Going Sane, 1994

Inspired by Jokers-Circus's brilliant post on the same subject here. My scans in this post aren't as nice, sorry.

So, comic books and me: we have but a passing acquaintance. I like the idea of most superheroes, and in fact actively love a select few of them. But for some reason, there are only a handful of comic books (fine, fine, graphic novels, you nerds) that I love in the same way.

Going Sane is one of them.

Written by J.M. DeMatteis with art by Joe Staton and Steve Mitchell, Going Sane is a Batman tale centered around The Joker, and explores the question as to whether or not, if Batman dies, The Joker would die with him, simply from lack of that stalwart opposing force.

Joker is a fascinating creature, and one that draws an ol' timey film nerd like me to him automatically. Look at his character's history: inspired by Conrad Veidt's Gwynplaine in the 1928 version of Victor Hugo's The Man Who Laughs, Joker combines the horror of grand guignol silent films with the psychotic spark of the Marx Brothers. Despite the dark, dark, very dark and edgy evolution of his character--growing more and more twisted and manic with each new generation, from crippling Barbara Gordon to Heath Ledger's darkest film take--old-fashioned comedy is what shapes and defines Joker. The Chaplins, Keatons, and Lloyds of years past are the eternal backdrop to his crimes, his framing device. Batman, of course, is the audience.

So when the audience is gone?

You get Joseph Kerr, mild-mannered amnesiac, who must take pills in order to control his "skin condition."

Of course many comics, including The Dark Knight, have toyed with the age-old idea of Joker and Batman serving as two sides to the same coin, unable to exist without the other. But DeMatteis was the first to literally spell this theory out on paper, stating loud and clear that The Joker would have no point, no purpose without the dude in the cape n' cowl. Creating a whole story arc around this could have come across as too obvious, almost to the point of ruining the argument. However, DeMatteis brings in a shocking new side to the argument, an idea that many would shy away from even today: what if The Joker is only evil because of Batman? When Batman dies, would Joker's evil die? Leaving behind...a good man?

On the surface, according to this book, the answer appears to be yes. But once you go a little bit deeper...it's, um, deeper than that.

In his recent review of the last Harry Potter movie in The New Yorker, David Denby wonders if children will "understand Rowling's suggestion that none of us are purely good or purely evil."  It's obvious DeMatteis understands, and illustrates just how this dichotomy is not only personified by the good Batman and the evil Joker, but by The Joker and Joseph Kerr: one body, two different personalities fighting for dominance.

Once Joker morphs into Joseph Kerr (which includes an operation to un-bleach his white skin), we start seeing the world through innocent Joseph's eyes. And because I'm an icky girl, this leads to my favorite part, my favorite romance I've read in a graphic novel: the reformed Joker's tender, understanding relationship with his equally mild-mannered neighbor Rebecca Brown.

 Their dynamic is especially appealing to classic film bloggers like myself, because if it wasn't 1994, the pair would totally be blogging their little hearts out about Fred and Ginger and Fibber McGee and Molly. They're quiet characters who create a fantasy world inhabited by Jack Benny's gang, George and Gracie, Baby Snooks, and all the radio serial classics.  DeMatteis remembers that comedy is always Joker's backdrop, no matter what incarnation or what level his insanity--and the fact that classic comedy is what Joker/Joseph takes shelter in illustrates how just outside contemporary society the man is. With Joker, his idealization of classics symbolizes his inability to relate to those around him save for violence. With Joseph, the inability to relate period.

But then he meets Rebecca. He now has someone to share this with. We learn little about Rebecca's background, except that she's 35, is on speaking terms with her mother, and has little experience with men. She makes little allusions throughout that maybe she, this introverted woman bordering on middle age, has likewise done things she's not proud of. At one point, referring to the love Joseph has brought to her life, she says in her narrative box, "In six weeks he'd transformed my entire life. Brought me more happiness than I'd ever dreamed was possible. More happiness, certainly, than I ever deserved." Later, once they're engaged, she says the rain pouring down is like "God's just washing away everything that's come before--so that tomorrow morning when I say 'I do'--it'll be a beautiful new beginning for both of us."

Is she simply modest, one of those self-effacing religious types who spurns joy as an undeserving treat? Or does Rebecca Brown have her own smirking hellbeast, locked away more securely than Joseph's? Is that why she's so drawn to him? Is this where their deep connection stems from outside of their love of Tommy Dorsey and screwball comedy? Is this why she's so deeply troubled about his "episodes"--is she scared not because she doesn't understand, but because she understands all too well the struggle to keep back the bile?

We don't know, and if that was DeMatteis's intention, he doesn't call undue attention to it. Still, with the little information we have, we get to know Rebecca far better than the usual one-off love interest. He truly cares about developing this character. The fact that he shirks comic book convention by making her mousy instead of sensual, soft-spoken instead of kickass, dressed in sweaters and long skirts instead of tights and a cape, makes her stand out even more in this genre.

