Happy Batday: 75 Years of the Dark Knight: Batman: The Animated Series

Now the caped crusader's reached three quarters of a century, it's high time to devote a swift bit of love to those who've brought Bruce Wayne's heroic alter-ego to the critical and cultural heights he's been hitting, socking, and kerpowing since 1939.

This week...

Batman - The Animated Series

What?

Erm, an animated show about Batman, funnily enough.

Yeah, I got that, smartarse. Give me details.

Briefly then, from the combined talents of Bruce Timm and Eric Radomski, Batman: The Animated Series was a series of half hour (plus ad breaks) 1990's cartoons that took a distinctive and timeless 1940's Fleischer style animation to depict the brooding badass in all his butt-kicking glory. If you want more, seek it out. This is about the why, not the what.

Scarecrow: deranged fear-spreader. Looks cool.

OK then. Why is it so great?
Firstly, it's a visual groin-tease. Gorgeously-rendered style of fluidity to our main man in the mask. All the supporting characters are faithful to their comic book origins without being needlessly slavish. The Art Deco backgrounds are heavy and imposing, just as Gotham should be (thanks to the then-unusual method of painting on black paper). Plus, brilliantly, the cowl's eyes follow Batman's expressions just like in the comics, and you don't question it. As such, he gets to "pull a Clint Eastwood" just like this.

Bruce Wayne: squinting at Gotham's underworld.

K, so it's got the looks. What does it sound like?
Glad you've asked. Danny Elfman's Batman theme from the '89 Burton blockbuster has never been as exciting than when it's matched to the opening credits of this cartoon. Furthermore, composer Shirley Walker (who conducted said film) took this classy, thunderous anthem as her cue to underscore the rest of the show. Fittingly, there's a mournful, dangerous and not a little seedy edge to the brassy noir tone she brings. Plus, there's the voice cast...

Mark Hamil as the insanely excellent Joker.

Go on.
It's AWESOME. Kevin Conroy's playful playboy contrasts perfectly with his dangerous detective, setting the oral template for any Batman to come after. Sorry Mr Bale - still love you and all, but your Rottweiler growling is no match for our man's mean grizzling as the definitive Dark Knight. Mark Hamil's throaty menace brings a joyful sadism to his psychotic Joker, whilst Bob Hastings' grounded Gordon is a reassuringly level-headed slice of sanity amongst all the madness. And Arleen Sorkin of course.

Harley: if she calls you "Puddin'", you know that she's in love with you.

Who did she play?
Only the character the show damn well invented - Harley Quinn!

A TV show that originated from a comic
which then became a comic which itself
spawned an episode of the TV show. See?

Joker's deranged sidekick and love interest Harley Quinn? This show invented her?
Sure did. Well technically, writer Paul Dini did, but it was on this show. They even wrote an origins story spin-off comic, Mad Love, which won a shit-heap of awards and, in a snakey-tail-bite kind of circular invention, was then made into an episode of the show. As if that wasn't enough, this show gave Mr Freeze some credibility.

Yeah, I've seen the film Batman & Robin. I doubt that.
This was before that. In episode Heart of Ice, they turned him from a pun-delivering two-bit C-lister to a tragic, elegiac soul whose motivation is derived purely from seeking to cure his terminally ill beloved. 

Yeah, they did that in Batman & Robin!
Badly. No, terribly. Here, it's almost Shakespearean in its tone. Sort of.

Victor. Ironically named: he always loses.

But it's still about some dude beating up fancy dress crims though, innit?
Well, yes, but that's precisely why it works. It takes the fantastical trimmings and places the absurdity centre stage yet never underplays the dramatic tension. The characters sell the lunacy wholesale no matter what, from The Scarecrow throwing sports matches by gassing athletes with fear toxin to The Joker making kidnap victims keep quiet by stuffing candy canes into their mouths (which they could spit out at any time) all the way to defeating Mr Freeze with a flask of hot chicken soup (er, spoilers). It has the courage of the comic legacy, and runs into the night with it. Surely that's worth celebrating any year?

Holy cock-tease, you're right Miles.

