Mad as a Hatter’.  Unfortunately, the humanity and delusion that made his character so captivating in ‘Mad as a Hatter’ and ‘Perchance to Dream’ seem absent in this episode.  His actions in this episode still make sense according to his character, but sadly, this episode is easily the worst Mad Hatter episode in ‘Batman: the Animated Series’. 

The plot is very straightforward.  The Mad Hatter is using Mayan dolls called ‘worry men’ to mind control Gotham’s elite, in order to steal from them.  Batman picks up on it and defeats the Mad Hatter.  Now, I think that this is actually a very clever scheme even if it loses points for slight instances of boredom.  Mad Hatter makes all of the transactions quiet in a sense.  In controlling the social elite of Gotham, he makes them leave their money lying around of their own free will, so his men can drop by and pick it up.  In fact, his thieveries would probably go unnoticed if Batman himself weren’t part of that elite.  However, that being said, there is no reason that the Mad Hatter should call attention to himself by using ridiculous looking Mayan warriors that exist for no reason other than to provide obligatory fight sequences.  And while fight scenes are essential for this show, we already get an awesome showdown between Batman and the Hatter’s puppets at the end of the episode, so it’s absolutely pointless to watch him combat Mayan warriors in the process of reaching the climax. 

The episode really is forgettable for the most part until the final confrontation between Batman and the Hatter, so I’ll just focus on that.  Now there are some stylish action bits that I just adore involving Batman facing off against wooden puppets of his rogues gallery.  Now, it obviously makes no sense that they could control themselves the way they do, that they would be ready for Batman at the right moment, or that they would even exist, but nonetheless, I find the third act action climax to be really very fun.  The second point about the climax is that the Mad Hatter explains his motive in stealing money from wealthy socialites.  He plans on using the money to buy himself an island to retire to.  I really love this, because it fits Mad Hatter’s character.  Always wanting to fashion a Wonderland of his own, wanting to buy an island is the perfect goal for him.  It’s such a relief knowing that he doesn’t just have a generic criminal intent behind his thefts.  The end reminds me of ‘The Cape and Cowl Conspiracy’, in that it ends with a worry man that looks like Batman under the pillow of the Mad Hatter’s prison bunk. 

Animation-wise, this episode is another reminder of how much better Dong Yang is getting.  Here, it’s easy to tell that the studio is doing a lot better with the complex shadows that dominate the series, and the color palette is absolutely beautiful, especially on the Mad Hatter, who’s given a more purple look given the darkness that surrounds him in his hideout.  While I find the fight scenes between Batman and Hatter’s minions utterly boring, I have to admit that they are better staged than the majority of fight scenes in the series, and as for the puppet finale I’ve brought up several times, its direction is fantastic.  It’s great that the series finally reached a point of artistic consistency, because it’s certainly a primary reason that there hasn’t been a truly terrible episode since ‘The Mechanic’.

‘The Worry Men’ is very slow and especially toward the beginning, pretty boring, but it’s still fairly solid.  The climax is probably the only highlight, but what a highlight it is.  It’s a good episode, just far from great.

B:TAS reviews: Read My Lips

(10/17/09)

It all begins with an ingenious crime set to the styling of an old caper flick, bass guitar and all.  For the first act or so, there is no air of involving drama; it’s all homage to 1930s gangster flicks.  Once the first act ends, however, and we are treated to the shocking reveal of Scarface the doll, we realize that we have been played for a sap.  Now we’re in for something disturbing, no matter how it is dressed by its lighthearted pulp style.

This is a psychological drama much in the vein of Two-Face.  In fact, both shows deal with the same disorder.  And yet while that glorious two-part installment was awash in heavy melodrama, Read My Lips is briskly paced and wears its genius proudly on its sleeve.  With Harvey Dent we were under the impression that we knew him relatively well.  We saw his dreams, we understood his friendship, and we felt the joy of his engagement.  But Arnold Wesker is defined by surface traits: he is a mousy, nervous, easily intimidated man.

