Pinhead vs. The 90s

A driven female TV reporter. A runaway street girl with dreams of a better life. An excessively douchey nightclub owner. A heavy metal soundtrack (and theme song). A demon who dispatches his victims by flinging compact discs. 

Now, can we talk sensibly?

We're always discussing these delightful sequels that take a sharp turn into some other dimension, and why that's sometimes good and sometimes not. But this ain't no Aliens. This ain't no New Batch. This is Pinhead Takes Manhattan, or more accurately, Clive Barker's New Nightmare. As the plot explains, Pinhead has broken free from his typical Cenobite functions and has become a straightforward real world slasher -- and the "real world" is New York City (which clearly isn't) in the year Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Two. Gone is the gothic, timeless setting of the vaguely European locations of the first two films - as are nearly all of the "rules" and motivations put in place by their complex (though sometimes flimsy) mythology. Nothing against Parts One & Two, but that story was done and had nowhere to go. If they were gonna press on, there had to be a change - that's reality. But what kind of change is where there seems to be some disagreements. 

The movie starts with that same familiar tone: shadowy surroundings, a mysterious transaction, the Christopher Young title music, a hook-related body explosion. It's comfortable but boring.

Then we meet Brad.

Brad has about a page of dialogue. He shows up for a scene to instruct lead character Joey to be sexier and wear shorter skirts when she conducts her on-camera interviews. Brad has no real plot function, but his snappy dialect and obnoxious demeanor and dated wardrobe and haircut would set us down a path from which we would never return. Brad single-handedly initiated this into "franchise mode": Hellraiser would never be the same. 

And was that so bad? ...Well, they had a good thing going there - and it only would've taken a bit of effort to keep up that sorta Hammer Films vibe they created with the previous two. And it's important to note: following this movie they truly tried to get back to original stories that only vaguely referenced the Cenobite stuff. But it would never be like it was - and it would certainly never be anything like this movie. 

Hell on Earth may be a spike on the timeline, but in many ways that spike stands alone. People have long lamented that the once-supporting "Lead Cenobite" eventually took over the series - simultaneously diminishing his mystique and trivializing the story aspects. In actuality, I've seen five of the seven films that follow this one (yes, there are ten with an eleventh on the way), and those were all convoluted psychological thrillers with barely a mention of Pinhead. 

But no, not this one. This one is The Pinhead Show; it's an origin story, it's an anomaly, it's a renegade, it's a "fuck you" to the fervent fanboys & girls who swore by the books and/or the first films. The menacing chains have become the chainsaw, the razor glove, the machete. He's no longer seeking out the individual souls who summon him via The Box to fulfill their masochistic curiosities and shower them with flowery prose. He's out for blood - any type. A body count. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart. Hell on Earth. 

And when better to start than the 1990s? Upon further exploration we learn that Pinhead's physical self began only as recently as the First World War, but whatever he's made of and whatever he does is timeless; he carries the history and knowledge of humanity within his supernatural essence. So when he's resuscitated into the age of "Achy Breaky Heart" and "Baby Got Back," his disgust is vindicated. This isn't the worst he's seen (either physically or psychically), but clearly there's been no evolution in regards to the brand of enlightenment he dispenses. He's now here to punish with pleasure (rather than please with punishment), and it comes to fruition in one of the more famous scenes in the film (and maybe the franchise).

Pinhead unleashes Hell on a crowd of unsuspecting nightclub patrons in an orgy of bloody latex and VFX. I find it as satisfying as the pool party in Freddy's Revenge or the cornfield slaughter in Freddy vs. Jason or any confrontation in the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre. I recently poured my heart out in regards to my boredom with the Slasher genre - and it's because I only ever want scenes like this. I don't know if that makes me lowbrow but I'm not sorry about it - they make these movies about these savage monsters who are frequently and bafflingly too timid to just go ahead and kill the cast. So when something like this happens, it's just about the most believable thing in this or any of these movies. 

It was easy to not be scared of Pinhead and the 'bites because I'd never had any intention to dive into the Lament Configuration. Hell on Earth removes that safety net and asserts that I could get a hook in the hand at any moment. What's worse is that I could end up as part of his crew - damned to saunter around in black pleather with my lips stapled to my nuts for all eternity (or at least until the next sequel). But that was another neato part of this movie: the way Cenobites are made like comic book villains. Whatever basic traits they had when they were alive mixed with however they were killed and presto change-o: Camerahead, Pistonhead, CDhead, et al. The lore this movie gave was noticeably more accessible and cartoonish, and I'm somehow both pleased and put off by it. 

