Karla Davis reviews:
Directed by: Joel Schumacher (for our purposes, "the Puff Daddy of Hollywood")
Produced by: the Warner Bros. (not to be confused with the Bros. Grimm; Seven Brides for Seven Bros; those Italian dudes with the plungers.)
Boy, this really is a horrible movie, isn't it? Batman and Robin was horrible when it first came out, it's still horrible, and I don't care if, in the future, it's only shown once every two hundred years to an indifferent assembly of lab rats and comatose car crash victims-----it will always be horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. (Not to mention cruel. . .Lab rats are people, too, you know.)
This particular movie is so incredibly, horrendously bad that even if an army of Kapo were to suddenly infiltrate America and burn every theatre and video casette (and roast beast) in our possession, then proceed to traipse around to the more inferior countries, burning all their movies (and roast beasts) so that, finally, there isn't a single extant movie (or roast beast) to be seen anywhere in the entire world until one day some Icelandic peasant is sorting through a heap of ashes on the side of the road and lo and behold there lies the sole, surviving copy of Joel Schumacher's Batman & Robin, it would still be the worst movie on the face of the earth !!!
. . .Did I mention that it's horrible?
Because it's true that a brain-dead ferret could deduce as much, the primary concern of my review lies not with any of the movie's multiple bad points or the stultification thereof (though I wouldn't be denied the occasional snyde comment). My real concern in writing this critique is to salvage from the ruins of Batman and Robin the dignity of its predecessors. If you'll recall, there was a time when Hollywood produced Batman movies that were actually watchable. In fact, during the series' s golden age, they were better than good; from actors, to set, to camerawork, to music, the first two movies in the Batman foursome ran the gamut of good taste, earning themselves the collective status of a sheer masterpiece.
And there's a good reason for that.
Folks, meet Tim Burton, the punchdrunk-looking fellow who you see pictured to your immediate right. Tim Burton is quite possibly the coolest director alive. His personal sense of humor, design, and perfectionism transfers like dark electricity into each film he creates, each time shocking into life a story and cast that will eventually become a two-hour extension of its maker. Because Burton does have a very defined style to invest in his projects (and a meticulousness to boot), all of his movies have the same, consistent feel. As you can probably imagine, the effects Tim Burton movies have had on consumers over the years are as different as opinion allows---yet in spite of this, there is one impression of his tactic upon which almost all moviegoers agree: that of aesthetic flawlessness. Despite bad dialogue or even the occasional bad actor (e.g. Christina Ricci ), both of which might make a brief appearence in the very best of films, Burton movies have a reputation of always looking good. And films that look good appeal to a vast audience. So, through his films' visual appeal, Burton has the ability to beautify and therefore popularize the otherwise exclusive 'domain of the grotesque' for creatures of all tastes to enjoy. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this genre, it's the one people generally associate with that select cult of black-lipstick-wearing kids at your local high school who spend their
^ NOT JOEL SCHUMACHER ^
time writing deep poetry, shopping at Hot Topic, and trying to master the facial contours of a pensive brood. These are the same kids that speak in Anne Rice-esque phrases like "forlorn, tortured minions of the sanguineous night" yet perpetually complain about being "misunderstood." Since irresponsibility is America's strong suit anyway, we could probably blame this sort of cult exploitation on pop culture. After all----between Rocky Horror and Buffy, there's enough gothic blood running through the veins of the media to satiate a whole generation of vampire wannabes.
But let's return to our point.
For a darker, more oddball film to break free of its pattented, pale-teenager stereotype and become entertainment for the masses is no small feat. Yet Tim Burton, whose widely-respected, eminent-actor-riddled productions have afforded such adjectives as "morbid" and "macabre," has single-handedly busted cult films wide open. Seriously. The man's fan base is as culturally diverse as a UN meeting.
Why? Because, like Poe to the short story, he is the master of his morbid domain. Burton succeeds with audiences, very simply, by not doing strange movies for the sake of being strange. Consider Edward Scissorhands. Making a movie about a freak with scissors for hands in order to hit home with America's "reject" population is about as cool as a person wearing abnormal clothes to school for the very sake of looking like an anti-conformist. Anti-conformist movements are themselves practices in conformity. Non-conformity is the natural biproduct of unforced individuality, and that is the distinct air that characterizes all of Burton's films. With Edward Scissorhands, it wasn't like he was trying to make "different" beautiful------he just made beautiful differently. And not because bucking the status quo is 'cool' or whatever, but because being true to one's God-given, creative inclinations necessitates that their expression be both unique and personal.
