Equilibrium (2002)

“Equilibrium” is sci-fi loaded with dystopian fears of left-wing fascism zinged up by woo-hoo martial arts action set pieces. But it’s a shrill, dull, laughable rip-off of “Matrix” made for folks who have vaguely heard of “THX-1138” and never actually read “Nineteen Eighty-Four” or “Fahrenheit  451.” It’s recyclable parts from the start, melted down and served up with a cast that makes eating nuked leftovers almost palpable. Pre-“Batman” Christian Bale is our Winston Smith-meets-Neo hero, a futuristic soldier for a Big Bro gov’mint that has banned emotion and arts through drugs and force, all in an effort to prevent war. Irony being “Father” kills all protesters. Poo politics though, writer/director Kurt Wimmer (“Salt”) salivates over slo-mo fights with dudes dressed in black long coats stomping, kicking, and shooting each other into oblivion, until the finale when Bale (and his double) dons a white suit that would make Mr. Roarke’s tailor swoon during an anti-climactic O’Brian kill zone. Bale stars, the lovely Emily Watson plays a dissident, while Taye Diggs co-stars as a rival. All are upstaged by a puppy. No, really. C

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

“The Dark Knight Rises” is the third and clear final installment of Christopher Nolan’s definitive, genre-defining trilogy of Batman films. It is pure topsy-turvy genius Nolan, an epic urban-war film and rule-bending comic book movie that wraps around and fits like snug fingers into “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight” so exactly, it feels as if we have just witnessed the ultimate story arc of a super hero’s life, unlike ever before. No fat. No lose ends. Near perfect. The balance, themes, visuals, and characters expertly played. 

In the first film, a doomed father asks his son, “Why do we learn to fall down?” And the boy, now the Batman, is still answering that question, that we are even still pondering that question is worthy of story-writing accolades. Nolan and his co-writer brother Jonathan have again raised the bar, not just on the super hero film genre, but the entire idea of the summer movie tent pole. I’m looking at you, every Michael Bay film ever made, or even the stellar, popcorn fun (but, in hindsight, flat as a flapjack) “Avengers.” 

Case in point, name another summer flick that tips its hat and quotes from “A Tale of Two Cities.” This does, liberally. Average film fan: Clueless. Nolan: All the happier devil.

The amazing kicker of this finale: Nolan’s best hat-trick of the ultra-dark film franchise, a “Prestige,” if you will, is to introduce a new hero rising from tragedy, pain, and lost trust in leadership. Not evil mass death of the Joker, nor the vigilante violence that haunted Bruce Wayne as Batman. But honest, cautious goodness. Let the fan fiction begin. The final image, before Nolan’s trademark “black screen” sign off, is a literal “Dark Knight Rises.” I saw it coming, months back, sort of. But Nolan defies the script I wrote in my head.

If you have not seen this film, then stop, SPOLIERS abound. And, really, 10 days?

“Rises” opens eight years after the events that closed out “Dark Knight,” with Harvey “Two-Face” Dent (Aaron Eckhart) killed after a deadly rampage that also almost killed the son of Commissioner James Gordon (Gary Oldman). Batman (Christian Bale) remains hated and hunted, taking the millstone of Dent’s sins onto himself. Tones of Christ, anyone?

The Dark Knight’s thinking: Give Gotham (New York, naturally) the hero he thinks it “deserves,” whatever that means, the Boy Scout White Knight that Dent was before he crossed paths with the Joker. As for the Clown Prince, he receives no mention here, with Heath Ledger’s death already hanging over the franchise like a heavy fog. Nolan didn’t want to bring up more scar tissue, so to speak. In the end, it is a smart move.

Back to this drama: Gotham is enjoying an unprecedented drop in crime thanks to a hardcore, no appeal law for criminals handed down in the name of Dent, and the Batman remains vanished. Bruce Wayne also is in hiding, rumored to be crazy or disfigured, similar to Howard Hughes -– an in-joke as Nolan once tried to make a biopic of Hughes before Martin Scorsese beat him to the punch. (Anyone still want to see that movie? I do.)

This is just the start of “Dark Knight,” and we have much to go. A hulking, massive brute of a terrorist named Bane (Tom Hardy) is living in the underground of Gotham’s water system, planning an all-out war on the city, with a purpose that strikes close to Occupy Wall Street: Take down the rich establishment, share it all, and destroy the infrastructure. 