There are smudges throughout that are unfortunate. While still a theatrical release, it was still low budget stuff - which was handled decidedly well with the first two, but wobbled under the weight of their attempt to turn this one into an Action picture. The nastiness of the gore is made a little less nasty with some lazier effects, and it's tough to turn a general mood into movement. There's an awkward foot chase in which Joey (Terry Farell) frolics down a poorly-dressed city street at night while dodging fireballs, reckless drivers, and downed power lines - because Pinhead don't run. Though this is immediately followed by the best scene in the movie as Joey seeks refuge in a church - which backfires as Pinhead follows behind and joyfully mocks the establishment in grotesque ways. This scene actually managed to piss off the Jesus freaks - which means this so-called silly sequel still had some teeth.

This movie was born outta 3 things: the rise of Dimension Films, the fall of New World Pictures, and the fact that virtually no one from the previous installments (except Doug Bradley) were willing to reprise their roles. What that meant was: Clive Barker was to never again have any creative input, and Pinhead now belonged to Miramax. And throughout the decade, they would do as much for him as they did for Michael Myers - more or less just shitting the bed on screen. So, save for Part IV (which I also like), Hell on Earth is the next-to-final act in what I consider to be the official Hellraiser Quadrilogy: an unbroken narrative in which the supporting character with nails in his head becomes the surprise lead to guide us through some fucked up folklore about a sadomasochistic Rubik's Cube. We visit Hell, the U.S., the U.K., outer space, World War One, the Vietnam War, 1796, 2127, and, unmistakably, the 1990s.

- Paul

BENNETT INVENTORY : Thrice Upon a Time

Oh, yeah, the "threequel." Who needs 'em, amiright? What, there's more story left to tell? Can you prove it? You think our standards are so low that we'll just eat the brand name? Why do you require so much of my time?

You ever ask these questions? You should. Howard Beale woulda wanted you to. It'd probably be good for you - not like an "all the time" thing, just in moderation. I still haven't seen the third Matrix or Lord of the Rings movies and I wake up every morning with clear sinuses and little-to-no stiffness in my neck and shoulders.

The saying goes, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, Tokyo Drift."
We got a buncha fav threes here: Die Hard 3, Batman 3, Star Wars 3, Night of the Living Dead 3, The Amigos 3. The internet has already told us how much we love Ghostbusters 3, so we're already ahead of the game.

How 'bout them thirds that use money to replace the boring, cheap stuff of their predecessors: Army of Darkness, Beyond Thunderdome, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, Debbie Does Dallas: The Final Chapter.

You always compare them to the original or the second one (or in many cases, the fourth, the fifth, to infinity and beyond), so they'll always be in the shadows, acting forced and barely functional.

I know what you're thinking: "Toxic masculinity is a strain on our culture." But we're talking movies here - particularly Part 3s, and you need to pay attention because there's a list coming.

There have been a few that have been more competent, more vile, more musical, more different, more better. Or, less superfluous, less transparent, less intrusive, less Ewoks.

I wouldn't apply any asinine, presumptuous 'blog list' words or phrases like "underrated" or "reconsider these" - but here's a bowlful of Threes for you & me that tend to get overlooked by the census bureau (and sometimes that's a good thing).

Watch them or don't. At least now you'll know. Stay woke.

- Paul

Disappointed with the not-too-subtle satire of Part 2 but you like the added production value? Leatherface may be the installment for you. All comparisons aside, I'm not shy about my feeling that, on its own, it's one of the best Hicksploitation flicks around.
The role of the demented Sawyer brother (originated by Edwin Neal) doesn't leave a lotta room for interpretation, but it certainly doesn't require any restraint - and they've only ever cast the perfect guy for the role (Bill Moseley, McConaughey). Following suit, Viggo Mortensen brings a quieter menace to his version, which only adds to the standout qualities of this installment. B+

