THE DARK KNIGHT (2008), dir. Christopher Nolan

When Tim Burton’s 1989 “Batman” first came out, audiences were warned: “This isn’t your parents’ Batman,” referring to the campy Adam West television version from the 60’s. Having seen “The Dark Knight,” I think it would be safe to tell fans of Burton’s film the same thing: this isn’t their Batman, but one that’s a lot less gothic, a lot more psychological, and even more violent.

What Christopher Nolan’s movie lacks in production design, it makes up for through intensity. This is one hell of a suspense vehicle, ratcheting up the tension at regular intervals, letting audiences go for a moment, then improbably, raising the stakes even higher. It’s a roller coaster ride that could have been exhausting over the film’s two-hour-plus running time, but thanks to Nolan and co-scripter David Goyer’s emphasis on characters and their relationships, all the plot developments have emotional resonance.

“The Dark Knight” picks up near where “Batman Begins” left off: billionaire heir Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) is still the self-appointed guardian of Gotham City, slowly chipping away at the criminal underworld through his alter-ego Batman. His only friend on the police force remains Lieutenant Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman); in the District Attorney’s office, it’s Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, replacing Katie Holmes), his childhood sweetheart who learned his secret identity in the last movie.

A love triangle brews between Wayne, Dawes, and recently-elected District Attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), who seems sincere about crushing criminals and settling down with Bruce’s old flame. But with all due respect to the romantic aspects of the screenplay, the relationship at the heart of this film is that between Dent, Gordon, and Batman, who hatch a plan together to nail the mob on money laundering charges. Naturally, the first meeting of this crime-fighting trio brims with hope and optimism; unfortunately, things don't go as planned, and the next time they’re all together, it’s to reflect on the toll they’ve suffered in the name of the good fight.

Good and evil seem to be at war in “The Dark Knight,” but maybe it’s more like chaos and order. The main villain is a war paint-wearing, facially-scarred, mentally-off-balanced madman who calls himself the Joker (the late Heath Ledger), a self-described “agent of chaos” for whom there’s no applecart he won’t upset or shove through a sharp object, eye socket first. The filmmakers wisely adhere to his comics’ origin and withhold explaining how he got the way he does. Chaos, after all, needs no motivation; as one character wisely explains, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

By contrast, Dent not only represents “law and order,” his life appears built on the idea human will can successfully impose itself on chaos. Even when we think he’s starting to slip up, he’s in total control, “making his own luck,” as he says, seemingly confident of determining his own fate. However, one of the movie’s recurring themes is how short a jump there is between two halves of the same coin: order and chaos, hero and villain, and ultimately, life and death. When order meets chaos head-to-head, the movie argues, even the best of us can lose our way or become walking contradictions -- “two-faced” people.

In some ways, Nolan is a “two-face” himself, dressing up a summer blockbuster into something artier and genuinely disquieting at times. “The Dark Knight” probably features a higher body count than half-a-dozen serial killer movies combined, but despite lots of action sequences, it’s practically anti-violence due to presentation: during particular stretches of carnage, Nolan either cuts off the background music entirely or reduces it to a single, extended note, which somehow makes everything just a little too involving. When there’s nothing distracting you from the sight of the Joker walking down the street, firing a machine gun at anything that moves, that’s when the movie really pulls you out of your orderly viewing experience and puts you in a stranglehold.

Updated 8/3/08: Following the movie’s release, there were numerous articles regarding its supposed politics, with writers claiming references to the Iraq War, suicide bombers, and the Patriot Act. I can kind of see it: in theory, the triumvirate of Batman, Dent, and Lt. Gordon are standing in for the current administration, finding themselves dealing with a firestorm of reprisal after entering a foreign land in the name of justice. Gotham City becomes the battleground, but the problem is enemy soldiers are able to hide themselves in plain sight; for example, the Joker himself – minus his trademark make-up, of course – blends in with a procession of cops during an assassination attempt.

Meanwhile, is that “shock and awe” echoing in Alfred Pennyworth’s (Michael Caine) tale to Bruce Wayne about his past army days, how his unit managed to catch a madman among the natives, only by burning down an entire forest in which he lived? In order to avoid the same, Batman plans to spy on the cell phone calls of Gotham City’s citizenry using a hi-tech computer. One can practically hear him blubbering to Morgan Freeman how this potential breach of civil liberties is, “the only way to stop terror,” in a Texas accent.

The funny thing is the filmmakers seem okay with this encroachment, so long as the ends justify the means (a psycho gets brought down, innocent lives are saved), and there is no abuse of this power. And despite the temptation to keep around such an elaborate spying network – imagine how much easier it would make fighting crime – we assume Batman realizes the ethical implications of such a thing. At the very least, it would reveal a pessimistic view of human nature to rival the Joker and his other enemies. But although we can trust Batman not to abuse such invasive technology, the question the whole subplot seems to raise is: do we feel the same way about the current administration, or does the Dark Knight really symbolize something we don’t have, and are in need of?