(Yes, the film cuts deep into the left, but know that the city’s corrupt law-and-order-at-all-costs tactics, and blatant lying about peace and stripping of Civil Rights mirrors the right-wing’s mantra, including the great lie that this nation was founded on some Christian value. Never generations of racism or the murder of countless Native Americans.) 

Yet, Bane has more in plan, fully indifferent to politics. It all goes back to the first film. Nolan has followed Peter Jackson with his  “LOTR”  Trilogy, and Lucas with his own trilogy. You know the name. It is all that rock solid. (Let me say it here, this film meets our impossible expectations of the trilogy's closing, not excel, but meets. That alone is worthy of endless praise.) Consider the opposite: “The Matrix” trilogy. 

I digress. Mr. Wayne, still heartbroken over the death of Rachel Dawes, injured more in mind than body, is flummoxed by a new woman. She is Selina Kyle (Ann Hathaway), a jewel thief who breaks into Wayne’s personal safe when the manor is full of guests. She discombobulates the man, leaving him first flat on his face, then as the film progress, unable to finish sentences and struck silent. (The film is immensely dark, but also quite funny.) Kyle intrigues Wayne, and is the catalyst to bring him, both of him, out into the light. Indeed, Wayne dons the Batman suit again, but only for short chunks of time. 

This trilogy always has been about Bruce Wayne –- the rich playboy -- as the disguise, after all. The rubber suit, by now, is irrelevant. A tool. The suit, though, must come out because after a stunning set of scenes -- the film is 2 hours 45 minutes, but flies by -- has Bain and his henchmen leading a hands-on assault on Wall Street, and later ups the ante with a full-on attack of the city, centered on a football stadium, but spanning outward to include bridges and various infrastructure. Batman, sure as hell, is needed again.

The finale takes place on the streets and air of Gotham, and again has echoes of “Begins” and “Dark Knight” in certain punches, crashes, and other beats of action cinema. It’s a pulverizing film that had me thinking of 1970s Cold War paranoia films, “The Siege,” or a classic Tom Clancy novel, more than anything found in the libraries of D.C. Comics, and also of 9/11, and terrorism in our day and time. Nolan is going big here, not looking back.

Again, Nolan takes Batman out of the film for well more than half its running time. I’ll hold off on why. If you have seen it, you know why, if you have read the comic books, you know why. It’s a daring step that would make the folks behind “Avengers” or “Iron Man” quake: A superhero with an MIA superhero. Here, it perfectly fits in with what we were told in “Begins,” this is all Bruce, Batman can be anyone, the man behind the mask is irrelevant. The move also takes Batman down several pegs, a fallen boy in an old well.

Back to Gotham where a lone, hotheaded policeman (Joseph Gordon-Levitt of the Nolan-directed “Inception,” which also had Hardy in it) becomes not just the right-hand-man of a sidelined Gordon, but a stand-in for the Dark Knight. Nolan shifts his film to this man, John Blake, also an orphan, as if it were an Olympic relay race. He is the man, the Dark Knight, who Rises in the end, wary of violence, iron-strong structures and also anarchy, and we presume will take on the mask. That his story plays out much like a police thriller (as did “Dark Knight”) is another way Nolan defies expectations. Gordon-Levitt rocks the role.

As with “Prometheus,” the other surprisingly great, against-the-grain summer film, there are errors along the way, mostly the Wall Street attack and its immediate aftermath, which seems to go from day to dusk to darkest night in far too short a frame period, and a questionable gap in how long the Batman remains sidelined, is it the full three months, or five? I’m still uncertain at this point. All are forgiven, easily. One more crack follows.

What is certain: This film, is a huge, bloody marvel (I know, D.C.), but it does not have the drive of Ledger’s Joker sending electric shocks out into the audience. How could it ever have equaled? Ledger’s performance remains legendary, and could never be topped. The scarily muscular Hardy –- a great actor, catch him in “Bronson” -– is playing such a different sort of evil menace, that comparisons are unfair, and irrelevant. (Had Ledger lived, had the Joker returned, would the story be repetitive? Would Bane be here?) 

Bane wears a “Mad Max”-type gas mask that obscures most of his face, and the effect is purposefully off-putting, almost fully repugnant. So we must watch his eyes, blazing with anger and power, and study his body language, how when he lays his hand gently on a man’s shoulder and brings him –- powerful as he is –- down in a second, by sheer intimidation. 