Dark tones mixed with lite comedy - John Landis is the man for the job... Except this ain't 1980s John Landis, folks, and we're left with a bit of a farce here. The cocaine/titty bar aesthetic of the first two is literally replaced with a Disney-like theme park - and that very intentional irony wears off really fast.
The Faltermeyer theme has been reworked into a more traditional 'movie score' that sounds like a computer game from 1991. The stunts are replaced with slapstick. There's a fully choreographed song & dance number to a Supremes song 5 minutes into the film. This is 90s John Landis. And you know what? I guess it's alright. Eddie's funnier than he'd been in a while, and the plot is about as much fun as a good coloring book. Had it been called something else with no relationship to any other movie, we might've had a winner. B

You know me: I love some suburban paranormal activity, but I love it more when the monster hits the town.
Carol Anne is living with her aunt & uncle in a Chicago skyscraper apartment, which serves as a gothic, towering beehive of the zombies and ghosts that follow her everywhere. The movie's famous for two things: not being as good as the original, and its bodacious practical FX - literally done largely with smoke and mirrors. The elegant, upscale settings deny the movie of any color - or a cohesive story, which, those two elements together make for one creepy-weird good time. B

I'm hard-pressed to think of another franchise in which the tone and quality remains this consistent - which is a surprise considering the talent went south with immediate followups like Wrongfully Accused, Mafia!, et. al. Fred Ward and Kathleen Freeman are always a godsend, and Anna Nicole is lovely, but this movie has a few of the strongest and funniest bits in the whole series: the sperm bank, the 'great escape' -- but the silliest and most ambitious sequence is the Academy Awards Show climax that erupts into an orgasm of choreographed slapstick and hijinks that the Stooges only ever dreamed of having enough time & money for. B+

Remove the Strasberg-style improv, the guerrilla-style production, the soul-crushing sense of dread, and you've got Book of Shadows. Now, try to reintegrate these elements into a corpse long-dead, and it smells not too good.
We saw this in a theater packed with kids who were amped up for whatever-the-fuck movie you could've thrown at them (think of the Bride of the Monster premiere in Ed Wood); they screamed, they laughed, they cheered, they shouted things at the movie, they were completely taken with the jump scares and spooky trees and whatever else happened in this lemon. I've not seen it since, because their joy became ours for that single viewing, and without them, I'm afraid we have nothing more to talk about. D+

They say this one has a surprise ending

The attractive, magical idea of a standalone, sequel-less movie first entered my head when I was 7 years old, when my father offhandedly stated that he hoped that they would never make an Edward Scissorhands 2, citing how such a thing would detract from the already-perfect story and bittersweet closure. This was the first time I'd ever considered such a concept, and I was of a split mind (pause for laughter...) on the idea. It's difficult for the child mind to grasp the notion of not wanting any kinda continuation of a world I'd been so enamored with. (After all, isn't this the lucrative basis on which all franchises are born?) But what my father said challenged my superficial yearning for more of everything/anything and got me thinkin' about the sanctity and purity of a singular story and the allure of inevitable loose ends.

The point of this longwindedness is to hopefully set up a framework for: my indelible adoration/frustration with Unbreakable, my holy-shit-fantasy-come-true reaction to Split, and, yes, eventually my still-simmering 'hot take' on Glass.

Anyone who's kept up with this site for the past 10+ years should already be aware of how I've consistently championed Unbreakable as one of the best movies of the 2000s, and certainly M. Night's greatest cinematic achievement. To this day, I'm still pleasantly confused in regards to its popularity with other moviegoers who aren't me: billed as "From the director of The Sixth Sense," I'd've assumed people would've been put off by a slow-burn character study with very little 'action' and no second act. But I was pleased; it gave me hope as to how well it did financially and how post-1999 cinema could be about big marquee movies that focused on low-key moods & high-concept premises grounded in expert cinematography and fresh capabilities. And, as usual, it was nice to be on board with the public re. a popular culture signpost. And whatever everyone else took from it, we were all able to agree on one thing: the ending.
That goddamn ending.

