Holy Duality Batman!
Superheroes are, on the main, a rather dull bunch and none duller than that goody goody mummy’s boy; Superman. What a snooze that alien is, everything in his world(s) fits neatly into two categories, ‘GOOD’ and ‘BAD’. There are no shadows, no darkness. His character is wooden and a penny tossed in wouldn’t have far to sink. His alter-ego Clark Kent is a bumbling suit with self image problems which, presumably, is to deflect our curiosity about his real self but I don’t see why he needs to bother; as long as he keeps his glasses on nobody will ever guess that he and Superwuss are the same bloke which says plenty about the intellect of the inhabitants of Metropolis especially Lois Lane who knows both men intimately and still has no idea as to his true identity.
As for James Bond, well who wants to watch what is primarily a twelve year old boys wet dream. At least Carry On films had Kenneth Williams in them. I’ve never read the books so I can’t comment on their literary value but the films are scoreless draws on a freezing weeknight in Bournemouth. The acting in the last one was so bad that the director might as well have held two bits of two by four with ‘James Bond’ written on one ‘Boobs’ on the other and waggled them about (but not too much, don’t want them stealing the show). I knew what was going to happen when i saw the poster. Actually I also knew what was going to happen in Batman, after all it’s been happening for almost seventy years but the difference is that I care about what happens to Bruce Wayne and to Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Dent and The Joker. Empathy kids, that’s the difference… real people. Ok, real people dressed up as a bat but some of us need to hide behind a mask in order to express ourselves.
In Batman’s world nothing is ever as simple or as straightforward. His ass is torn. He is convinced of his mission, to rid Gotham City of it’s dark and seedy underworld elements and yet without them he does not exist. It’s as if every criminal, rapist, mobster he beats up/puts away is Joe Chill (the mugger who killed his parents) but what happens when they’ve all gone, when there are no Chills left? There is little doubt that all that grief and rage powered intellect and muscle would turn it’s destructive force inwards. So he needs them, especially the Joker, one of the greatest mythical characters of all time. With his burning intelligence and his first in Capebait Psychology from the Arkham Asylum he holds up a mirror for Batman to see what he really is; a tragic figure wearing a bat costume who shouldn’t spend so much time down the gym and who should maybe learn to relax a bit more. C’mon Bruce, Eat a Peach. This just winds up the Bat even more because, deep, deep down (and that’s a penny you wouldn’t hear land) he knows it’s true. He knows that all he’s done is thrown his lot in the with the crazies, oddballs and costume freaks, that innocent people have died simply because he exists.
He also knows that he would increase his effectivity ratio by getting Alfred to locate a really big BATGUN so he could really go to town on this house of mirrors Joe Chill infinity collective that stain his beloved streets but then that would make him as bad as the very people he has pitted himself against even though everyone else, including the few people who know his identity (how many is that? three? four?) wish in their hearts that he would. As Bobby Seale once said ‘Power comes from the barrel of a gun’ and he knew a thing or two about politics and what constitutes a fair fight. If, as Bruce Wayne so often says, Batman doesn’t need to be liked, he just needs to be whatever suits Gotham’s needs at the time, then he should get out the gun catalogue and splatter a bit of claret about the place sooner rather than later. It’ll make him feel so much better.