Hardy's chosen voice will remain controversial forever, tones of Darth Vader, mixed with that of an early James Bond villain, many words inaudible. It’s all crazily over-the-top theatrical, but as Liam Neeson’s Ra’s al Ghul taught Wayne in the first installment, that’s how you intimidate. Nolan is playing by the rules off screen that he lays out on screen. (Amazing how many people miss that. And, yes, Neeson appears here, but not how I expected. ) 

The film has a legion of detractors, those who hate how Nolan has mangled and morphed the Batman history and legend, to his own will, and his (undeniable) epic arc, but, again, as with “Inception,” people cannot stop talking about this movie. That’s power, for Nolan, as Ra’s al Ghul would indicate. (And that is art, too.)  

Let’s not forget just how good Bale is here, how permanently hurt and old he appears. As in the first film, Nolan and company are not afraid to show a hero making mistakes and truly getting in over his head. Case in point, despite his mantra to “fight harder,” look at the shock on Bale as Batman’s face, when he first fights Bane. It’s one for the books. Not a heroic rebel yell, but a look of sheer, absolute, “Oh, shit,” fear. Somehow fans hate that. Why? It is real.

Now, that penultimate scene, with Alfred in the Italian café, looking up, to see his life’s hope. I wish it were the very final image, not the Rising scene, and I wish Nolan didn’t show what Alfred sees, instead leaving us hanging and spinning like Cobb’s top. Cain staring out from the screen. Cut to black. Seeing those faces confirmed, it kills the drama before it. At the last moment, an over-reach that drives me mad. Debate onward...

I already have burned through too many words here, and I still have yet addressed the women of this trilogy, and the way Hathaway as “Catwoman” (the name is never mentioned, thank the film gods) turns not just Batman’s brain upside down. Nor have I touched on Wally Pfister’s endlessly fascinating cinematography, never better than the scenes where Batman fights Bain in the low, dark sewers. Hans Zimmer’s score thunders as if he were scoring a deadly serious take on “Clash of Titans,” or another story of gods at war. Every technical mark is just struck dead-on target, besting all before it. (O.K., wait, nothing beats Ledger’s  tractor trailer crash in downtown Chicago.)

“Rises” has that much going on. That many plates. Nolan barely drops a fork. I’m writing this and thinking of a third trip back to the Batcave. To discover more that I missed, re-watch the finale. That’s what movies are all about, are they not? If only that one tiny scene had been cut short, leaving us wide open, rising, in mystery, shock, wonder, and in applause. That's what I wanted. It is the sole reason -- OK< no, I still hate that time jump Wall Street attach to pieces, bad move all around -- this doesn't get a solid “A” score. A-

The Fighter and Animal Kingdom (2010)

I just watched two films that show the far-end extreme of warped close-knit families -- people related by blood, birth and marriage, but who mix like gasoline and matches. Yet they abide by each other. Both shock with volatile material, especially with the mothers on display. Gems? No. These are jagged, precious chunks of broken glass that cut deep. One more than the other.

Among boxing films there is “Raging Bull” and “Rocky” and everything else. “The Fighter” doesn’t reach those levels, but it stays in the ring. Few boxing flicks even try. This is a true story, where the underdog boxer hero has to overcome Job-worthy troubles to win the belt. And you know how that turns out, right?

Mark Wahlberg -– built, tough and coolly in control -– is Micky Ward, a street worker who can’t see his boxing dream amid all the empty factories of his dead New England town. Micky’s deepest battles aren’t in the boxing ring, but at home. His former-boxer brother (Christian Bale) is a crack addict, his mother (Melissa Leo) is a tyrant who can’t disapprove of Dicky and all his druggy shtick.

It’s a gripping ride. The Ward family –- including seven freakish sisters -– can be harsh to watch, but is endlessly fascinating. (This despite the fugly sisters falling into mimicry.) The boxing scenes have -- bad pun -- punch. It’s also a darkly funny. Dicky has a repeated gag where he jumps out a crack house second-story window. It’s pathetic and induces laughter. But when mom catches him, it’s heart-breaking. Truly hilarious: A scene where Micky and his girlfriend (Amy Adams) rip snobby films. Ironic as “Fighter” will win several Oscars. Bale and Leo outlast every round against a top-of-their-game cast. A-

“Animal Kingdom” is the movie “The Town” wanted to be, before it went soft with sentimentality and unearned romance. “Animal” rages and gets darker and scarier, and sadder, too, as its minutes tick by. It’s 2010’s only crime film that can be held up as near flawless.