Because these essays are written for entertainment purposes only, there will be minor spoilers throughout (which is actually pretty consistent with most published reviews). Also, while I don't feel like dissecting the guy's entire filmography movie by movie, I figure while we're here, we should address the 'twists' situation and get a few thing straight.
I like his endings - I like the idea of them. They're typically imaginative and organic to the stories they follow. But for a guy who's a competent screenwriter and expert director, he can't seem to exercise any tact when it comes to the art of the reveal (which, really, is the whole meat of the burger). These ideas must read fantastically on paper, but on the screen they play out like a recap of Part One of a two-part TV movie; recycled scenes and dialogue from earlier in the film play out in a jumble of bad editing and clumsy exposition. If an audience can't retain stuff they saw 90 minutes ago, what makes you think they're even paying attention at all? Notwithstanding, Unbreakable doesn't quite follow this model -- No, its conclusive gaffe is much more bizarre: a series of title cards assuring us that completely uninteresting events took place after the movie ended. It's a startlingly amateurish head-scratcher in an otherwise magnificent film, and will always be a big black asterisk next to the title.

Weak storytelling devices aside, Unbreakable's Dragnet-like ending all but guaranteed that it was closed-off from potential sequels. Part of me always kinda appreciated this guarantee - in the handful of things that make the movie unique is that it is just a first act that manages to be more engrossing than most traditionally-structured stories. And after 16 years it sits high as the crown jewel in an uneven film career -- and clearly I don't think I was alone in feeling that way.

In every instance, this 'ending problem' has overshadowed each individual movie. I can't think of Sixth Sense, Signs, or The Village without confronting all the same aforementioned hangups. Similarly - albeit conversely - Split suffers this same hiccup in a most ironic way. Watching it again recently, it's easy to forget that it's an all-around headbanger and effortlessly one of the best of 2016. The kidnapping sub-genre can often derail into grotesque places which sometimes diffuses what generates its suspense in the first place; and because of its Hitchcockian tones and performance-driven plot, it felt like a return to form for the man who was once supposed to be "the next Hitchcock."

And many will find it hard to believe: as I sat watching it for the first time - roughly halfway through - I thought (perhaps subconsciously) that this particular story could potentially serve as some kinda crossover device with Unbreakable. This thought left my head as quickly as it came in, and I wish I'd said it aloud so someone could've witnessed my premonition.
Call it wishful thinking, or maybe there actually are subliminal clues throughout that alerted me to what would be The Ending To End All Endings.

In fact, is it fair to say that we didn't even need a continuation? Was Split's ending enough of a rush that no movie could've lived up to what those last 60 seconds promised? In a non-rhetorical frame of mind, after taking a look at Glass, I would answer 'yes.'

But let's not come at it from that direction. All that really states is: in this disjointed trilogy, Unbreakable is the better movie. And that's fine - I can live with that. And while I've not read any fan or critical reaction (I rarely do), I can imagine that, as with any highly anticipated sequel, it doesn't meet expectation. I know - it didn't meet mine. And again, that's fine.

What it is is that, for years, I've wrestled with the frustration of, "Why won't this guy make a sequel to Unbreakable?" And what happened was that he made a sequel to Split instead. And once you stop crying and catch your breath, you realize that's not entirely a bad thing. And it's not an entirely missed opportunity either - the shades of Unbreakable are still there, and the attempts to get Samuel into center stage don't go unnoticed. Though the fact remains: there wasn't any story left in Unbreakable to tell -- like a comic book, it's just onto the next adventure, the next villain, the next locale.

But as I've stated so many times in the past, sequels aren't solely about comparison -- there's still a movie here to be seen.

While it's unfortunately not the Mr. Glass movie it could've been, it's also not the David vs. Beast movie it could've been either. What it does is tries to satisfy the needs of its two predecessors, and only manages a small portion for each. What it does accomplish as a Split sequel is that, while the story or the character didn't need any kinda continuation, the performance did. James McAvoy manages to transcend both realism and parody; while there's nothing too subtle about his portrayal, even still you watch extra close to make sure there aren't any flaws.
As far as I can tell, there aren't.

The hard sell is calling attention to the formulaic predictability of comic book structure and lore while most of the moviegoing public has been spoon-fed the real stuff year after year -- it's in their blood. Though not for lack of trying: once again, Sam Jackson's main function is to deliver expository monologues as to exactly what's going on; constantly calling attention to how things are playing out, even though we ourselves can see it plainly. And while this is clearly some shitty writing, you could do worse than giving it to Samuel L. Jackson.