Read My Lips is all the more shocking because it is an intersection between glossy homage and perturbed psychology.  Between the big-band instrumentation and hard-boiled banter, there is nary a pause for contemplation until the breathtaking third act, when Wesker’s dual personalities are at war with each other, signaled by the visceral struggle in which he literally points a gun at his own head.  All the more frightening is that Scarface is such a holdover from the 1930s gangster era, his name lifted from Howard Hawks’ 1932 genre masterpiece.  He spouts off expired one-liners with an all-too thick accent, and we take him almost as a means of humor, until his bombastic personality spars against the timidity of his host.

Wesker’s deep-rooted problem is that, like most of Batman’s rogues, he cannot live without his malady.  Scarface points a gun at his face, and yet Wesker cries out when the dummy is ripped to shreds by gunfire.  We can only imagine what trauma he has buried inside him that he must project such a violent temperament into a vessel defined by an incision in its face.  Since we feel for Wesker and understand the gravity of his disorder, because of and not in spite of the fact that both of his personas are so one-note, the musical and visual rhythms that make this show so entertaining do not conflict at all.  I find it all the more tense and claustrophobic that he wars with himself amidst a background so frantic and kinetic.

I must say a word or two about Tokyo Movie Shinsha’s last animated episode of the series.  It is only fitting that this particular outing, in which dynamic imagery and motion converge on an intense character study, would be the last to receive the TMS treatment.  Action animation, to me, is all about timing, buildup, the way a slight pause precedes a rapid flurry of movement.  The fight scenes we see here are clear indications of the eventual trend in fast-moving martial arts fight scenes.  Batman, more so than in most episodes, has a clear methodology to the way he takes down his opponents, and that is achieved just as much through TMS’s animation as through Boyd Kirkland’s slick direction.

Because the drama does not outshine the other aspects of production, but is rather complemented by an unbridled confidence in aesthetic craftsmanship, Read My Lips may be the finest entertainment the series ever had to offer.

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The series continues on yet another strong note with ‘Read My Lips’, what I believe to be one of the definitive Batman stories of all time, in the same league of ‘Heart of Ice’.  It’s artistically perfect and psychologically intricate, everything I could possibly want in an episode of ‘Batman: the Animated Series’. 

This is one of those stories that have no unnecessary scenes in it.  It starts out flawlessly, with a beautifully directed, animated, and scored heist, as three shadowed culprits steal the proceeds from a boxing match.  We then get treated to a montage of spinning newspapers and a line of dialogue from the crooks’ boss, before we finally see Batman step onto the scene.  What I love about this opening is how it feels like a noir crime film.  The jazzy music, the setting, everything makes it feel like your right in the middle of an old pulp detective film.  It evokes such feeling and mood that it’s impossible not to be enthralled by it, even if what’s happening onscreen is nothing more than a simple theft. 

Of course, Batman catches on to the string of heists and, with some neat detective work, figures out that one of the gangsters is Rhino, someone he’s run into before.  Now here it’s particularly worth noting how sharp the dialogue is.  Lansdale has always written great dialogue, and this episode is no exception.  Batman has a great sense of attitude in the words he says and Rhino feels just like a hardboiled gangster.  Batman tracks him down to his hideout, and we, along with Batman, find out that the big crime boss is a dummy.  After the initial shock, it’s only natural to believe that the ventriloquist is pulling the strings and dummy is probably just a gimmick.  What takes place, however, is a psychological confrontation in which we find that the ventriloquist and his dummy Scarface are two completely different people.  

Now, I actually wrote a psychology paper on Multiple Personality Disorder (though the episode refers to it as something different).  And while the switch between the two personalities doesn’t usually happen as fast as it does between the ventriloquist and Scarface, unlike with Two-Face, the other of the two villains with the diagnosis, ‘Read My Lips’ still tops ‘Two-Face’ in showing how separate the two personalities are.  With Harvey and Two-Face, there were always slight hints that both personalities were aware of the same things.  In ‘Read My Lips’, Arnold Wesker and Scarface are two completely different people.  The dialogue that characterizes their differences and George Dzundza’s remarkable performance as both characters does such an amazing job of portraying the character’s psychology.  Every scene with the ventriloquist is a wonder to behold and doesn’t fail to keep the viewer enthralled. 