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

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FINE, TOTALLY FINE (2008), dir. Yosuke Fujita

It’s not easy being almost 30, when society expects a person to have their career, be settled down, and to have left behind the immature trappings of youth. Two of the characters in “Fine, Totally Fine” feel the pressure to grow up from family and co-workers, while a third is almost totally adrift, primarily because she has no one who expects anything from her.

The main protagonists of this Japanese-language film include Hisanobu (Okada Yoshinori), a hospital administrator and perpetual nice guy due to his social awkwardness. However, despite looking normal enough on the outside, he leads a double life participating in low-budget horror flicks and elaborate pranks with Teruo (Yoshiyoshi Arakawa), his slacker buddy who enjoys scaring people.

Teruo, who has a round, childlike face, dreams of opening a haunted house someday and ignores accusations he is some kind of degenerate. But whether or not he should be telling little girls how real bears are much scarier than their teddies, he is clearly out of touch with reality; at one point, he expresses surprise when told he only works part-time as a park employee.

With the big “three-oh” on the horizon, Hisanobu begins questioning if they shouldn’t outgrow their anti-social behavior, a thought that offends Teruo. What else do they have to distract themselves with? The answer comes in the form of Akari (Kimura Yoshino), an attractive woman who possesses a clumsiness that makes Inspector Clouseau look like Gene Kelly. Hisanobu, perhaps recognizing a fellow square peg stuck in a round world, hires Akari to work at the hospital, then lands her another job at the bookstore owned by Teruo’s father.

Hilarity doesn’t exactly ensue once all three characters fall into each others’ orbits, but Yosuke, who also wrote the screenplay, peppers “Fine, Totally Fine” with lots of surreal comic moments that pop up when audiences least expect it. One of the best involves Teruo’s repeated attempts to tell a scary story nobody else finds scary. After two lackluster trial runs, the third time Hisanobu explodes from out of nowhere wearing bloody make-up and fangs.

There are also amusing running gags about a film-within-a-film; Akari’s obsession with fish paste sausages, which she carries in her pocket; and her proneness to accidents. Indeed, at one point, a character asks her about an injury she suffered, joking about it in ridiculous fashion, never realizing what he described is exactly what happened to her. (Speaking of Akari, her personal awakening from shy introvert was particularly well-portrayed by Kimura Yoshino, and I can't understand why the press notes singled out her co-star Yoshiyoshi for praise).

Despite the humorous bits, those who walk into “Fine, Totally Fine” expecting an “Amelie”-type film in which oddballs get with their soul mates may leave disappointed. A line of dialogue goes, “Life’s more fun when you’re an idiot,” which references and celebrates Teruo’s goofball antics; however, it also implies existence can be inherently disheartening. This proves true by film’s end, but no matter how bittersweet things get, Yosuke emphasizes the value of good friendships, an upbeat attitude, and delicious fish paste sausages.

Overall rating: ***1/2 (out of ****)

M*A*S*H (1970), dir. Robert Altman

The main characters are jerks, but Altman’s otherwise crazy-good comedy, which is about Vietnam without ever referencing it directly, stands up better if considered for the sum of its parts. Here is a movie that reflects a particular view on war; specifically, a war many of its participants don’t feel like taking part in. Under those circumstances, Altman and Ring Lardner, Jr., the screenwriter, seem to argue that mixing the willing and unwilling together only leads to conflict and chaos.

“M*A*S*H” centers around the doctors and nurses of the 4077 in Korea, which is stationed near the front and sees heavy casualties. The movie opens with the arrival of two new surgeons: Capt. Benjamin Pierce (Donald Sutherland), who goes by the nickname “Hawkeye,” and Capt. Forrest (Tom Skerritt). Although exceptional in the operating room, they don’t exactly behave like military professionals, but this is tolerated by their commanding officer Colonel Blake (Roger Bowen).

Soon Hawkeye and Forrest are joined by even more of a wild card: Dr. “Trapper John” McIntyre (Elliott Gould), who actually carries his own jar of olives on the outside chance he’ll be offered a dry martini. Together, they launch a reign of frat-boy-style terror intended to defy the restrictions of the army, or at the very least, help distract them from their present circumstances; namely, the parade of wounded they frequently operate on under less-than-ideal conditions.

The pranks threaten to go overboard at times, but the entire movie resembles an anarchic free-for-all. Characters are veritable cartoons (Does Hawkeye ever take off his hat, and how often do we see him or Trapper John without a drink in their hands?), and there’s more off-beat, wacky touches than can be kept track of. Col. Blake, for example, is practically a one-man comedy highlight reel, but the most irreverent sequence in the film involves a suicidal dentist and a visual reference to the Last Supper.

And let’s not forget the use of Johnny Mandel’s “Suicide is Painless” over the opening credits, during which a gurney containing a wounded soldier is accidentally dropped. It may seem in poor taste, but when there’s a song in the background stating that killing the self is preferable to going off to war, one gets the feeling the accompanying visuals are meant to be tongue-in-cheek.