One refreshing masterstroke we're left with is that he does throw in one left-field mystery involving yet-another party of comic book villains that is left comfortingly unexplored.
Regardless, Shyamalan's back on track with a muddled ending bogged down with explanations, connect-the-dots resolutions, and zero faith in audience smarts. After a series of moody, captivating, borderline moving movies - Glass included - we deserved a much stronger ending. But ain't that always the case? We can't complain; if this is an inadequate ending to Unbreakable, well, we're already used to that.

What's important here is that this isn't M. Night at his worst -- it's not even him being mediocre. It's been a long time, but I'm gonna throw caution right into the wind and look forward to what he does next. In other words, party like it's 1999.

- Paul

The Threequel Rises

I can make the very easy assessment that 'Part 3s' are a tricky bunch: Back to the Future III, Return of the Jedi, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III, Godfather III.
Though just as often, it's the second in a series that stumbles: Ocean's 12, European Vacation, Die Hard 2, Temple of Doom.
But you know what? Sometimes it's the first that fails: Friday the 13th, House of 1000 Corpses, Star Trek, Batman Begins.

I think the answer to this math problem is: any followup to 2008's The Dark Knight will receive an extra helping of scrutiny. The End

And so it was... But that's not some kinda George Lucas-type excuse re. good or bad vs. nostalgic expectation. After all, ever since Burton's Batman changed the entire face of pop culture back in '89, haven't we all had a lotta fun comparing and contrasting the varying quality of various Batman movies? And certainly The Dark Knight reignited that passion with people to an exuberant extent.
If you're at all like me (and I know I am), you can take one step back, and you can view Nolan's trilogy as one cohesive story with plenty of highs and a few lows. Though some of you may take two steps back, as you can check and balance every Batman film ever made along your own yardstick. Go back further, and see how one or all of them stack up in the Comic Book Movie-verse. It's all well and good and whatever works for whoever wants... My focus here is The Dark Knight Rises: the third and final movie in Christopher Nolan's trilogy, and the best motion picture made about Batman I've ever seen.

New and improved Joker products!

The last time I went this cold into a Batman film was also the first time - in 1989 - young enough and long enough ago that I can't remember if I even knew who Batman or the Joker were prior to seeing the movie(!) Though not too young to be fully aware of its reception in the world around me, and how one winged freak terrorized the face of the action genre; clearly it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to the rest of the population.
And after however many Batman (and comic book) movies since whenever (you can go all the way back to Richard Donner's 1978 Superman, or even further back still), there's very little room left for said 'surprise.'
But between the accomplishments of the film itself and my own efforts to remain ignorant to spoilers before its release, Dark Knight Rises managed to kickstart more than a bit of shock and awe in both the comic book genre, and the action genre -- and all under the shadow of its wildly popular predecessor no less!

Much like its antagonist, it was already born out of an unfair disadvantage: DKR logistically couldn't be 'The Joker Movie, Part 2.' Though even as a bigger Joker fan than Batman fan, I was prepared to move on (even if the bulk of society clearly wasn't). Even still, I'm not too embarrassed to admit that when it was announced - sometime in 2010 - that the new villain would not be one of the colorful, mainstream headliners we're used to, I was adequately disappointed. And this disappointment was only compounded with the declaration that the main rogue in this - the final installment - would be Bane: a character I'd felt was created simply to indulge wrestling fans in the early 90s. (His scenes of ridiculousness in 1997's Batman & Robin only solidified my theory).

But more than any of this, my rational apprehension grew out of my own very subjective observation that Chris Nolan has more than some difficulty with 'endings'... And what was no doubt building up to be one of the most spectacular endings in cinema history, there was that bit of a chance that it may've very well been building up to one of the most spectacular catastrophes in cinema history. That, plus the reiteration of: how do they top their Joker Movie? The dodgy title certainly wasn't the best start.

We already know how many, many, many sequels are made for the sake of sequels being made, often with a progressive deterioration in quality. And most people seem to attribute this to "making it up as they go along" -- and as I've often firmly stated, I see no correlation between the two. Case in point: The Dark Knight Trilogy - each sequel made only as an incidental result of their creators' desire to continue (and end) the story; "making it up as they go along" by definition, as though forged by the Clown Prince of Crime himself. This is the strongest difference between hack director-for-hire sequels, and artists with the passion to tell a story, and the craftsmanship to do so - and it's most evident in Part 3.