I know I am. I'm a god-damn Batfan.

Batfin

Review: The Night Before Easter (2014)

Dir: Joseph Henson & Nathan Johnson

From the fledgling talents of slasher site and dedicated podcast hosts Joseph Henson and Nathan Johnson comes this seasonal slayer, released just in time to accompany all that Cadburys and vomiting.

Someone get a mop.

Centring on the murderous antics of an axe-wielding Easter Bunny, The Night Before Easter is a decidedly amateur, though largely charming effort. Set in the unique but improbable environment of a storage warehouse (mercifully called out in the script), the directors’ shared adoration of the genre informs every turn of the film, which should leave fans finding satisfaction in ticking off the tropes as they go.

"Hey! It's you! How you been?"

Much like clotted blood though, the film’s quality is a little inconsistent. The pre-slaughter build-up for instance, is longer than Jason Voorhee’s kill list, and whilst “come for the bodycount, stay for the characters” is an admirable adage, the first half an hour sags horrendously under the weight of its interminable dialogue. Perhaps under a more experienced cast, this might be more tolerable. However, as it strands, there’s an awkward lack of fluidity to much of the conversation. Fortunately, the cast are killed off seemingly in order of acting ability, with a couple of minor exceptions. That said, bitchy Melissa is a lot of fun, and April Sinclair’s Elisabeth a clear cut above her thespian peers. Regardless, the brutal editing of the early chatter would benefit the film greatly.

 

"Egg? For me? Nah, you're alright mate..."

Speaking of brutality, the murderous setpieces are refreshingly varied and some of the gore effects remarkably convincing. Occasionally, the footage shot can’t quite keep up with the script’s demands, but overall, there’s a satisfying splatter to the mayhem. Disappointingly however, the final showdown happens entirely off camera. Whether an artistic decision or simple matter of logistics, it sadly makes for an unavoidably underwhelming climax.

On the audio front, Scott Henson’s delicious electronic score evokes the downbeat synth of an Argento or Carpenter and as such, is terrific.

 

Dante: good name for someone in a low budget indie flick.
Anyway, liked this fella.

There are a few technical limitations: lack of focus, a low level of lighting and the apparent desire to make almost every shot a Dutch tilt can prove somewhat frustrating. But I’m not going to rag solely on these issues – it’s a first effort, and this film sows deeply the seeds from a production team that could one day produce a great genre bloom. Henson and Johnson know the slasher inside-out, play to its strengths, and have the basic structure locked down for their next gory venture.

 

Melissa: bee-yatch.

The Night Before Easter is an early draft. A demo, if you will. With the exception of hardcore slasher enthusiasts, I probably wouldn’t recommend it. But as a first stab at a bodycount horror, this particular bunny has laid out some promising eggs for us to discover. At the moment however, they’re hidden perhaps just a little too well.

The Night Before Easter is available from Vimeo to rent or buy as digital download just by clicking on this here link. 

Netquix: What About Bob? (1991)

Netflix content reviewed in 150 words. Or thereabouts.

What About Bob? (1991)

Dir: Frank Oz

Running Time: 98 minutes

What about Bob then? Well, he’s annoying for starters. Very, very annoying. Luckily, he’s played with charm-exuding magnetism by Bill Murray. Concerning the titular psychiatric patient’s holiday hounding of Richard Dreyfuss’ slowly unravelling Doctor, this early nineties comedy essentially comprises a series of awkward set pieces that gather momentum by the minute.

 

Bob: jarring

Puppetry of the penis

Frank Oz’s airy direction plays Tom Schulman’s potentially dark script polystyrene light, which is demonstrably for the best (we all remember The Cable Guy, yeah?). Satisfyingly however, the gags’ cumulative effect climax in faintly bleak high farce, narrowly avoiding the clichéd sugar-sweet denouements of that era’s family fare (Big, Home Alone et al). The mirrored dovetailing of the two central character’s arcs feels convenient, but given it’s the whole point of the film, churlish to complain.

Despite the short run time however, you may feel that much like its exasperating eponymous anti-hero, Bob outstays his welcome.

