...The Dark Knight

One must be tough to be in love, or so I would gather.

I was going to blog on something entirely different just now, but with a will like the wind, I am now blogging on the cinema event of the year, thus far. It is epic, but not perfect; it is strong medicine, but not the cure. It is "The Dark Knight", and it is better than good.

I will spare you all my inept film criticism and instead share a unique thought I had on the movie itself. I don't say unique in that I'm the only one who has this thought, but unique in that I did not expect this thought to come from myself.

When my wife and I (give it up for her guest blog last week!) saw TDK for the first time two weeks ago, two things hit me the most. First was that Heath Ledger's grave should be adorned with gold statuettes early next year, and two...well, two was harder to put into context, much less words. Tina, my wife, got a little impatient with me, and then the puzzle finally clicked. I knew what it meant to me, if no one else. It was a perfect, modernized, symbolic take on the personas of World War Two. Let me explain.

I am no conspiracy buff, who attaches two disparate things together, and then calls the rest of the world blind for not seeing the connection. But some thoughts came to mind and they string together accordingly. Please consider the following thoughts:

In the comics, and twice in the movie, many scenarios and causes have been presented for the Joker's appearance and psychosis. The movie breaks from the canonical history of the comics by having his appearance be a mixture of scars and makeup, when most "origin" stories in the canon involve him falling into a chemical mixture that causes the disfigurement and the madness. Either way, the movie has thrown a different angle into the mix, but the part of interest is this: He tells it different each time. That much remains true in translation from small page to big screen.

Much like the Joker, one Adolf Hitler underwent a severe change as madness set in. By many accounts, Hitler was from a good home, had a solid upbrining, and was even a potential world-class visual artist. Yet, somewhere along the way, like a wolf that lusts for blood, Hitler changed both the course of his life and history at large. Needless to say, the maniacal, genocidal rule of Hitler's National Socialists is well-documented and troubling to the soul. My point is this: How did Hitler become a murderer instead of a painter, and how did the nameless villain-to-be become the Joker, instead of anything else?

I am reminded of John Carpenter's "Halloween" series of films. We never know the reason why Michael Myers decides to become darkness; we simply are left to deal with the wreckage of his choice. Dahmer, Bundy, Gasey, etc... The "why" rarely gets answered. And that's where the horror rests to a sane mind.

To me, this was the first link in my brain. Through the character of Alfred (performed wonderfully by Michael Caine), the next link came quite pivotally. When talking to Wayne/Bats about possible motives, Alfred throws a monkey-wrench into the mess by pointing out "that some men just like to watch it burn" (to paraphrase).

Again, going back to post-WWI Germany, we find a people hurting and reeling from a war they lost badly. In shock, they let a small group of hate-mongers prove that propaganda is a powerful tool of war. That thought might strike you off-handedly, but be honest and examine: Hitler, and others in his party, were cults of personality. Charisma does not have to be used to achieve goodness. It was the hundreds of thousands of men and women, young and old, that allowed themselves to become the flock to a twisted shepard. A shepard complete with his own gospel, apostles, angels, and devils. Hitler simply formed a church and a gospel built on lies and hatred, and Germany bought it lock, stock and barrell. It is one thing to load the gun and point; it's another thing entirely to actually pull the trigger.

The Joker models this same style of subvertive leadership throughout the tale. He turns petty thieves upon each other in the hope of financial gain. He turns the mentally ill loose upon easy prey for sheer enjoyment. He is a master orchestrator of epic proportion, ever the puppet-master dangling the threads in his own production. He is ever-present, yet nowhere to be found. He pits groups of people not only against themselves, but against their perceptions of themselves.

The two boats of people is a cruel mixture of Pearl Harbor and The Cuban Missle Crisis. And that's the brilliance of the Joker's plan. Even without one boat destroying the other (or itself, neither was ever proven), he thrust the looking-glass into each of thier hands, making them see the ugliness inside of themselves, hidden deeply under decency and manners. Much like how many "decent" Europeans, whether they were bakers, mechanics, housewives, aristocrats, or soldiers, were allowed to hold the looking glass, but still look away for far too long. Both dictators, real and imagined, darkened a few White Knights in their time.

Also much like the dictator of real life, it seems that our Joker has a suicidal bent. Perhaps if we are to disregard another's life, it's just inherent that we share the same lack of committment to our own. Hitler followed through, but it's as if the Joker sees too much of himself in Batman, thus, he wants Batman to kill him, "completing" his suicide wish.

At this point, the circuit completes itself to me. Bats doesn't kill the Joker, and in fact saves him from sure death. Two groups of people do not cave in to a life and death situation, and spare each other in the end. A mircocosm of Apocalypse is averted by a simple code of honor, and people willing to stand by it. A hero of one era, born of it's dreams and hopes and fears and failures, remains a hero still today, however modern the technology or how expensive the storytelling.