The film opens with a Melbourne teen (James Frecheville) sitting on a couch, watching TV. The viewer only thinks mom next to him is asleep. But she’s dead. Heroin. That’s before the credit role. J –- his nickname –- then has to reintroduce himself to grandmom (Jacki Weaver), and so he goes to live with her and his gang of uncles. They are a literal gang: Bank robbers, drug dealers and killers. The most dangerous of the uncles is “Pope” (Ben Mendelsohn), a fiercely quiet man who could hug or kill with equal aplomb, depending on the mood.

Written and directed by David Michôd, “Kingdom” follows J as he deals with this lot, who to trust and who to flee from, and not at all aware of who really is the largest monster in his life. Guy Pearce (“Memento”) is a cop who tries to pull J out of the lion’s den. There always is a cat-and-mouse game.

Nothing is amped up. No fancy edits. No exploding armored truck or hot air balloon chase. It’s emotion and body language, and double-edge words. It’s topped with scenes that smacked me in the skull even as I saw where the action was going a beat or two before. As the grandmom, Weaver is crazy good, all kisses and hugs and cookies … but oh so not. The music score -– tense as hell -– makes the film. Wild fact: Similar to “Fighter,” this is based on a true story. A

‘The Illusionist’ and ‘The Prestige’ (Both 2006)

I saw the magic-themed “The Illusionist” and “The Prestige” back-to-back in 2006, on purpose. Just recently, I re-watched them within a week of each other by mere coincidence. My reactions remain just about the same.

“Illusionist” is a star-crossed love story about a wildly imaginative magician and the love of his life. Magic man Eisenheim (Edward Norton) and princess-to-be Sophie (Jessica Biel) loved each other as children, but life shit happened. They split. Decades later Eisenheim arrives in Vienna, ready to woo Sophie from the cruel prick Crown Price Leopold (eternal bad guy Rufus Sewell). To grind Eisenheim down, the prince has a lapdog policeman (Paul Giamatti) who is corrupt, but yet a fan of showmanship and art. This is Giamatti’s film. He outclasses everyone, without raising his voice or getting all puppy-eyed. Norton and Biel provide kennels full of puppy eyes. The film tosses out a “gotchya” plot that’s not nearly as clever as it wishes to be. Norton’s stage presence as Eisenheim is winning, even if the magic is too CGI-heavy. The much-praised cinematography is a pitch too arty even for me. B

“Prestige” is based on a favorite book, so it has a lot to live up to. The plot concerns two rival magicians in London who start as friends, but soon enter a game of one-upmanship and then deadly, bloody games on and off stage. The instigation: An on-stage death of one’s beloved. Angier (Hugh Jackman) is a stage natural, but needs help pushing the core of his trade. Borden (Christian Bale) is the opposite: He is genius at magic design, but a boorish stage presence. Merged in one body and soul, the men would make one hell of a talent. Director Christopher Nolan has a long obsession with what forms a person’s identity, or breaks it. The reveals of “Prestige” allow Nolan to play large. But this isn’t “Memento” or “Inception.” It’s too cold and calculated, and in need of magic dust. So to speak. Nolan avoids supernatural themes that ruled the book, and some acts don’t come off justified: When a major character commits suicide, it seems only blasé inevitable. B+

The Machinist (2004)

“The Machinist” is painful to watch. It’s not the story, another take on a man’s cracking sanity as he muddles hallucinations and reality, and rages. Nor is it the cinematography, all gas station greens and yellowish-whites. It’s Christian Bale. Dude lost 60 pounds to play Trevor Reznik, a severe insomniac who’s watching his weight drop by double digits and his eyes black out. Yes, the visage of his freakish, skeletal body is meant to shock, but it’s also overwhelming. He weighed more in “Empire of the Sun.” At 13. Jennifer Jason Leigh (“eXistenZ”) lowers herself and plays an aging prostitute. The only other woman is an airport waitress. Do screenwriter Scott Kosar and director Brad Anderson know of any other roles for women? The interesting bits come in parsing out how much of Reznik’s world is only in his head, and that I’m still undecided is a good mark. That the movie brings nothing new to the table other than Bale as Twiggy is a swift bad mark. B-

Terminator: Salvation (2009)

