Film Review: BATMAN RETURNS (1992, Tim Burton)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 126 minutes.
Tag-line: "The Bat, The Cat, The Penguin."
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by Sam Hamm (BATMAN '89, Joe Dante's HOMECOMING) and Daniel Waters (HEATHERS, DEMOLITION MAN).  Starring Michael Keaton (BEETLEJUICE, MR. MOM), Danny DeVito (TWINS, TAXI, ROMANCING THE STONE), Michelle Pfeiffer (DANGEROUS MINDS, SCARFACE), Christopher Walken (MCBAIN, THE DEER HUNTER), Michael Murphy (TANNER '88, NASHVILLE), Michael Gough (TROG, SLEEPY HOLLOW), Pat Hingle (SUDDEN IMPACT, NORMA RAE), Vincent Schiavelli (ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, AMADEUS), Jan Hooks (PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE, SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE), Doug Jones (PAN'S LABYRINTH, "The Gentleman" on BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER), Paul Reubens (PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE, BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER THE MOVIE), Sean Whalen (THE PEOPLE UNDER THE STAIRS, LOST), Diane Salinger (PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE, GHOST WORLD).  Music by Danny Elfman (THE UNKNOWN KNOWN, BEETLEJUICE). Production Design by Bo Welch (MEN IN BLACK, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS). Art Direction by Tom Duffield (ED WOOD, BEETLEJUICE) and Rick Heinrichs (THE BIG LEBOWSKI, STAR WARS: EPISODE VIII). Special Penguin Makeup and Effects Production by Stan Winston (THE TERMINATOR, ALIENS, PREDATOR, A.I.).
Best One-liner:"You gotta admit I played this stinkin' city like a harp from hell!"

A whirlwind, three-ring circus of Neo-Gothic exuberance and German Expressionistic mayhem, Tim Burton's BATMAN RETURNS is, for my money, the finest of all the BATMAN films and a last great gasp of Classic Hollywood artistry lurking in the shape of a playfully subversive superhero movie (set at Christmastime). It's a movie so delightfully insane and packed to the gills with chaotic performances and sheer spectacle that afterward you might even overlook specific details that would be unforgettable in a different film, like Vincent Schiavelli commandeering a life-sized toy choo-choo train of kidnapping and child murder:

or a mangy poodle wielding a grenade:

or a circus strongman beating the devil out of a Salvation Army Santa Claus with a Rosebud sled:

And all of this in what is ostensibly a children's movie, lavishly marketed by mainstream tastemakers, tied in with McDonald's Happy Meals, and available at every mall in America––one could argue that Burton pulled off the artistic coup of the decade. In this vein, and in the vein of my beloved minutiae, allow me to extrapolate on my 10 favorite things about the film.  (There are a few spoilers, but I think I can safely assume that you've already seen BATMAN RETURNS.)

#10. Pee Wee (Paul Reubens) and Simone (Diane Salinger) as the Penguin's disaffected martini-swilling parents in an expressionistic prologue seemingly designed to "out-Edward Gorey" Edward Gorey.

It's an apparent dark coda to their near-romance in PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE ("Au revoir, Pee Wee!").

#9. The aforementioned Vincent Schiavelli as an organ grinder with a Gatling gun inside his music box.


This is the sort of thing I mean when I say "playfully subversive." This is a summer tentpole studio action movie, for God's sake, and we've got sad-eyed character actors gunning down well-wishers at a Christmas tree-lighting ceremony!

#8. Evil clown bikers wearing oversized bobble-head skulls with googly eyes, chipped teeth, and hypno-wheels painted across their domes.

This is simply one of many details in a startling sequence of what amounts to "clown terrorism," but is truly an embarrassment of circus-horror riches.

#7. And in light of this carnivalistic assault, it becomes apparent that Batman has outfitted the Batmobile with a specific countermeasure for upending fire-juggling stilt walkers––namely these Schweet Stilt-Knockin' Paddle Wings.




I'm glad he finally got the chance to use those. Speaking of Batman––

#6. No Batman. Ostensibly the film is about him and his "return." And yet the title character appears in only 3 of the film's first 44 minutes. You might as well take Keaton's face off of the poster and replace him with Christopher Walken.

This is actually the story of three psychologically unbalanced characters and their increasingly manic quest for image control: Christopher Walken's Max Shreck (named for the silent film legend), Danny DeVito's Oswald Cobblepot, and Michelle Pfeiffer's Selina Kyle. Batman is but an ancillary character.