The generation that stood, fought, suffered, then won WWII has been called the greatest generation yet. I don't know if that's true, but I won't argue against it. My generation suffers from affluenza and selfishness and hopelessness, and, worst of all, blindness. A cause must only be worthy if Celebrity A is "getting behind it" in an effort to "keep it real". Comfort leads to control, and we will not fight for the control we've so willfully surrendured as long as we're comfortable. But when the cradle is rocked, will we, the fabled tiger, have any teeth left? Are our claws waiting to be unsheathed?

I don't know the answers, and I barely know who to frame the questions. This is not meant to be a complete and through examination of anything, but I did mean it to be more than some rambling game of connect-the-dots. I meant, more than anything, for this text to make you think. I do not pretend to be the standard-bearer for truth in this world, but I send this one humble prayer on behalf of all of us...

God keep us in a world with no super-heroes; may we birth no super-villains.

___________________________

There is so much great Batman-related material in the world, but if you're interested in either of Christopher Nollen's movies (or Tim Burton's for that matter), then you must pick up "The Killing Joke". Written by Alan Moore (see previous post on "The Watchmen") and illustrated beautifully by Brian Bolland, it's Burton's favorite comic. Also, see "The Long Halloween" by Jeph Loeb & Tim Sale (both in TV now on VERY cool shows...check it) as well as "Batman: Year One" by Frank Miller & David Mazzucchelli. These three books provided a lot of material for these last two Bats movies, and are brilliant on thier own. Check out Alex Ross' (with TV superscribe Paul Dini) Batman: War on Crime as well. Ross is unmatched as an illustrator. He single-handedly keeps me into comics for those long-spells when I'm just not interested.

Also, Tim Burton started a four-movie run in the last twenty years that is worth enjoying. Keaton was good, Kilmer was as good, but I didn't get Clooney. Anywhoo.... There is also a fine, if youth-oriented, animated series by Bruce Timm, and another more recent run that didn't seem as good.

And who can forget the original, campy, unforgettable live-action series? Adam West paved the way for the Keatons, Kilmers, and Bales. Let us not forget where what we love comes from...

And if Angelina Jolie becomes the Catwoman...look out, cause that movie could break all records....

Melody From Heaven--by guest blogger, Mrs. Brandon Findlay

Recently my husband and I watched an ambitiously powerful film called "The Red Violin". Shot in 5 countries, it follows the "life" of its title subject across centuries, characters, and continents. It reminded me of how what we usually look upon as "mere objects" have rich histories behind their scenes, and a world of significance far beyond function alone.

Until the day I was born, I was going to be called "Melody" until the soulful influence of Mrs. Ike Turner won out, and gave me something I also share with Ginger on Gilligan's Island, that is, our names are both "Tina". But maybe my mother sensed something beyond what she could even explain, a destiny of music deep in my code, even before I sang my way out of the womb.

My "pre-name" of Melody was something Brandon decided to honor when he obtained his 1999 Paul Reed Smith McCarty Soapbar guitar, a model discontinued this past year. I've learned from him that a guitar is not just a guitar; in the words of the best-selling musicians' magazine, it is a "guitar world". At our house, Melody is a sibling of Maya, Midnight, and Marcus. "She" came into our life carrying the vibes of at least 2 other great musicians we cherish and admire, from the walls of Dirk Newton's Guitar Shop in East Village, and the hands of Karen Harrison from the Soapbox Prophets (who I just heard on the radio 10 minutes ago--shout out to them and to 99.1 KFMG-FM).

Melody was paid for in stages, patiently received by our friend Karen. Before that, she was perused and fawned over, on and off the wall, by Brandon at Dirk's place. Brandon first spotted her and thought of how much she reminded him of an awesome guitar belonging to Karen. Shortly after to his delight, he discovered that this was indeed the very guitar of Karen's that he had always admired from afar.

Since her initial arrival at our home, Melody has lit up many a song, concert, and the Lady Blue CD, with the light of her unique smooth tone (that's another Brandon principle I've been blessed to learn about, the importance of tone). It was she who gently coaxed me into a much higher level of guitar interest and knowledge, and her interaction with my husband's artistry has opened my eyes about the craft, musicianship, and overall mastery involved in the world of the guitar.

One of these days, I may have to finally clip my diva fingernails and jump into the journey of Melody in a more, shall we say, hands-on way. She has, like the red violin of the movie, a story of her own that transcends all those fortunate enough to cross her path for a time. While we're the lucky ones living with her now, I intend to take full advantage of the mysteries she has to share. As the hymn says, in our hearts (and hands) there rings a Melody of love. And she definitely has a destiny of music deep in her code, a destiny we are delighted to share with her, and all her siblings at home, for at least a little while.

^D8

It's been a while! I have not been ignoring my little section of the blog-verse, but I've been very bush with many other things.

"All will be revealed...."