As I mention on Jokers-Circus, her lack of glamor and pretense is what most likely draws the recovering Joker to her. In Alan Moore's The Killing Joke (1988), considered the definitive Joker book, we see hints of a possible past for the Joker, one he reaches out for in his unreliable memory: a funny, understanding, pregnant wife named Jeannie. The two of them live in a run-down apartment thanks to his fledgling career as a nervous standup comic. Jeannie's described in Moore's original script as average looking, sickly, but "happy in her grim little apartment," supportive of her husband without being submissive.

 

There's speculation that Going Sane is meant to take place before the events of Killing Joke, leading to theories that the Jeannie we see here is actually Rebecca, distorted in Joker's memory--as he says in Killing Joke, his memories shift and transform as quickly as his manic moods. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I like Jeannie and I like Rebecca, so combining both characters feels like short-changing them both. But from a thematic perspective, Joker's softening expression in the panel above eerily echoes his expression in Going Sane here, when Rebecca's face appears to him while threatening Councilwoman Kenner, portending that maybe this is the case.

 Yes, surprising spoiler, Joker reverts. Batman is alive after all; in another subplot of the book, we see him recuperating with the assistance of a lovely doctor in an idyllic little town. He's ready to abandon his Batman persona forever, just as Joseph has abandoned Joker, when his doctor tells him how an encounter with Batman in Gotham helped restore her faith in humanity after she was raped. So he returns, hoping to inspire more people like her. 

This is a well-written part of the book, but fails to get me like Joker's struggle. See, Bruce Wayne is fully aware of his identity throughout, and is calmly mulling over the possibilities with all the gravity sanity brings. Joseph Kerr does not have this luxury. He's unsure what force is drawing him back to a life of crime in Gotham, only vague, terrifying shapes in his nightmares. It isn't until he sees that Bat again that he snaps, and Joseph disappears.

But then there's that shot of Joker weakening when confronted with the vision of Rebecca in Kenner's place. Like Moore's Joker, briefly reaching out for Jeannie, DeMatteis's creation is not a cardboard psychopathic cutout. Many graphic novelists, desperate to escape the campy '60s TV show depiction of Joker as a harmless mischief maker, went too far in the other direction, making him far darker and far more violent, but still lacking in depth.

Harley Quinn is a tragic and fascinating character because even if there is a small, tiny, measly little spark in Joker that's capable of love, she'll never earn it, in my incredibly unpopular opinion. Love, even in a wildly fictional setting like comic books, requires a foundation of respect, and there is no respect for Harley in Joker. How could there be, god bless 'er? 

With Rebecca and Jeannie, that respect is there and that love is there, regardless of whether or not Jeannie is even real. Something makes him reach out in that picture in Killing Joke, and something stops him in that panel with Kenner. Does that mean twoo wuv could redeem Joker forever? Obviously not, since the specter of Batman is able to lure him back to his evil-doin' ways and away from Rebecca's side. 

 But that his love for her is enough to temporarily disturb and disorient him, distract him from the vision of Batman punching him to justice, widens the scope of his character. He's closer than ever to the original Gwynnplaine comparison, though with a far more conscious awareness of the corruption he's sunk into. The downward spiral of their relationship that Batman perpetually laments is not one-sided here; Joker, deep down, may want to get out of their sick dynamic too, but the sickness is too malignant now, too inescapable. Just like Mr. Freeze or Two-Face, Joker has his tragic edge.

Going Sane is not without its flaws. Well, it has at least one, from my point of v: the art. Man, I do not like the art. My admittedly untrained eye finds the drawings clumsy, half-assed, and uneven. In the first half of the book, Rebecca's hair is light brown, but by the end, it's blonde; Joker looks far boxier and meatier than he should, his hair bushier, and it's impossible to tell who's supposed to be good-looking and who's not, since everyone just looks sort of awful. My ideal graphic novel? This story drawn by the ingenious Brian Bolland, who drew The Killing Joke. 

Still, DeMatteis's story is so strong that I even prefer Going Sane to Killing Joke overall (sorry, y'all, you can map out for me all sorts of excellent arguments as to why Barbara's paralysis is necessary, but I'm going with my classic knee-jerk take on this one: BOO). Even if you're not a Batman fan or a fan of comic books in general, the countless allusions to classic comedies and big-band music would most definitely appeal to this audience, and the story's depth should stay with you beyond that. The way it's structured is fragmented beautifully, providing the four central characters' perspectives in multi-colored narrative boxes--unfamiliar as I am with graphic novels, I'm not sure if that's a common structural strategy, but it's very effective here.

Joseph Kerr is a mostly good man with a hidden room of demons festering inside him. And DeMatteis argues that Joker is mostly a demon with a hidden sanctuary of good inside him, a corner consisting of a small, quiet man in love--in love with both a woman and with a past that he perceives as a simpler, better time. The Joker in his mind is merely a reaction to the moral decay he believes is around him. He soaks it in while also mocking it: he kills what he sees as inescapably corrupted and devoid of humor, and revels in that destruction. However, by his shaky definition, everything is corrupt, no one has a sense of humor, so everything is fair game to kill. Joker's tragedy is that unlike Joseph, he's better at keeping the good in him at bay than Joseph is at stamping down the evil.