The ending is what really makes the episode a masterwork, and unlike other episodes in which the ending is the best part, this one doesn’t have a slow lead up.  Soon after being knocked out by Scarface’s thugs, we find Batman tied up over a pit of mannequins, their pointed fingers outstretched (a rather interesting spin on your usual pit scene).  Scarface was actually smart in that he caught onto Batman’s hidden microphone.  This is where we see how truly different the two are.  The simple timid personality of Arnold Wesker actually yielded a criminal mind that can outthink Batman.  But things only get better from this initial setup, as Batman, through ventriloquism of his own, turns Wesker and Scarface against each other, and we find that Scarface doesn’t even know that he’s a dummy.  Watching Wesker turn his gun on himself as his two personalities war with each other is easily one of the most powerful moments I’ve ever seen in animated cartoons.  The direction, along with the acting, is psychologically compelling that it’s impossible not to look on in awe at how things unfold.  The episode continues to top itself too, as Batman takes down Scarface’s thugs and soon after, one of them takes a machine gun and accidentally riddles the dummy with bullets.  It’s dark, devastating, and about on par with Two-Face’s inability to find his missing coin.  The ending of course, shows a seemingly reformed Wesker carving away at a replacement in a haunting conclusion. 

This episode is so much fun to gush over that I haven’t even touched on the TMS animation or the great fight scenes, and I’ve barely talked about the marvelous score by Walker, which suits the entire atmosphere of the episode flawlessly.  Now, I said that ‘Fire From Olympus’ was artistically well done, but this episode tops it in every conceivable way.  TMS does some of its finest work here; in fact, these are probably the best fight scenes between Batman and some thugs that were ever featured in the series.  Even ignoring the animation, every other visual aspect is gorgeous: the backgrounds, the framing, and perspective are all beautiful.  This is truly a landmark episode in regards to artwork. 

There isn’t much more I can say about this episode.  ‘Read My Lips’ is a series classic, an episode that is both psychologically engaging and superficially appealing.  It has been a favorite of mine for a very long time and it simply never gets old.

B:TAS reviews: Fire From Olympus

(10/16/09)

It means little to reside atop a skyscraper in Batman: the Animated Series.  People do it all the time.  But when a character is so mad that his particular skyscraper is his envisioned Mt. Olympus, suddenly the summit of the tower grows in volume, and fills itself out with Greek architecture and grand marble furnishings.  Maximilion Zeus is a mentally unstable rogue who is not only deeply amusing in his speech of classicalist verse, but who also is perfectly capable of functioning in the real world.

Let me backpedal for a minute.  Maxie is deluded.  He believes himself to be a god, his lover to be a muse, and Batman to be his brother Hades.  This is clear.  But his intuition is as keen as ever.  He has still managed to successfully obtain the Electron Discharge Cannon, he recognizes that both Batman and the cops are threats, and he has smarts enough to pick up on Yanni Stavros’ meeting with Commissioner Gordon.  If people develop psychological disorders to cope with the strain of real life, then Maxie seems to be coping just fine.

No, what is going on here is that the coping mechanism becomes grounds for godhood and superiority.  His delusions are not negative as they pertain to his intellect, but as they pertain to his morality.  He has alleviated his stress, and perhaps any shred of guilt about his smuggling racket, at the cost of his sense of self.  He has lost the individual in favor of the archetypal, the all-powerful.  I find it fascinating that we never see him before his descent; we only see the real Maxie briefly at Clio’s beckoning.  Perhaps the writers could not fashion a character so individualized within such a short span of plot, leaving us to imagine the man he was.

Fire From Olympus reminds us that the world of Batman is indeed a mythological one.  Maxie Zeus is almost a perfect representation of Batman’s best villains.  Most of them have lost their complexity by adhering to a stringent psychological identity.  Two-Face is no longer Harvey Dent, man of many facets, but a crook that makes all decisions based on the black-and-white judgment of a tossed coin.  Maxie refers to him as double-headed Janus, and indeed, he has sacrificed individuality for an archetype.  The same is true of the Joker, who, like Maxie, we never see before his transformation.  There is insight here.