#5. Did I mention that the film takes place within Shreck's kleptocratic urban dystopia, ruled over by ubiquitous, leering depictions of an evil Felix the Cat?

This logo represents the Shreck Corporation, the true ruler of Gotham (who uses the Mayor, played by Altman standby Michael Murphy, as a prop until it is no longer politically expedient)
 
and its branding leaks into Gotham's real estate, energy, and commerce––it even governs how Gothamites tell time.

Shreck's image control is based in silencing his critics, and in a few notable cases he murders them, from his business partner down to his secretary. He positions himself as a political kingmaker, appropriating from Nixon and Boss Tweed

 

and his quest for power has a nice (electrical) arc that sees him becoming the literal embodiment of "power" while still retaining his shock of white hair.

 This scene always felt very "Large Marge" to me.

#4. Said kingmaking is of DeVito's Cobblepot, who explicitly wants to know "who I am"

 

and tracks down his birth parents (in a graveyard), blackmails major corporations, brandishes severed hands, poses for photo ops, runs for mayor, proposes Biblical plagues, and evokes Werner Krauss' Dr. Caligari (from THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI)

while making remarks like "You flush it, I flaunt it!" which could just as easily be a quote from his character on IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA. It's a hurly-burly "riches to rags, rags to riches, riches back to rags story," and while you can take the boy out of the sewer, it becomes more difficult to take the sewer out of the boy, which is beautifully illustrated in the following scene––

#3. Whereupon a preening political operatives Jan Hooks and Steve Witting prepare DeVito for his poll-tested makeover

and DeVito's Penguin responds in a Joe Pesci-style outburst of violence by biting Witting's nose, which proceeds to gush blood.

(This scene was especially memorable to my childhood self, who had never seen such an unexpected eruption of Pesci-style violence onscreen.)

#2. In his final persona, that of a fat man-baby in dirty drawers (soon to be spewing actual, black bile), he addresses an assembly of penguins who are wearing little missiles like backpacks.

 

Burton evokes George Patton's penchant for chest-thumping belligerence in a rather inspired bit of subversion. It's as if this entire film was constructed for the purpose of undermining popular myths, whether municipal, political, corporate, militaristic, or sexual––which leads me to the créme de la créme, or at least the cat who got the cream––

#1. Pfeiffer's Selina Kyle. She's unceremoniously shoved to her death (by Schreck, her boss) and reborn as "Catwoman," who has eight more lives to redefine herself and emerge from the shadow of Shreck's corporate branding.

She does this while wearing barely enough PVC to cover Michelle Pfeiffer, which has been vacuum sealed and held together by autopsy stitching. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It's her initial transition that is the most remarkable, as she destroys the markers of her CATHY-style, stereotypical single woman's existence in an amazingly deranged sequence that sees her annihilating the very concept of corporate girlhood, even using traditional instruments of homemaking to fuel the destruction. She feeds her stuffed animals to the garbage disposal,


smashes mirrors and Hummel figurines with a frying pan,

makes like a punk Nora Helmer and spray-paints her doll's house black

and adjusts her polite and demure "HELLO THERE" neon sign (which is already cool enough to be in a Jarmusch movie)

into the more appropriate "HELL HERE." She then proceeds to slink around in her new S&M costume in a fabulous tableau of yowling, mewling, and posing.

Her subsequent lives see a number of interesting adjustments, from department store bomber to agent provocateur to day-job slacker. She tries "socialite" on for size during a sequence where she dates some rich guy (I think his name was Bruce Wayne?). One of her lives is even spent as Paul Kersey. It's short-lived, but this is straight out of DEATH WISH––a proto-Tommy Wiseau is taking liberties with a holiday shopper in an alleyway when he encounters Catwoman's particular brand of vigilante justice:



The ol' Tic-Tac-Toe.

Though I have to say my favorite Catwoman-related moment might be when she concludes a scene in the Penguin's bedroom (charged with a weirdo, nearly pre-pubescent sexual fascination on the Penguin's part) by saying "Maybe I'll just give myself a bath right here."


and proceeds to lick her costume while the Penguin lolls around, aroused and confused, in the background.