6/10

Blur – The Great Escape

It might not be Blur’s best album, but it’s almost certainly their most fascinating…

Dissect an album that made millions and was received ecstatically on release, yeah? Why bother?

Because this is an album that suffered severe critical whiplash, so near immediate was the turn against the Essex foursome. Once the fickle finger of popular opinion pointed towards the hoary “authenticity” of contemporary rivals Oasis, Blur were instantly derided as the corporate delivery boys of fakery and sneery-eyed cynicism.

 

1995 - what are you like?

A press fabrication (definitely) maybe, but it’s a feeling that was grounded in reality, and largely engendered by Blur’s fourth studio outing.

So, what’s wrong with The Great Escape? It’s the previous (phenomenally successful) album Parklife but magnified, isn’t it? How can that not be a good thing? Simply, take the nuance, character and charm from that LP, and you’re left with Big Top Blur – an empty vessel dispassionately bolting together a contractual obligation. A functioning pop outfit chugging out plastic, soulless art-rock weaved from ego, hype, and coke binges.

It starts out inoffensively enough – Stereotypes is middling output. Essentially a gaudy half-tempo re-imagining of Squeeze’s Cool for Cats, it was swallowed up anonymously into Britpop’s tiresome gulfstream with little fuss. Unless, of course, you listen to the lyrics.

Cocker. He so common.

When Jarvis Cocker does social commentary lyricism it’s witty working class observation borne from affection. When Damon Albarn tries the same, it’s perceived as snot-nosed condescension. Parklife just about carried off its charismatic parochial vignettes with a fine line in cheeky wit. By contrast, The Great Escape lends itself to snobbery and caricature. From Fade Away to It Could Be You and Ernold Same to Entertain Me, the British (or more specifically, the English) are portrayed as unimaginative automatons, boorish simpletons or both, with not a slither of empathy to be found.

“A car. A house. Both in street.

The boredom of the sober week.

The weekend is here – hip hip hooray,

To make the blues just go away,” monotones Albarn on Entertain Me.

The disdain practically bleeds from the speakers.

Damon Albarn: who's a pretty boy then?

And when he’s not telling his audience how insufferably dense they are, he’s throwing them barely syllabic grunts of a chorus, as in Charmless Man’s lazily yelped “Na na na na na na naaaas”.

Sonically, it’s all over the place. Graham Coxon’s wonderfully inventive guitar parts are buried under an avalanche of kick horns, strings, and oompah trouser twaddle. Usually so favourable to The Smiths, Babyshambles, and Blur themselves, Stephen Street’s hyper-polished production smothers any chance the songs had to survive under layer upon layer of overdubs and needless backing vocals.

The Universal: gassy

The Great Escape stands as audible proof that success had largely ruined the genre. Once the record companies began expecting major label sales from indie label outfits, the pressure was on to provide revenue by crapping out ever more excessively populist nonsense at the expense of artistry.

Take Mr Robinson’s Quango. It’s horrible. A directionless, ADHD-fuelled cacophonous collision of ill-fitting genres whilst Albarn squeals coquettishly over the top about god only knows. (Almost by way of apology, it’s followed immediately by He Thought of Cars, a soporific comedown that could sit on their next eponymous grunge-inspired LP with little tonal difference.)

No wonder Oasis won the war. They sang songs about aspiring and shining and rolling with it: rock you could drunkenly slur along to. Blur were singing about grabbing secretary’s arses and herpes: pop you couldn’t dance to.

Despite the jollity, there’s a mournful quality threaded through much of the album – a reluctant gritted-toothed grin on Best Days, Yuko and Hiro, Dan Abnormal and The Theme from British Gas (otherwise known as The Universal).

The last straw for Coxon...

Of course, towards the beginning is the track that perhaps best (or worst) exemplifies the sadness and overblown pomposity of the entire record: jaunty knees-up Country House. Oh, Country House – what left to say? It’s preposterous to the power of absurd? A vacuous knob-a-long that damn near killed the band’s integrity? Actually, ahem, kind of fun?

