Bob Kane created Batman in 1939 as a way to fulfill the public’s need for more comic book superheroes in the wake of Superman. And, by 1943, Batman made his way from pulpy print to the screen for first time.
In this video tribute to the many looks of Batman through the ages, Jacob T. Swinney advances chronologically, but also thematically, focusing on the interplay between Batman and his sidekick Robin; the fetishization of Batman’s tool belt; and the evolution of his costume from fabric (his classic look up through the ’80s) to the BDSM-inspired rubber outfits that have lasted since Michael Keaton donned the solid black get-up through Christian Bale’s interpretation. (It does seem that Ben Affleck’s version will not deviate from this course, but add some armor. He will also continue to perch on top of spires and tall buildings and stand watch over the city.)
The other evolution worth noticing is in Batman’s voice, and what it says about America’s relationship with authority. In the early serials up through Adam West’s iconic TV version, Batman speaks in clipped but enunciated tones, somewhere in the region of newscasters and G-men. This connects Batman to the detective part of his character and telegraphs his innate goodness. But once Keaton takes on the role, Batman speaks in a low, gravely tone to suit his vigilante ethos, designed for meetings in dark alleys. This is how we want our heroes now.
This “serious” shift takes its cue from Frank Miller’s groundbreaking The Dark Knight Returns comic book, which is ground zero for every superhero film since that wears its gritty realism on its sleeve. This affected speech reaches its fairly ridiculous apotheosis in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises, where both hero and villain are incomprehensible. The only thing left is parody, and that’s how we end this video, with Will Arnett’s voice animating the Lego Movie’s version of the superhero: affected, narcissistic, and believing too much in his own myth.
In this video tribute to the many looks of Batman through the ages, Jacob T. Swinney advances chronologically, but also thematically, focusing on the interplay between Batman and his sidekick Robin; the fetishization of Batman’s tool belt; and the evolution of his costume from fabric (his classic look up through the ’80s) to the BDSM-inspired rubber outfits that have lasted since Michael Keaton donned the solid black get-up through Christian Bale’s interpretation. (It does seem that Ben Affleck’s version will not deviate from this course, but add some armor. He will also continue to perch on top of spires and tall buildings and stand watch over the city.)
The other evolution worth noticing is in Batman’s voice, and what it says about America’s relationship with authority. In the early serials up through Adam West’s iconic TV version, Batman speaks in clipped but enunciated tones, somewhere in the region of newscasters and G-men. This connects Batman to the detective part of his character and telegraphs his innate goodness. But once Keaton takes on the role, Batman speaks in a low, gravely tone to suit his vigilante ethos, designed for meetings in dark alleys. This is how we want our heroes now.
This “serious” shift takes its cue from Frank Miller’s groundbreaking The Dark Knight Returns comic book, which is ground zero for every superhero film since that wears its gritty realism on its sleeve. This affected speech reaches its fairly ridiculous apotheosis in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises, where both hero and villain are incomprehensible. The only thing left is parody, and that’s how we end this video, with Will Arnett’s voice animating the Lego Movie’s version of the superhero: affected, narcissistic, and believing too much in his own myth.
There are many ways to make a movie, says film critic Jim Emerson, and many ways to make a mess.
The truck chase scene from Christopher Nolan’s 2008 film The Dark Knight is frankly a mess, as Emerson demonstrates in a fascinating video essay (above) produced as the first in a three-part series on the language of action sequences for the Indiewire blog Press Play. “We notice lapses in visual logic whether our brains register them consciously or not,” writes Emerson. “I found this scene utterly baffling the first time I saw it, and every subsequent time. At last, I now know exactly why.”
After studying the sequence shot by shot he realized that Nolan had violated fundamental rules of film grammar. You can follow along as Emerson, a Seattle-based critic who writes the Scanners film blog for the Chicago Sun-Times, sorts out the confusion. (There is an accompanying annotated transcript on Scanners.) And be sure to watch Emerson’s follow-up essays (below) which offer shot-by-shot analyses of action scenes that are clearly intelligible.
The truck chase scene from Christopher Nolan’s 2008 film The Dark Knight is frankly a mess, as Emerson demonstrates in a fascinating video essay (above) produced as the first in a three-part series on the language of action sequences for the Indiewire blog Press Play. “We notice lapses in visual logic whether our brains register them consciously or not,” writes Emerson. “I found this scene utterly baffling the first time I saw it, and every subsequent time. At last, I now know exactly why.”
After studying the sequence shot by shot he realized that Nolan had violated fundamental rules of film grammar. You can follow along as Emerson, a Seattle-based critic who writes the Scanners film blog for the Chicago Sun-Times, sorts out the confusion. (There is an accompanying annotated transcript on Scanners.) And be sure to watch Emerson’s follow-up essays (below) which offer shot-by-shot analyses of action scenes that are clearly intelligible.
In Part II of his series (above), Emerson breaks down the highway chase scene from Phillip Noyce’s 2010 film, Salt. The sequence is easy to follow because Noyce is careful to establish the spatial relationships between the various elements, both within the frame and between shots. Writes Emerson:
There are certain directors I think of as “one-thing-at-a-time” filmmakers. That is, they seem to be incapable of composing shots that have more than one piece of information in them at a time. This makes for a very flat, rather plodding style. You see what the camera is pointed at in each shot, but you get very little sense of perspective when it comes to relating it to other elements in the scene. Noyce’s technique is much more fluid, organic and sophisticated. He keeps things from one shot visible in the next, even when shifting perspective–whether it’s only a few feet or clear across several lanes of traffic.
There are certain directors I think of as “one-thing-at-a-time” filmmakers. That is, they seem to be incapable of composing shots that have more than one piece of information in them at a time. This makes for a very flat, rather plodding style. You see what the camera is pointed at in each shot, but you get very little sense of perspective when it comes to relating it to other elements in the scene. Noyce’s technique is much more fluid, organic and sophisticated. He keeps things from one shot visible in the next, even when shifting perspective–whether it’s only a few feet or clear across several lanes of traffic.
In Part III (above), Emerson revisits classic chase scenes from three films: Don Siegel’s The Lineup (1958), Peter Yates’s Bullitt (1968) and William Friedkin’s The French Connection (1971). In each case the director takes you on a chaotic, bumpy ride–but never loses you.