Nothing much happens. That may be the most surprising takeaway from “Terminator: Salvation,” the fourth film in the franchise started by James Cameron. Set after military supercomputerthingy Skynet goes berserk, but before John Connor sends comrade-in-arms Kyle Reese back in time to save his … Aw, hell, I don’t have the stamina for tracking this plot. This time travel ball of string makes “Lost” seem like “Pokey Puppy.” The barest fact: Connor must rescue his future pop from death by Skynet or he’s nonexistent toast. In doing this, Connor invades Skynet HQ and comes face-to-face with the T-800 – the killer robot played by Arnold Schwarzenegger 25 years ago. It’s a huge charge to see (CGI) Ahnuld’s evil mask once again. What a blast that film was! But there’s little blast here despite great action and a new, ashen look. Director McG and his army of writers almost provide a game changer that would reset this franchise’s clock, but wimp out. Sam Worthington of “Avatar” cements his rising-star status as a seemingly unkillable fighter. But as the ranting and raving Connor, Christian Bale’s performance is as robotic as the metallic zombies chasing him. C+

Public Enemies (2009)

I had high hopes for Michael Mann’s Public Enemies (2009). Maybe too high. But he’s one of the best directors out there: “Heat” (1995), “The Insider” (1999), “Manhunter” (1986) and “Last of the Mohicans” (1992) all are grade-A entertainment.

So, I’m left perplexed at this new gangster film from the great Mann and his brilliant cinematographer Dante Spinotti (who lensed the above Mann films, plus the wonderful “L.A. Confidential”). And how could it go wrong: The film follows famed bank robber and killer John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) as he does his thing, one or two steps ahead of the law (Christian Bale as FBI agent Melvin Purvis and a near-unrecognizable Billy Crudup as J. Edgar Hoover).

The sound, the costumes, the look of this film all demand Oscars, and if won, rightfully deserve them. The shoot outs have the visceral boldness of “Heat,” although the shoot-outs here still can’t match the jaw-dropping stunts of that classic DeNiro/Pacino caper. The acting is tops for the most part, although I never felt Johnny Depp’s Dillinger is a deadly sum-a-bitch to be feared.

The deal is we never get inside the head of Dillinger - - why’d he do all this? -- or Purvis (Bale is stoic and great). What “Heat” had, and “Public Enemies” doesn’t, is the absolute dangerous joy of mastermind criminals doing what they do best, and the lawmen who dedicate themselves to crashing the party. The shock of watching a man who steals and kills for a living, and laughs at the thought of his own death, ought to kick you in the stomach while it dazzles your eyes. “Public Enemies” merely gooses. B

Empire of the Sun (1987)

"Empire of the Sun" is Steven Spielberg's first war-time masterpiece. Based on a true story, it follows an English boy named Jim (a young Christian Bale)ripped from his plush, white life in Shanghai and placed in a concentration camp run by Japanese during World War II. Jim grows up fast, from innocent wide-eyed choirboy to a tradesman who knows the value of a dying man's golf shoes. There is so much death.

Bale is phenomenal, showing a huge talent in playing a boy becoming a man, still young enough to cry because he can't remember what his parents look like. "Sun" is built entirely around Jim's perspective -- no politics, grandstanding or war room scenes. If Jim doesn't directly see and experience it, we don't either. A scene of Jim finding his mother's bedroom ransacked, with footprints and finger scratches in talcum powder is startling -- he has no idea what has happened. He's too young to get it. We do. That's the beautiful horror of this film.

This is Spielberg's first great film about a child losing his innocence, and there's no cute alien here to save him. So what if the film has one too many wet-dream cinematic shots of flaming planes. Spielberg is firing on every cylinder here, testing out his mettle before diving into far darker, more adult far in 1993. And as "Schindler's List" is my favorite film of 1993, this is my favorite film of 1987. A

I'm Not There (2007)

"I'm Not There" is a musical biopic of the legendary singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. But not really. In what has to be one of 2007's most original film, director/co-writer Todd Haynes ("Far From Heaven") ditches the well-worn historical re-creation path tread by 5,000 other biopics, and instead creates a truly head-spinning work of art.

"There" is a love letter, tribute and sly take on the persona of Dylan and world created in his folk, electric and religious library of songs. In a casting stunt that works marvels, six different actors play different variations on Dylan, and none of the characters actually are named "Bob Dylan." Trust me, it works.