Thanks to Tim, non-goths and generally happy people such as mysef can revel in a movie's atypical creativity without being exposed to the only audience that Shumacher could bring in with his cheap imitations...............imitators.
To put this Burton tirade in a nutshell: the man capitalizes coolness. And when I say "capitalizes coolness," I'm not insinuating that he makes "the state of being cool" into a proper noun, though that might not be so far from the truth. I mean that Tim Burton, whose genius spawned the immensely popular Nightmare Before Christmas (merchandise from the novice film is now worth a small fortune) is, quite possibly, the world's perfect fruit. He is solely responsible for the high-grossing success of Batman and Batman Returns , and, to be realistic, probably Batman Forever as well, the inspiration for which was drawn greatly from Burton's previous two hit films ( Batman Forever was not an entirely terribly movie, by the way. It just wasn't a Burton. =) ). In truth, if it weren't for Tim Burton there wouldn't even be a Batman Forever, as the series itself would surely be much, much more poorly made and any interest in perpetuating it would have dwindled considerably following the release of a sequel.
How many trilogies besides Star Wars and Indiana Jones included a third film that wasn't considerably worse than the first two?
Yes, you can count horror films.
What does this have to do with the hating of Batman and Robin, you ask?
Think of all I've just said about Mr. Burton. Think of how unimitable he is, how perfectly unparalleled. Lurking somewhere in that stately shadow, we see Joel Schmuck. Excuse me, Schumacher. He's the kinda guy that skateboarder terminology might dub a "poser." I prefer to call him "the Puff Daddy of Hollywood", after his uncanny ability to take a something that was much better off without his artistic influence and follow it up with a Schmucked-up version of its former grandeur. Joel took the proud heritage of worthy film-making that Burton handed down to him and turned it into a mutant uglier than Danny Devito. Granted, now, for some less imaginative soul, filling the shoes of Tim Burton is a formidable task. I'll give him that. But come ON, how bad can a movie get?! In the name of all that's pure and----holy sellout, batman! Schumacher's pathetic attempt to measure up to Burton caliber is laughable at best. Imitation might be the sincerest form of flattery, but in the eyes of a critic and the words of a beverage,
"you can't beat the real thing."
SUMMARY:
Imagine a two-hour episode of the "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers" with explosives.
...
There you go.
SCORING
CHARACTER PORTRAYAL / DEVELOPMENT: Don't make me laugh. Let's examine our cast, shall we?
Alicia Silverstone: Take it from Adam West: Spandex is not figure-flattering, honey.
Chris O'Donnell: gets an "E" for "effort" (and for "eyes" ------tee hee!).
Uma Thurman: should have stuck to modeling clothes (oh that's right. . .she did),
George Clooney: needs to stay in the E.R. with the rest of the scrubs, and as for
Arnold Schwastica:. . ."It's pah-tee time!" ?!? Ugh. Where's Turbo Man when you need him?
CHARACTER ORIGINALITY:
Hmmm. . .
Scary, isn't it?
SCRIPTING: Well, considering that this movie IS centered around a comic concept and is therefore alloted its due amount of cheeziness. . .
The script still sucks! Nyah! Incoherent dialogue spattered with half-witted winners like, "Chicks love the car", and "Bat on Ice, anyone?" (compliments of the barely literate Freeze) earn this film a big, fat kick in the personified pants-----proving that you can, in fact, hurt steel.
And by the way, don't tell me that putting a grown man in a ridiculously rock-hard bodysuit and expecting him to still perform a decent acting job is impossible. The OLD Batman knew how to be cheezy without selling out.
...though he was in spandex....
LANGUAGE / SEXUAL CONTENT: Tolerable. Uma's romp as Poision Ivy is bad enough to render her totally non-sexual. (If you haven't noticed, the words "kiss becomes deadly" translate into "a serious bomb" for almost any movie. Anyone up for some Species?)
THE FACT THAT SCHMUCK SUCKS: . . . You know, there are places left in Africa where they stone you for things like that.
WHAT THEY GIVE YOU TO LOOK AT: A lot of dazzle and vivid color. Even I must admit---the scenery sparkles like a well-polished batmobile.
But you know what they say about directors with big, flashy movies...
EDITING: It's nothing to shake a stick at. (I have absolutely no idea what that means.
But I've always wanted to say it.)
PLOT: ---Plot? Where?!? I didn't see any plot...
OVERALL RATING: TOTALLY BOGUS
You got somethin' to say to me, fool?
To the batcave!