Brilliant

Rating: Null/10 (8 March 2003)

Its been written that the Batman name deserved better, but who's too say? All I know is that this film is a wonderful valentine to flights of fancy capable only in childhood, before society has denuded us, leaving only,by and large, sterile minds incapable of concieving of the majestic, and intolerant of the absurd(to be met with "Superior and correct" condescension, as is proper). Comic fans dismiss this outright, as do most critics (most of them would do well to choke on their venomous bon mots, I think. The world would not morn), not to mention the esteemed (though not by me) Sydney Lumet, but is it truly fair? My opinon-Nay, I have only the most vile, unprintable obscenities as a response to those who trash it on the basis of plot holes. I wish soul-destroying attrocities on the silly, self righteous comic fans who snarl at the thought of their beloved comic idols being translated to the screen with even minor changes. This film is to me beautiful in scope, beautiful in design, beautiful in every catergory. The acting is not "oscar-worthy"(most oscar winners nowadays don't truly receive awards based on merit, but politics. How else to explain Julia Roberts snagging one?);instead it is "just right" for the material. Its a surreal fantasy, juvenile yes, but the best things in life are experienced in youth, not when one is closer to the grave than to the cradle. I see the penguins with torpedos march towards Gotham Plaze,-I think "Wonderful"! The meek secretary who's suddenly a skilled gymnast? "Fantastic"! I like classic films as much as any worthless snob like say, Jeff Shannon of Amazon.com(or as much as they merely profess to like, if want to know what I really think), but my feelings toward these old gems, however strong, are still muted in comparison to what the Burton Batman pictures ingnite in me. They show a world of infinite promise, where every corner, hides a surprise(not unlike an O.Henry tale). One perfectly complimented by Danny Elfman's score.
The music is a delicacy to my ears as a ripe cherry cut from a soaked bush after a spring rain would be to my tongue. Its tonal varations are fascinating to follow, from its dizzying heights in the opening credits, to its ominous lows in the Penguin's sewer lair(the excellent use of a choir still makes my spirits soar)this is one piece of film music which is not dependent on the movie. It lives, it breathes as few musical masterpieces do in this business, where everyone and his piece of sh*t brother gets a shot to rewrite your work with his tired hand that would better serve the world severed. Fools have written that Dardevil is the movie Batman should've been. While I cannot deny Daredevil's many good qualities, that movie is like one of the Burton Batmans, yet mercilessly stripped of its unique touches. I prefer seening the Penguin spitting out his monocle (Burton's subtle way of giving the finger to comic purists), to a thousand scenes of Matt Murdock taking vicodin to ease his pain. Realism simply pales before the grandoise, because its so easy to pull off. Make people bleed, make them have conflict, make them speak in halting sentences full of "erms," and "uh's", make them take pain pills. That's not hard. An original idea though, try that one on for size.