Never has the difference between the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) and feature films starring characters from the DC stable been so glaring as in their two most recent appearances on the big screen: the first, represented by the enjoyable Spiderman. Without return of Jon Watts, who left with a smile on his face and a happy heart; the second, conveyed by The Batman (VF of The Batman) by Matt Reeves (Cloverfieldthe last two iterations of The Planet of the Apes), from which one emerges crushed by three oppressive and murky hours.
Nevertheless, to have such an effect on the spectator, who will think about it for a long time in the hours and days that will follow, it was necessary that this brutal and frontal proposal, without concession or light, placed on the shoulders of Robert Pattinson (that of tenet and of The Lighthousewhich has gained ground since the Twilight) works.
And it works. Even if the film is too long (some scenes stretch so much that they smack of complacency). Even if it is uniformly heavy and dark (we start in the dark and we don’t take off except, slightly, at the very end). And even if the screenplay by Matt Reeves and Peter Craig is not quite up to the extraordinary intelligence of the master of puzzles that is the Sphinx (The Riddler in VO). Incarnated by a disturbing and “uncomfortable” Paul Dano, the brilliant Edward Nashton indeed becomes, under his mask and behind his glasses, the main adversary of the Masked Justice, himself endowed with a formidable spirit of deduction.
In this Gotham City that seems to exist only at night and in the rain, in a Wayne tower that smells of despair more than money, in a Batcave where the cutting edge of technology is still to be found, aboard a Batmobile who is more of a tank than a rocket, prowls a Bruce Wayne / Batman who is not the one embodied by Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney, Christian Bale and Ben Affleck. Not yet.
This Bruce Wayne is not a playboy. And in the guise of the Vagabond (The Drifter in original version), since this is how we discover him at the start of the film, this Batman is nothing but revenge. In this, he is barely distinguishable from the criminals he hunts down in a corrupt Gotham City—in collusion with Lt. James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright), who believes in him; and assisted by Alfred Pennyworth (Andy Serkis, a regular at Matt Reeves).
This Alfred is not, either, that of the previous productions. Forget the suavely stylish butler played by Michael Caine and think instead of his incarnation, by Sean Pertwee, in the series Gotham. A former soldier, this Alfred was the bodyguard of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He could not prevent their murder. Since then, he has been a man broken by the feeling of having failed in his duty. And young Bruce to grow up by his side, without love or a father figure. Hence the vigilant that he has become, without control over his violent impulses, working out of a thirst for revenge and not thirsty for justice. Hope is not there. For the moment.
Batman before Batman
The Batman therefore tells a younger Batman, but who still walks in the footsteps of the myth – unlike what Todd Phillips and Joaquin Phoenix did with Arthur Fleck in Joker. The two films, however, have this in common that they are not linked to the DC Cinematic Universe (DCEU) and independently explore the path, among other emotional, of the two characters.
Here of marble, there out of control, sometimes intense, often of ice, Robert Pattinson is perfect to embody this version of the “greatest detective in the world”. He is the black and rough diamond of an admirably directed high caliber cast. Think of John Turturro as crime lord Carmine Falcone; to Peter Sarsgaard as duplicitous prosecutor Gil Colson; to unrecognizable Colin Farrell as Oswald Cobblepot becoming the Penguin (a fate that would normally be exploited in a possible-and-probable sequel); and to Zoë Kravitz as Selina Kyle who is scratching her claws and will soon hatch as Catwoman. Selina playing cat and (bat) mouse with Batman. Zoë Kravitz who manages to make Halle Berry forget in the same role, who rises to the level of Anne Hathaway (without the sparkling, but with the same grace), but who has not yet emerged from the shadow of the iconic Michelle Pfeiffer (is that even possible?).
Finally, we had to come to it: how does the work compare to Christopher Nolan’s trilogy? They don’t compare. They live differently. We breathed at Nolan. We suffocate at Reeves, whose vision is perfectly served by the photography of Greig Fraser, the artistic direction of James Chinlund and even in the soundtrack of Michael Giacchino. We felt like we were witnessing a great show at Nolan’s. We are sucked into the film at Reeves: we find ourselves squarely in the Batmobile which roars in the streets of Gotham; we receive the breath of the explosion which destroys part of the city. Two ways to tell the same universe, two ways to achieve. That of Matt Reeves shakes. It hurts. And on arrival, although placed under the same Batsignal, we do not have the impression of being told the same story once again (or the Spider-Man syndrome). Who will complain?