Meanwhile, characters who are the butts of jokes almost always deserve it. That is certainly true for Major Frank Burns (Robert Duvall), a moral hypocrite and bully. The treatment of chief nurse “Hot Lips” O’Houlihan (Sally Kellerman), on the other hand, borders on cruelty – it’s not like she can just transfer to another post in the war, can she? But the character herself is a commissioned officer, and represents everything Hawkeye, McIntyre, and other draftees neither want nor need. For her, the strict disciplinarian is the ideal, and she threatens everybody’s fun with an official complaint regarding Col. Blake’s lack of leadership.

Altman and Lardner, however, make the argument that the moment General MacArthur dropped off American soldiers in Korea prior to retiring, the military had no head. In the case of the 4077, Cpl. “Radar” O’Reilly (Gary Burghoff) appears to be the man in charge, usually one step ahead of Col. Blake, who knows more about football than military leadership. But other authority figures fare no better, the most offensive being the misogynist C.O. of an army unit who challenges the 4077 to a pigskin match, whose leadership style is best described as belittling everyone around him.

Yes, there is a climactic football game, but that implies “M*A*S*H” actually builds to something, when really it’s relatively episodic. Indeed, the progress of time isn’t kept track of by obvious means, and although documentary-like sequences in the operating room ensure we never forget the specter of war, on the whole, there is no discernible “Raising of the stakes” one finds in a typical screenplay.

Quite the opposite happens, in fact; the beginning and middle are concerned with the physical and mental health of American soldiers and foreign civilians, but by the end, the 4077 somehow finds itself competing on a football field for a pot of money. For a while, the movie seems to be an entirely different film set somewhere in the mid-west, as opposed to the Korean theater where our armed forces are supposed to be defending the American way of life. But it befits the rest of the movie’s wackiness, and what’s more American than football and gambling?

Overall rating: ***1/2 (out of ****)

PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE (1974), dir. Brian De Palma

Had anyone else directed this movie, it may have only turned out half as good. That’s the biggest compliment I can pay De Palma, who wrote and directed this otherwise B-grade trash film, but elevates it through sheer force of will, dark wit, and the casting of songwriter/actor Paul Williams.

As the title indicates, “Phantom of the Paradise” takes inspiration from Gaston Leroux’s novel “Phantom of the Opera,” about a disfigured musical genius who helps turn the ingénue he’s in love with into a star. This time around, the phantom is a tortured piano player named Winslow Leach (William Finley), the ingénue is an aspiring actress (Jessica Harper), and Paradise is a club owned by the record producer Swan (Williams), who is seeking a new sound to open with.

Swan decides Leach’s music is perfect; however, instead of buying it, he has him wrongfully imprisoned and destroys his face and voice. In a plot that freely borrows from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” “Faust,” and others*, Leach escapes, sneaks into the Paradise, and begins sabotaging it until he’s offered a deal he cannot refuse: complete his masterpiece, an opera based on “Faust,” Swan tells him, and he will get creative control and the means to make music again. All he needs to do is sign a lifetime contract in blood, which really, should have been the first sign for Leach that the terms wouldn’t be in his favor.

“What does this mean?” Leach asks regarding legalese stating the contractor gets all rights to fetch and carry forth his “soul, flesh, blood, or goods.” “Oh, that’s a transportation clause,” Swan nonchalantly replies, in a scene seemingly lampooning the real-life music industry, where to this day, lawsuits claiming thievery and mismanagement by producers run rampant. Of course, it’s also an example of the mocking humor that peppered De Palma’s work right up to 1978’s “The Fury.”

There is always some undercurrent of humor to go with the film’s escalating violence and mayhem; nevertheless, “Phantom” feels like a movie done in two halves. Despite being concerned with Leach’s fall from grace, the first half is B-movie-ish in its aesthetic, featuring moments that are manic in tone and downright experimental: a jailbreak played for laughs; a sped-up chase sequence done to classical music; even some rickety, handheld camera work. As Leach, Finley’s dorky looks and lack of traditional leading man stature only add to the film’s cheapie feel, which some will doubtlessly find charming.

Once the second half gets rolling, however, the set pieces become more elaborate and the tone settles into more of a slow burn. True, De Palma throws in some twists – it’s as if he decided, “I’ve ripped off three classics so far, what’s another?” – coming close to derailing the whole enterprise if not for his willingness to simply throttle his way through to the end. In addition, he was fortunate to have Paul Williams to lean the film on; his youthful looks and boyish smile help make everything he said or did seem extra sinister, and his real-life success as a songwriter for The Carpenters, among others, made him the perfect casting choice for Swan.

De Palma has always been something of a cult director, and fans will undoubtedly note the use of split screens – one of his lasting trademarks – as well as his thing for recording technology, which would reappear in 1981’s “Blow-Out.” Meanwhile, beneath such over-the-top touches as a muscular lead singer who is flamboyantly gay off-stage, De Palma the screenwriter does seem to have something halfway-subversive to say about the music industry and pop culture: namely, that everyone’s worth more dead than alive. But the more practical message for struggling musicians might be never sign a contract in blood, at least not without having a lawyer read it first.

Overall rating: *** (out of ****)