(11/7/09)
If I’m not mistaken, it is the norm with these little reviews of mine that when I begin discussing animation direction in an otherwise faulty episode, I am saving the best formal aspect of the show for last. But Frank Paur dropped the ball on this one, and since I have no intention of claiming competence for any area of The Terrible Trio’s production, why not relegate my standard directorial critique to the beginning?
The most incriminating evidence for the episode’s disjointed editing and disconcerting cinematographic choices lies in the first act robbery scene. I am no expert on professional direction, but having some repertoire of academic knowledge on the subject, I can say for a fact that using a pan from a fired gun to the bullet’s intended target slows down the action, something that could have been fixed with, dare I say it, a more conventional but effectual cut. When Robin swings onto the dock, it takes two abrupt cuts, three shots total, for him to land and announce to the trio that he is fast on their heels. What exactly was Paur thinking? The climax as well features not one obnoxious low-angle shot of Batman silhouetted against a full moon, but two.
Reeves structures a story meant to chastise the idle rich who spend their time in narcissistic indulgence, reminiscent of the two men in Hitchcock’s Rope who put themselves on a pedestal; their inclusion in the ranks of society’s upper echelon is reason enough for their innate superiority. And yet they go further, barely disguising their dissatisfaction with Bruce Wayne’s charitable actions. It is not enough for one to be rich and cultured; he must recognize that this makes him better than others. Wayne is the man who neglects dilettante comfort for a physically torturous life as a man who valiantly combats street crime. These egomaniacal young frat boys commit crimes because they are bored. Whether Bruce Wayne’s Batman persona can be linked in part to boredom is debatable, but ultimately irrelevant. It is a fixture of the Batman mythos that he is by nature heroic and does not have his own self-interest at heart.
But Reeves indulges the script in blatant parallels and obnoxious monologues. These men are worse than the Joker, Batman exclaims. His justification: the latter has madness for an excuse. This is a blow to the integrity of the series, which does allow for sympathetic villains and yet does not at any time concede that their actions are, even in part, forgiven by their psychoses. The Joker himself remains the most admittedly amoral of these villains; never are we to believe that he has any excuse whatsoever for his crimes against humanity. This is more soapbox than story, and the three men are so repulsive in both attitude and behavior that they are less characters than fuel for Reeves’ simplistic moralizing.
It is ultimately an ideological mess, compartmentalizing the moral positions of wealthy society into two neat categories. It is clear from the beginning that neither of these two extremes exists in real life, rendering the ostensible social commentary a sophomoric failure.
