No Laughing Matter

The Dark Knight touches a collective nerve with its relentlessly bleak vision

It has broken numerous box office records, has been universally praised by critics, is talked about around kegs and water coolers, and you’ve probably already seen it at least once. It could go on to become the highest grossing film of all time, and there’s talk of Oscars. Just what is it that makes The Dark Knight, a violent, chaotic comic book movie not really suitable for the under-13 demographic, such a phenomenal crowd- and critic-pleasing success?

There are multiple surface reasons to like the film, from its ultra-precise set design, impeccable cinematography and exciting action scenes, to its identifiable, conflicted characters given life by a (mostly) strong ensemble cast. But many other films have had these elements and not been as commercially or artistically successful. What seems to set this superhero/action epic apart from so many of its predecessors — and resonate with audiences — is the filmmakers’ willingness to explore the darker, psychologically complex elements that were always inherent to the Batman myth, but were brought to the foreground in the mid- to late-’80s comic book revamping of the character by writers such as Frank Miller (The Dark Knight, Batman: Year One) and Alan Moore (The Killing Joke). The screenplay by brothers Christopher and Jonathan Nolan owes a huge debt to those two writers, and in some cases it seems whole chunks of the comic book dialogue have been only slightly rewritten or outright purloined.

Those graphic novels were products of the apocalyptically paranoid Reagan years, when virtues necessary to the superhero ethos (truth, honor, justice, mercy) seemed particularly challenged in political, business and even private spheres. Many comics, and particularly the Batman books, began to reflect a more pessimistic vision of the world, and as their covers reminded us, were “For Mature Readers.” (Just as the PG-13 DK is definitely not for kids who scare easily.) Of all the reworking of Gotham City’s decaying environment and morally bankrupt citizenry, one character stood out as being head and shoulders more menacing, more murderous, more insane and, at the same time, more fun than the rest. That would, of course, be the Joker, and in director Christopher Nolan’s cinematic version, the character’s anarchic nature is allowed full flight.

Like Milton’s Satan, he’s more interesting than the good guys; Like King Lear’s Fool, he utters hard truths that the sane won’t acknowledge, such as: In a world gone insane the best coping mechanism is insanity, and people are only as good as the world allows them to be. Though DK offers moments that insist it doesn’t favor the Joker’s philosophy — most notably in a sinister set piece near the end — those moments ring more hollow and stilted than the gleeful anarchy it revels in when the Joker takes the stage.

All the praise and superlatives you’ve heard about Heath Ledger’s performance are accurate; it’s one of those rare roles that you can’t imagine anyone else fulfilling as he does. His Joker will go down in history as one of the great screen villains, a truly malevolent, sick creature whose inhuman behavior is made all the more disturbing by Ledger’s all-too-human portrayal. (And we’re lying to ourselves if we don’t think his unfortunate death in January doesn’t add an extra layer of creepiness and severity to our reading of the performance.) Ledger exhibits a controlled chaos behind the smeared makeup, and both the fun and the menace of the character stem from his unpredictability. He isn’t motivated and doesn’t operate like traditional villains (a fact that’s reiterated a bit too often in the film's dialogue), and it's clear from the opening scene anything can happen when the Joker is onscreen.

Not to take anything away from Ledger’s performance, but much of the credit for this version of the Joker has to go to Nolan, as well as the producers, who allowed a kid-friendly franchise to travel into such un-kid-friendly territory. Much as those Miller, Moore, et al. stories reflected the dour decade of the ’80s, DK may very well be so successful in part because it’s more honest and more adult than most big-budget Hollywood films in its conveyance of how frightening and despairing the world can seem to even the most numb or Pollyannaish American moviegoer today. In DK’s world, even if the heroes ultimately triumph, the damage done along the way is acute and irreversible.

Don’t mistake the grim tone and dark hues for realism, though. DK is firmly rooted in the fantastical world of comic book broad strokes and logic. Virtually none of what happens in its two-and-a-half hours is plausible, and it’s to the credit of everyone involved that such a serious, existential tone is sustained throughout.

I hope the enormous success of this more adult-oriented DK doesn’t produce a demand for more nihilistic, less nuanced superhero films preening under the guise of “mature.” That’s what happened to comic books in the post-Miller/Moore world, and it was ultimately to the medium’s detriment. The tortured psyche of Bruce Wayne/Batman and his symbiotic relationship with the Joker is fairly unique, and is rooted in years of yin/yang back-story (near the end of the film, Ledger’s character all but confesses, “I wish I knew how to quit you” to Christian Bale’s Batman). With DK, the Batman mythos has finally been given a fitting cinematic treatment, and our society’s most shaky, uncertain period in decades means the Joker’s time has arrived.