––Sean Gill

"You Have Now Eaten Thirty-Four Spiders" in Eclectica Magazine's 20th Anniversary Speculative Anthology

My speculative, satirical short story "You Have Now Eaten Thirty-Four Spiders," originally published by Eclectica Magazine in April 2014, has just been collected in their 20th Anniversary print anthology, which is available for purchase here. Of the anthology, Charles Yu (Sorry Please Thank You, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe) writes:

"Sean Gill’s 'You Have Now Eaten Thirty-Four Spiders' conjures an entire world with economy and verbal wit... That so much interesting work was published by one magazine is a testament to the openness and wide-ranging taste of the editors, and their finely attuned ability to detect, in many strange, fresh and unfamiliar styles and tones, something new and pure, of a melody, of a real singer singing a real song, in a key that hasn’t been heard before."

Only now does it occur to me... TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING (1977)

Only now does it occur to me... that TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING (1977)––a film I hadn't even heard of until a few weeks ago––is one of the finest political thrillers of its generation. Directed by master craftsman Robert Aldrich (KISS ME DEADLY, THE DIRTY DOZEN, WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE, EMPEROR OF THE NORTH), it's a chamber drama of the highest order (and with the highest stakes possible), and the only contemporary film of its kind I can think of that explores the disillusionment of post-Nixon America with such magnified audacity.

The set-up is this: an Air Force General (Burt Lancaster) has threatened to spill a few inconvenient truths about the Vietnam War to the American public––and winds up in prison for his trouble.

After befriending some fellow convicts (Paul Winfield and Burt Young, in sympathetic performances),


he busts out of jail and hijacks a nuclear missile silo (!), threatening to begin WWIII unless the sitting President, who had nothing to do with Vietnam (Charles Durning, sort of standing in for Carter), publicly releases the incriminating documents. To modern audiences, it may encourage comparisons to THE ROCK (1996), from its likable, spurned, and volatile General to the ginger handling of green, gel-based chemical weapons (sarin gel) in a particularly suspenseful sequence.


Above all, it's an adult thriller, brilliantly acted and directed, that trusts its audience to understand its labyrinthine politics and moral shades of gray. It could easily be a stage play, with the nuclear bunker on stage left and the Oval Office on stage right.

Charles Durning is particularly remarkable––he's sensitive and firm in his portrayal, the kind of clearheaded President you'd want on the front lines when something heavy goes down, like Henry Fonda in FAIL-SAFE or Martin Sheen on THE WEST WING. He grapples with the idea of the presidency becoming a puppet beholden to a shadow government, wondering if said government does not trust its own people, how can the people trust it? As a Carter-figure operating under the shadow of the presidents who came before, he must determine whether or not executive opacity has already crossed its Rubicon––or does the corrupted infrastructure yet contain an exit strategy for a decent man?

There's also a great moment where a brigadier general steals Durning's scotch

and Durning reprimands him, shouting:

"That's my drink, you make your own fucking drink!"

The supporting cast is a Who's Who of Old Hollywood testosterone, featuring everyone from Melvyn Douglas to Joseph Cotten to Richard Jaeckel to Richard Widmark.
 
And because it's a thriller with so few locations, Aldrich pumps it up with a style best described as "Brian De Palma on steroids," with plenty of two-way, three-way, and four-way split screens. Unlike De Palma, the tone is slightly detached, and consequently you almost feel like you're watching different news feeds of a historical event, rather than different channels jockeying for your attention.


Finally, Jerry Goldmith's wonderful score lends it a real, melancholy, FIRST BLOOD vibe. Like that film, it paints a picture for people who aggressively love America but don't think it's above reproach. (I guess I'm saying not to expect THE GREEN BERETS.) In all, it's an underseen gem with a clear and fervent voice that suceeds both as a white-knuckle thriller and as an investigation of a sadder, wiser American people.





Also, on a more frivolous note––half of the Rebellion from STAR WARS is working for the U.S. government in this movie: Garrick Hagon (Biggs Darklighter in STAR WARS),


William Hootkins (Jek Porkins in STAR WARS),


and John Ratzenberger (Bren Derlin in THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK)


all appear in bit parts as American soldiers.

"Obsessions: Authoritarian Kitsch" Online at ZYZZYVA

A new short essay of mine called "Authoritarian Kitsch" is available to read online at ZYZZYVA, as a part of their ongoing "Obsessions" series. It takes on some of my more complicated feelings regarding camp entertainment––and when it overlaps with fascist mythmaking.

ZYZZYVA is a San Francisco literary journal, founded in 1985, that has published work by writers such as Haruki Murakami, Amy Tan, and Ursula K. Le Guin.