Let the games begin!

The cast and crew were never shy when it came to gushing over the "scale" of this film, and I challenge anyone to not at least gimme that.
Practical effects generally tend to look as real as they are, and I'm never not impressed; a good explosion or car crash always packs more of a punch whenever the cartoon people don't stick their noses in.
The Dark Knight (and in a couple ways, Batman Begins) certainly had its exciting/expensive set pieces: the bank robbery, the tunnel chase, the hospital explosion... But the biggest and most interesting piece of scenery in Part 2 was Heath's Joker. And in lieu of that, DKR sets us up with a roadmap of one prominent, intense, well-choreographed action sequence after another; it's the relentless pace of Die Hard, Terminator 2, Saving Private Ryan, and Speed that I immediately respond to (when it's done to my liking... apologies to 007), and that pace is laced with stunts and twists and camera tricks the likes of which I've rarely (or never) seen. The midair plane hijacking, the seizure of the stock exchange, Gordon's sewer pursuit, Selena's escape from the rooftop, and the underground 'showdown' between Bane and Batman all make for an excellent three-act story structure, but that's only the first act - and at this point in the movie I'm already exhausted.

I'm uncertain as to whatever qualms other moviegoers had with the picture (though I've heard rumors of some) but I'm curious as to what exactly they want or need from the Crusader, or from action movies altogether. But I do know what I do know: the movie (similar to the previous two) is polished with a thick glaze of moral, economical, and socio-political subtext, and I, for one, don't really care. Sure, these 'proclamations' help drive these stories, and without it they would certainly be a lot more aimless and weightless, but it's these nuances that seem to be major points of contention for critics and viewers alike (which are redundantly one in the same).
Me? I never asked for a reinvention of the wheel: I just want my Batman movies to be Batman movies! ...And that's the key to what I consider to be the camouflaged success of Nolan's series - for all his adult subject matter and hyperrealism and social commentary, he has a firm grasp of the reality that he's making comic book movies, and throughout the trilogy he stayed true to what that really really means. And the killing joke of this is that no one seemed to notice or care (though I think it's the former); everyone was so caught up and taken aback by the grittiness and mature themes that sometimes (particularly in the last movie) people completely missed all the fun that was going on.

That's Batman!

Fuckin' A that's Batman - hauling a nuclear weapon out into the middle of the harbor with the intention of sacrificing himself for the wellbeing of Gotham City. And it takes the honesty and excitement of children to point out how shiny the nuts and bolts are that have been there all along (and to also not refer to him as "The" Batman).
What this is leading up and boiling down to is that these movies manage to transcend expectations when Batman does Batman stuff and the villains do villainous things: a colony of bats flying through the halls of Arkham, Two Face and the Joker conspiring against Batman in Gotham General, and the panel-to-screen recreation of Bane's victory over the Dark Knight are a few of the most clearly defined celebrations of the source material. But still, rarely were the movies as conscientiously reminiscent of the original DC Detective (and, without a shred of irony, the 1960s television show) as the second half of The Dark Knight Rises.

Throwing Batman completely out of commission and casting Gotham City into terrorist occupation was, for me, one of the more startling turn of events I've encountered in fiction. (Probably the way everyone else felt when the kid from The Goonies recently turned Spider-Man into hi-res confetti - or so that's the way I've heard it). But anyone familiar with Adam West and Burt Ward strapped to a deadly cliffhanger with seemingly no escape knows the tension and horror of a pessimistic outlook. And if there's anything that bogs down a superhero movie (or any piece of art for that matter) it's always gonna be predictability -- and I never predicted Batman could be so spectacularly defeated, and I certainly couldn't predict how he'd ever prevail.
That's storytelling I can't argue with.