The personas are Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), a meek folk singer turned star turned born-again Christian; Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), a superstar who seemingly hates the press and adoration; Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin), an 11-year-old musical prodigy so apt at spinning tales, even his name is false; Billy the Kid (Richard Gere), a self-exiled outlaw living in a mash-up time period of early 1900s and 1960s America; Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger), an actor who played Rollins in a straight-forward biopic and has adopted some of the unsavory traits of the role; and Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Winshaw), a young singer-poet being interrogated by either the FBI or the meanest damn suit-wearing editors ever hired by Rolling Stone.

It's a lot, but as the Dylan-like characters' lives overlap and in the strangest scene -- the Billy the Kid period that carries echoes of David Lynch meets Robert Altman meats Terrance Malick -- literally crash into each other, a multi-layered, conflicted entity of Dylan develops. And I swear, this film isn't just about how Dylan has morphed as an artist and as a man, but it's also how America has evolved. Why else focus so much attention on the under currents of the simmering Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and the cultural explosion of the 1960s, among other areas? After all, as far as Americans go, Dylan sure is one of the most eclectic and original.

Some scenes, such as the concert where Dylan (here Quinn) went electric are created in true fashion, but whole chunks are mere whimsy and dreamlike. Franklin's character shows us how Dylan and many other artists such as 50 cent create false backgrounds as diligently and carefully as they create music, film or paintings. I'm still pondering what exactly the outlaw Gere scenes represent, but they are spectacular, haunting entertainment of an old America pushed beyond the breaking point. Ledger is the most scarred of the Dylan-like characters, watching his happy family life melt away because of his sexual escapades. It's a beautiful performance by Ledger, and another reminder of lost talent. Blanchett has to be the stand out, not because she is playing a he, or because she gets closest to Dylan's mannerisms. Her Quinn clearly is toying with journalists (one is played by Bruce Greenwood) and the audience (onscreen and us), maybe even himself, err, herself. You get what I mean.

In a brilliant move that further separates the idea of a "true" biopic, Haynes actually opens the film with one of his Dylans dead on the slab, ready for autopsy. He then closes with a Dylan death by motorcycle crash. Is it the same character stand-in on the slab? We don't know. "I'm Not There" lets us know that no matter how much we talk directly to or study, research, watch and obsess over a person, we can never get inside their head. Or body.

The film's not total manna from heaven -- a scene with Quinn goofing around with the Beatles, seems irrelevant and a goof, but maybe it's my ignorance of the History of Dylan. (And I am ignorant of music in general.) I don't need to understand every scene to "get" a film. "I'm Not There" is the death knell for the straight forward biopic. It has my head spinning not only on who was or is Dylan, but the endless possibilities of what was and is film. Now, that's movie-making magic. A

Reign of Fire (2002)

The most shocking moment of “Reign of Fire,” a preposterous, but fun men-versus-dragon action film, comes mid-way when tanks roll up to a castle in a futuristic burnt-out England. Matthew McConaughey pops out of a vehicle, and with a shaved skull, blood-shot eyes and a cigar in his mouth, the surfer boy delivers a kick-ass performance. Is this the same guy who regularly backseats to his white teeth and chiseled chest in everything from "Sahara" to 10 so-awful-they-hurt rom coms? Yep.

McConaughey holds his own against an equally bad-ass Christian Bale as an Englishman desperately and pointlessly holding onto a ragtag lot of widows and children. All are hunted by the dragons that rule the earth, unwittingly unleashed on the world when Bale was a child. This ain't plot heavy, folks. The action is a spectacle, though, and that’s all you ask for in a film where nearly every line is delivered in that tough guy, make-a-speech bravado. Alas, "Reign" smokes out with an outrageous plot twist that would make Darwin double over in laughter if Darwin were still alive. And as the film rattles and races to its sign-posted end, a  tough-as-nails female soldier suddenly turns damsel in distress … for no solid reason than the film needs a damsel in distress. Ho hum. C+

The Dark Knight (2008)

"The Dark Knight" explodes off the screen with a legendary performance by Heath Ledger as the most iconic comic book villain ever created, The Joker. The hype around Ledger's take on the homicidal clown and arch-nemesis of Batman has been building for more than a year and skyrocketed when the actor died in January 2008 at the age of 28. And it is deserved. He is mythical here, disappearing into a role that even Jack Nicholson never fully developed nearly 20 years ago in Tim Burton's "Batman."