Only now does it occur to me... THE BLACK CAT (1981)

Only now does it occur to me... that Lucio Fulci's THE BLACK CAT is one of the most compartmentalized films of all time, bizarre in its dissociation even for Fulci, an assemblage of isolated parts that come to approach abstract art. If you were to see individual clips out of context, your descriptions might resemble the fable of the blind men and the elephant.

A good 10% of THE BLACK CAT is roaming cat POV. This is to be expected, as it's an Italian horror movie from the 1980s called THE BLACK CAT. If Fulci had directed ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, at least 10% of it would have been bird POV.

But being as it's an Italian horror film with POV and black cats, obviously the cats are going to be doing some murdering. And so about 5% of the film is a disembodied cat paw being dragged across human flesh.

It's a feat of puppetry, the likes of which we would never see again at least until the appearance of Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog.

This ain't CAT'S EYE, but about 15% of the movie is cat eyeball closeups. We don't really get the classic Fulci trauma-shot, but practically every cat attack is preceded by EXTREME CLOSEUP: HUMAN EYEBALLS, EXTREME CLOSEUP: CAT EYEBALL, EXTREME CLOSEUP: HUMAN EYEBALLS, EXTREME CLOSEUP: CAT EYEBALL, CLOSEUP: CAT FLUNG AT HUMAN EYEBALLS. You feel like you're watching one of the duels in a Sergio Leone film, except with cats instead of Clint Eastwood.

10% of the movie is "charming-but-spooky English small town" atmosphere. It feels a bit like STRAW DOGS or AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON.

 

The fog machines are working overtime, in other words.

Now for a downer: 25% of the movie is Mimsy Farmer, looking at things. Looking concerned.

 

Right now, she is concerned by Patrick Magee, pictured on the right.

 

Look, I have nothing against Mimsy Farmer, whether she's nuzzling with Lee Van Cleef in the Italian WILD GEESE rip-off CODE NAME: WILD GEESE or wiggin' out in Argento's FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET. I can never decide if she's unexceptionally inoffensive or inoffensively unexceptional. It's not her fault, though. She's given practically nothing to do and has a compelling set of eyebrows as a scene partner half the time. Which leads me to:

35% of this movie is Patrick Magee eyebrow action. 

 

You may remember him overdoing it in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. If that's the case, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

The eyebrows have been unleashed. Even the cat is powerless.

This is what puts it over the edge. I'm gonna be honest, without Patrick Magee, this would be a contender for Fulci's worst film. As is, it's in the bottom tier, but, can you say no to this face?

If we're going to split hairs, Fulci probably should have called this film THE WILD EYEBROW.

Also, outside of the last five minutes, THE BLACK CAT has nothing to do with Edgar Allan Poe's story. Even the last five minutes are a stretch. If Fulci's THE BLACK CAT is an adaptation of Poe's "The Black Cat," then we might as well say that PLACES IN THE HEART is an adaptation of "The Tell-Tale Heart." But if you want another whacked-out Italian take on the same story with equal amount of cat POV and 100% more Harvey Keitel, I highly recommend Argento's segment of TWO EVIL EYES, which I have to believe is some kind of taunt directed at Fulci. 

And because I can't plug this enough, if psychotic cat attacks are your jam, you're doing yourself a disservice if you've not seen Ngai Kai Lam's THE CAT.

"Forbidden Melodies from a Diminishing Octave" in So It Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library

My latest short story, a science-fiction satire called "Forbidden Melodies from a Diminishing Octave," has just been published in the "Indiana Bicentennial" issue (Issue No. 5) of So It Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library and it is now available for purchase in print.

The Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library is located in Indianapolis, Indiana and is a leading champion in preserving Vonnegut's legacy, fighting censorship, and giving a voice to veteran artists and writers. I'm extremely proud to be a part of So It Goes, which has previously featured work by Tim O'Brien (The Things They Carried), Etheridge Knight (Poems from Prison), Marge Piercy (He, She, and It), and comedian Lewis Black.

"I'm back. I'm home. All the time, it was.... We finally did it. You maniacs. You blew it up..."

"Beyond the Terminus, Beyond" in Sonora Review

A new short story of mine, "Beyond the Terminus, Beyond," [which was chosen earlier this year as the winner of the 2016 Sonora Review Fiction Prize by judge Molly Antopol (The UnAmericans)] is now available for purchase in Sonora Review #70.