All these years later, it’s easier to pick apart the composition from the cultural baubles of the era: specifically, the chart battle and the stupid Carry On Keith Allen promo video. It’s time to recognise the pop brilliance that lies beneath. Irritating it may well be, and perhaps distinctive for having the weediest guitar solo in the history of recorded music, but it’s a joyously-constructed four minutes of multi-layered pop extravagance. Blur now finally play it again as part of their their live set, brass section and all. Having shunned it for over a decade, it's back where it belongs - in the public’s ears. One suspects it’s largely thanks to the mellowing of Graham Coxon, now much more at ease with his musical legacy provided he’s allowed sporadic time off from the mothership to make impenetrable solo albums from old bits of cardboard and dust.

Blur 2012: fittier, happier. No wait, that's the other fellas.

If The Great Escape has an allure then, is that it doesn't try to be loved. It’s the brash kid in the room with little sense of self-awareness, bellowing audaciously out of sheer nihilistic boredom. Ugly, cold and ludicrous? Hell yes, but therein lies a compelling sense of compulsion/attraction. To listen to it is to bear witness to the tipping point of Britpop: the point at which the overindulgence became sometimes un-listenable and occasionally unbearable.

Blur by Blur. File under "Blur", ok?

And after this cultural crash and burn?

Just two short years later the group would reform to give us Blur, their stripped down “lo-fi” effort, shaking off the baggage of before: the cobwebs, the handclaps and the audiences comprising almost exclusively of teenage girls. It’s bloody excellent. If this album gave us nothing else, it made the band reform, retreat, and re-think. The Great Escape is Batman & Robin before we could get to Batman Begins. It's Die Another Day prior to Casino Royale. Beetlebum, not pinching bums. 

And for that, we should be grateful to have made that very great escape.

Happy Batday - 75 Years of the Dark Knight: Jeph Loeb

Batcake and me. Let's celebrate.

This year celebrates the 75th anniversary of everybody's favourite comic hero. Well alright - mine. Gotham's black-suited* badass has been my go-to guy for all things superhero since infancy, and being a hopeless manchild well into my thirties, that's not about to stop any time soon. I could write bibles' worth about why I think he's the greatest, but you're probably as short on patience as I am on attention span. So, just put succinctly: I love the goddamn Batman.

Now the caped crusader's reached three quarters of a century, I thought it time to devote a swift bit of love to those who've brought Bruce Wayne's heroic alter-ego to the critical and cultural heights he's been hitting, socking, and kerpowing since 1939.

So, in no order whatsoever, I'm starting with...

Jeph Loeb

Who?

American film, TV and comic book writer.

Why is he great?

He wrote Commando (1985).

"Don't disturb my friend - he's dead tired." Ha! Because he's dead, see?

Anything else?

You need more? OK, what about Teen Wolf (1985)? This bit's amazing. Plus it has in it a girl called Boof. How brilliant's that?

Erm, anything Batman related?

Holy dicktug, yes. Have The Long Halloween: a seriously brilliant crime puzzler set early in Batman's career that deals with Harvey Dent's descent into super villain Two Face. It's spooky, utterly gripping, and a genuine mystery, one that gives our hero just cause to call himself, "the world's greatest detective". Lots of core elements were pilfered wholesale for Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy.

They used loads of sources for that. What else you got?

Blimey, alright. Well, follow up Dark Victory is another cracker. More gangsters and grim goings-on. Not a lot of joy admittedly, but damned compulsive, thanks again to Loeb's insistence of making it a whodunnit. 

Keep going.

OK, Batman: Hush. Perhaps best advised for those at least arse-deep in the Bat mythos, 'cos there's years of backstory on which the story hinges. For fairweather readers, it could be confusing, but for fans who've done their homework, it's a big ol' wet dream of a series. Plus, it might just be the best use of a particular character usually ill-served by writers who simply don't know what to do with them. To say who it is would spoil the story. So get reading.

OK, shall do. Anything else?

Yeah, heaps, but what do I look like - Wikipedia? Get to a comic shop or Amazon or a library or wherever and get some Loeb in your life.

Batfin

*alright, grey and blue sometimes too. And yellow on the logo. Or red, like in Batman Beyond.