The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance

The Michael Mann-meets-Metropolis scope and tone they created set the standard for just about all the comic book adaptations that followed, but for my own taste, that flavor only really works in the crime genre (which Batman falls under) and not the scifi genre (which all other superheroes fall under). And even though the gimmick of telling these fantastical stories as straightforward cops-and-robbers adventures is what generated most of their praise, there were a few sacrifices in the way of pizazz and panache - most notably in the Batmobile, Catwoman, and the largely underwhelming character of Batman himself. And it may be unfair to blame Christian Bale - as much as it may be unfair to throw praise at other Batmen - when it clearly has more to do with the flick they inhabit, and less to do with who's inhabiting the suit. Apart from Bruce Wayne's dickhead public persona (which is a choice I'm quite fond of), there wasn't a whole lotta added dimension that we weren't already too familiar with. Of course, this could be my own misplaced anticipation - maybe I just expected too much from one of the greatest actors of a generation...
But all nitpicking aside, the authenticity largely never failed and was integral to the accomplishment that is The Dark Knight Rises - in all the obvious (and not so obvious) ways you're thinking of.
Had someone ever asked me (and no one ever did) how to go about making Robin less lame, I don't think I'd've ever come up with an answer -- he's quite distinctly left out of all the best Bat movies. But it would've never occurred to me to ditch even the idea of a costume and simply underline the persona: the younger, like-minded collaborator with the similarly tragic upbringing. I totally bought it and was overjoyed with the outcome.

But let's get really real - there's no need to Batdance around it any longer: the greatest upgrade in perhaps the entire trilogy is the reimagining of the once-ho hum 'supervillain' Bane - who previously didn't feel all that super. Till the movie, I'd lumped him in with all the other scifi rogues that were a huge drag on the franchise for me: Killer Croc, Mr. Freeze, Poison Ivy, Clayface, and anyone else who relied on magic and science instead of guns, knives, bombs, and anger. And after these movies gave us an unblemished track record of rebooted DC baddies for the modern age (even if Scarecrow and Ra's al Ghul are boring in any medium), it should've been no surprise that the towering WWF clown with the intravenous steroid tubes would evolve into something unique and iconic: a conniving cult leader with the mechanical grimace of Darth Vader and the sinister eloquence of Pinhead. For sure an extraordinary achievement in writing, costume design, and overall concept, but the strict truth is that this entire essay could've been spent discussing the brilliantly eccentric performance of Tom Hardy.

Without a doubt, if everyone was going to hold this movie up next to Dark Knight for comparison, then we were certainly going to pore over all the diversity between Bane, the Joker, and the actors who played them... But that's an apples and oranges situation and I don't need to do that for you - you can do it yourself.
What I can say is that, unlike the Joker, Bane doesn't have the sprawling frame of reference of over 70 years of evolution and several live action performances (often by Oscar winners...). Tom Hardy's interpretation of the masked man was an invention - an actor's offbeat translation pulled directly from literature, like Hannibal Lecter or Anton Chigurh.
Because of my lack of interest, I'd only ever had peripheral awareness of the character; apart from my barely-attentive single viewing of Batman & Robin, he didn't appear in my very short stack of comic books, and his episode of The Animated Series didn't stay with me. Dark Knight Rises was the much more formal introduction, and it was a brilliance I wasn't expecting: yet another surprise from a flick full of 'em.
So today I'm not too embarrassed to admit that I'm a bona fide Bane fan - and Tom Hardy fan.
At the rate these comic book adaptations are being produced, I can't imagine that we won't be seeing this adversary again, and I'll be curious to see exactly where Hardy set the bar for other actors, and just how definitive his rendition may turn out to be.

Like everything from the Nolan/DC universe, I'm guessing 'very.' 'Very definitive.' And more than that: influential. But like other 'influential' films (French Connection, Star Wars, Halloween, Animal House, Pulp Fiction, Sixth Sense) there'll be a spell of homages and ripoffs - often mediocre by comparison, and always missing that one-two punch of originality/surprise.
We're in one of these spells now I find. And as usual, no one's really upset or turned off by it. And you know what I say? It's ok. Now seems like an appropriate time for superheroes to dominate culture, and I'll allow it. I wish the quality of the films could be better (a lot better), but clearly it's not about that for most; everyone's caught up in something that's harmless and fun, and I can't poohpooh that. And like I said, it's a trend; at the end of the day, we'll have a trilogy of expertly crafted 'influential' films that we can always go back to as they stand the test of time, and we'll have dozens of campy, bubblegum time-fillers to throw on in the background so we can reminisce and say, "Hey, remember the 2010s when everyone was trying make the Dark Knight movies over and over again?"

- Paul