This is a Joker for our age, a terrorist with no purpose other than to kill as many people as he can and cause as much destruction as he can before he himself is killed. And the Joker gladly welcomes that death. Excuse the focus on Ledger, but he simply owns this film, taking it from the likes of Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Gary Oldman and saints alive Morgan Freeman. See this film once and be floored by this young man's talent; see it a second time and be heartbroken over the loss of a generation's best film actor.

"The Dark Knight" is pitch-black material and an instant classic, digging deep into the darkest of Batman's storied legend for material never before seen in a super hero movie. As with "Batman Begins," Christopher Nolan directs and co-writes an adaptation that transcends its roots -- the entire plot seems to rest on America's war on terrorists who claim to be Muslim, but are the opposite of God/Allah -- they wish only to soak the world in blood and fire before they gladly die themselves. The Joker serves as their symbol here. How do you cope with that? How do you fight it, or even try and negotiate it? What are we wiling to give up and endure if it means the obliteration of those who so want to kill us?

These are the questions that Nolan and co-writer/sibling Jonathan Nolan lay out among the wild technology, stunts and set pieces. And the Nolans are not afraid to kill off major characters that will leave audiences reeling (unlike the dull third "X-Men" film which only pretended to do so).

The film opens with a bank robbery that more than tips its hat to the iconic crime drama "Heat" -- it uses one of that great crime drama's main actors as a would-be hero that crosses paths with the Joker. From there the film never lets up. A year after "Batman Begins," Bruce Wayne's alter ego (Bale) is still tracking villains that escaped his clutches whilst battling new enemies in the gist of mobsters (led by Eric Roberts) and wayward corporate demigods.

As Batman begins his duel with Joker, it's Alfred (the always excellent Caine) who tells his charge that there are times when the good must sink low to destroy evil. He tells a story from his own younger days (in the British special forces we can only surmise) as he helped track and kill a ruthless bandit by burning down an entire forest. It's heady stuff, and a road that Spider-Man wouldn't dare cross. Is Batman to kill the Joker, breaking his one rule?

Also on board is Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, the Boy Scout DA who has captured the admiration of Wayne and the heart of ADA Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, taking over for Katie Holmes who was miscast to begin with in the first film). Batman fans know most of what will happen with this plot thread, but the Nolans make it as fresh as ever.

This is a long film, too long maybe; but the balls are never dropped and the many plot lines weave into each other nicely, a feat "Spider-Man 3" failed miserably at. "The Dark Knight," far more than the still-great "Batman Begins," brings the world of costumed crime fighters into the adult world of chaos and uncertainty. I can't wait to see what's next. A

Batman Begins (2005)

Christopher Nolan shook up the busy superhero film genre with "Batman Begins." It is a dark, brooding, fascinating film that passes on over-blown special effects, and rather concentrates on character and story.

What a treat for us comic book nerds who during our teens and twenties followed such titles as "Legends of the Dark Knight" as if they were the books of F. Scott Fitzgerald. The film, written by Nolan and David Goyer, follows with near exactitude the origins of Batman as told in the "Dark Knight" titles.

Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) is the billionaire orphan of murdered parents who travels the world and puts himself into prison and then the hands of a mysterious vigilante group to train as a warrior. You know the rest: Wayne becomes Batman and fights for the soul of his Gotham City with a strict moral code of protecting all life.

Nolan, who made the genius "Mememto," "Following" and "Insomnia," casts well beyond any comic fan's dreams. Christian Bale is Bruce Wayne/Batman, the best ever. Gary Oldman is Gordon, the policeman/mentor. Michael Caine is Alfred the butler. Cillian Murphy and Liam Neeson are the heavies. Also on board is Morgan Freeman as a weapons specialist, and Katie Holmes as a love interest/assistant district attorney. Holmes is the only miscasting here, but it's not her acting. As Rachel Dawes, she's just far too young for the part and this sticks out as a wide plot hole. She'd be in law school, not overseeing prosecution for a major city.

That aside, it's strange to say that a movie about a vigilante superhero who dresses in a dark rubber outfit to pound the tar out of criminals is realistic, but Nolan makes it feel real. After the last serious of Batman films crashed and burned ("Batman and Robin"), we get to see Batman as a darkened soul who feels he must become a vigilante to win back his city.

Wayne fails, stumbles and is injured along the way, and his personal life suffers as those closest to him debate the righteousness of meeting violence with violence. None of Burton's or Schumacher's films even tried for such drama. This is a gold standard for any comic adaptation -- character over effects, deep, meaningful themes and top notch direction. Nolan truly is one of the best talents we have working in Hollywood. A-