Ashamed to Wear My Bat-Shoes

The other day I caught an episode of the old Batman television series, starring Adam West as millionaire Bruce Wayne and his masked alterego, and Burt Ward as the Boy Wonder.

Despite the brilliant special effects during the fight scenes (Whap! Zonk! Boof! flashing across the screen), the show was pretty one-dimensional. Batman was good and noble, Robin was good and dorky. Together, the two foiled the mischievous intentions of a host of stock bad guys: Joker, Penguin, Catwoman, etc. (In a rare appearance, the Mad Hatter was featured in the show I saw.)

Hollywood's latest version of these old D.C. Comics characters is no surprise. Take any story, film executives reason, no matter how stale, and make it larger than life. Finance a dark and spectacular Gotham City, recruit the most seasoned stars and fill the screen with more special effects than the eye can follow.

That philosophy succeeded in the first Batman movie, which starred Michael Keaton as Batman and Jack Nicholson as his nemesis, The Joker.

Despite the fact that I own an authentic pair of Batman Converse sneakers, I am no big fan of the original film. Still, the movie was appealing, not so much for it grandeur as for its attention to the character development of Joker and Batman.

Director Tim Burton, whose two stars were among the premiere character actors in the last decade, ended up drawing a real psychological drama from what could have been a cliche. By tracing the evolution of a superhero and his superfoe, Burton gave the viewer real insight into the complexities of the comic book legends.

Of course, the first film was no work of understatement, with its elaborate sets and the piled-on effects. The original Batman generated more hype than most presidential elections, and merchandisers produced more crap to accompany the 1987 release than Matt Groening has been able to spin off of his Simpsons series.

Unfortunately, Batman Returns has all of the hype and none of the meat. It was so embarrassingly bad that my Batshoes are in exile in the bowels of my closet. I hope Converse doesn't touch the sequel--any movie that McDonald's Seizes for a Happy Meal theme is not worth Chuck Taylor's time.

Burton, returning to direct the sequel, guaranteed his producers a profit by landing superstars Michelle Pfieffer and Danny DeVito to share the Billing with Keaton. But the screenplay fails to give adequate space to these three big talents.

There is simply not enough room in this film for Catwoman (Pfieffer) and Penguin (DeVito)--both of whom would have made great a foils for Batman could they have monopolized the "bad guy" role.

As it is, the two are wholly convoluted. Pfieffer is a loveless, nosy secretary in one scene. In the next, she tears into her closet for a vinyl raincoat, rushes to her sewing machine, and easily puts together a skin-tight catsuit. The image of a distraught working woman drinking straight from a carton of milk (Spilling most of it over her chest) made for a great promo spot. But if there is any connection between her character and cats (other than the fact that she feeds several strays), I couldn't see it.

And then there's Penguin. First he's a good guy--a mutant orphan who just want to find his parents. Then he runs for mayor. Then Batman spoils a political rally and Penguin loses his shit and decides to destroy the world.

Clearly, this is a shaky guy (it isn't easy growing up with flippers for hands) but if a movie could be successful by featuring random dysfunctional characters, I would have made a fortune by filming a series of my Harvard friends with a camcorder.

At one point--reminiscent of the corniest comic book scenes--Catwoman come to Penguin's lair and proposes a plot to destroy Batman. As anything but an opportunity for her to stretch and purr in her clingy suit, the scene is a complete waste.

The makers of Batman Returns were on the right track in developing tension between Catwoman and Batman, but their entire relationship rests on crusty cliches about mistletoe and deadly kisses.

Adding fuel to this smoldering wreckage of a movie, an attempt to weave together the two villains--the addition of Christopher Walken as the greedy industialist of Gotham City--Further weighs down the plot but adds little depth.

Unlike many blockbuster action films, this movie has no dearth of talent. I have yet to see either of the three stars in a truly poor performance. (Pfieffer even pulled off the snotty teenager in Grease II).

But the screenplay, directing and editing of this movie are fatally flawed. I recommend saving the money. The McDonald's Happy Meal is cheaper and even a greasy cheeseburger would be more satisfying.