The overcast skies deviate from the standard night and day shades.  They graphically reflect Maxie’s penchant for thunder and lightning.  Not only is the top of his tower extravagantly designed, but also the exaggerated height creates a truly epic scope.  There are very few times that Batman does not simply grapple up the sides of buildings, but this presents him with a clear challenge.  I relish it when the designers take set pieces and stretch them beyond their realistic boundaries.

There are some storytelling issues that get mentioned in every nitpick list created for this episode.  They do not detract from my enjoyment, but I find it amusing that so much gusto was put into the direction, only for simple errors to bleed through.

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Now this is a fun episode of the series.  Volume three has been coming along very consistently with no episodes thus far that I’ve felt inclined to grade a ‘C’, and ‘Fire From Olympus’ keeps up the pace.  While a bit on the weird side and having its fair share of plot holes, this episode is a guilty pleasure that serves as a humorous illustration of a man so insane as to believe himself to be a Greek god. 

We open with a fantastic confrontation between Stavros, a man supposed to be meeting with Gordon to provide him information about Maxie Zeus, who manages a shipping company.  Stavros instead is greeted by an unseen figure that emerges from a vehicle.  It’s fairly obvious that this is Zeus, and after he delivers a few words to Stavros about how angry he is with him, we see a flash of light reflected off the walls of the surrounding alleyway.  As it turns out, Stavros is now hospitalized.  The imagery is powerful and it’s a fantastic way to start the episode. 

Now, the proceeding scenes are where I take a bit of issue.  Don’t get me wrong, I love watching Maxie in all his insane glory, and watching someone so maddened also double as an intelligent businessman is fascinating, but I really dislike the story involving Clio and her reaction to Maxie’s madness.  Now, I know that it’s necessary for there to be some sort of foil to Maxie, and for that Clio serves a worthy purpose, but it’s hard to both understand her pain and sadness at the ordeal because we haven’t seen what their relationship was like before the man went crazy.  None of the scenes of her wallowing in despair at what has happened to the man she has loved are very effective at all, and it’s because of this that the episode falls short a few notches.  Still, most of her appearances are appropriately overshadowed by the more excellent moments in the episode, most notably the glorious confrontation between Maxie and Batman, whom he believes to be Hades, the god of the underworld (interesting to note that Hades actually becomes a character in the DC Animated Universe later). 

The episode’s climax is rather slow, but it’s filled with all sorts of great bits, not to mention Shirley Walker’s powerful musical score.  I love Maxie’s delightful revelry as he blasts down a police blimp and ties Clio to the end of his electron cannon.  I love Batman’s run in with Maxie’s obstacles relating to Greek myth (although it makes little sense that Batman would even need to enter the penthouse the way he does, when soon after he faces the boar, he grapples to the top of the building).  I especially love the end, as Maxie enters Arkham, believing it to be Olympus.  Although I have to say, in addition to my parenthetical nitpick I made earlier, I can’t help but fault the episode for the fact that Clio is apparently captured by Maxie’s henchmen, but apparently makes it up later as if she had never been caught. 

The animation is well done.  This, along with ‘His Silicon Soul’ is a testament to how great Dong Yang got this late in the game.  Scenes like the boar that runs straight into the camera and the lightning striking the blimp are beautiful, and this episode is also the first time in a long time that I have been so impressed by an episode’s backgrounds.  As mentioned before, Shirley Walker really delivers a powerful score with this episode, fitting appropriately with Zeus’ hunger for godly power.  I have to really applaud all the work that went into this episode, as it really seems like a lot of time was spent making it artistically excellent. 

Admittedly, this episode has too many flaws that I can’t gloss over: the minor nitpicks near the end, the unnecessary scenes portraying Clio’s sadness, and the slow pace that causes the episode to drop in a few areas.  So while I can’t even give it a great score, I still really enjoy this episode a great deal.