Totally Awesome Performances That Don't Get Enough Recognition, Femme Edition

Every once in a while I get hooked on a performance I see in a movie, whether it's someone in a principal role or a character actor making a brief appearance. Something about the actor--whether it's actual skill or just a distinct way of talking, emoting, or what have you--just clicks with me. Usually I find others who share my opinion, but sometimes not enough. And that makes me angry for some reason. I mean, why should I give so much of a crap? I bet the actors don't care if not everyone on the globe fawns all over their performances, so long as they get their paycheck. But, frankly, the fact exists: I think there are some performances out there so fabulous and spiffy that they should be universally acknowledged. So there.

Thusly and therefore, here's this post. Right now I'll cover the lady performances I've seen over the years, since they're the first that come to mind. I don't know, maybe it's a self-centered trait of mine that makes me focus more on the wimmin' performers, since I, like many fangirls, tend to insert myself into the female roles I see onscreen. But this sort of backward sexism is impermissible! So once I think about it some more, I'll give the guys some time to shine.

But for now, in no particular order:

Michelle Pfeiffer as Selina Kyle/Catwoman in Batman Returns (1992)

As you might remember from my previous Batman related post, I tend to favor more outlandish and cartoonish portrayals of stuff adapted from comic books, so long as it adheres to the original author's tone. That's why I'm mostly a defender of the Burton Batman movies. They're not as good as the animated series in my opinion, but they still have that gothic, stylized design combined with galumphing energy that just feels right for a Batman treatment (hell, I'm pretty sure it's Burton more than anyone else who influenced the cartoon series). However, people still tend to rag the shit out of Batman Returns, though thankfully acknowledging it's freaking Citizen Kane compared to the Schumacher nightmares. Yes, The Penguin parts sucked. I'll admit that. And a lot of the writing was...eh. But seriously? Take it for what it was going for, which is stylistic pulp, and it's a fun ride!

This negative backlash really pisses me off on Pfeiffer's behalf. Audiences are begrudgingly coming around to the fact that, "yeah, the lady's pretty and she can act, sure." But hardly anyone I know freaks out about how rad her Catwoman was. Yes, fanboys drool all over the sight of her in the stitched up shiny black pleather. And yes, audiences acknowledge it's a better portrayal than Halle Berry's. But maybe because of the campy, Danny-Elfman-whiz-bang musicality throughout, many gloss over how intense and iconic her actual performance was.

I'll admit right now that I  prefer her pre-transformation, when she's still the awkward hot mess Selina Kyle. While that part could have come across as merely another "Oh, jeez, the mousy girl is unattractive...UNTIL SHE TAKES OFF THOSE GLASSES!" bits Hollywood's oh so fond of, Pfeiffer's dorky Selina  has a distinctive and, yes, kittenish patter with an underlying edge of not-quite-rightness. We're none of us surprised when she totally loses it and transforms from nervous, scatter-brained kitten to full-blown, feral, I'm-going-to-infest-you-with-rabies-because-you-dared-shoo-me-away-with-a-broom Katzefraulein.

I realized I was watching something close to a screen miracle during her transformation scene (vid by MakingTime):



 This is  one of those scenes that requires something more than a "good actor" alone. You need a certain type, someone able to emote that special...y'know...IT factor. "Itness," if you will. And Pfeiffer, from her frizzed out white-blond hair to her thin, husky voice, embodies Catwoman's "Itness" perfectly.

Her actual Catwoman is fabulous as well, but never quite got me as the above scene and her mousy Selina did. The voice she affects might be what's troubling me, the self-conscious deep purr she adds to her voice once she's in the suit. It's a few steps away from Snagglepuss at times. Just a wee bit out of place, even in a Burton-laden, out-there atmosphere. But! She does redeem herself in her movements, eyes, expressions, and she knocked off all those mannequin heads in ONE TAKE with her whip during the mall scene. That last one by itself deserves some major props. Overall I consider it an outstanding, powerhouse performance. Audiences and critics hadn't yet decided to take comic book movies too seriously, so who knows, maybe if Batman Returns hadn't had that cache, Pfeiffer could have gotten more recognition.

Mia Kirshner as Elizabeth Short in The Black Dahlia (2006)

Brian DePalma is another director whose films get mixed feedback thanks to his unique sense of style and the way he tends to screw around with film convention, often at the expense of substance, his critics argue. I generally disagree, seeing as Carrie's pretty much the masterpiece holy grail of prom slasher flicks, and Phantom of the Paradise is one of my secret favorite movies. Well...maybe those films do lack a little substance (whatever the hell that really is), but still he works well with what he does convey up there.

Except maybe in Black Dahlia. I'm afraid to say I thought that one was a bit of a mess. Yes, it succeeded in scaring me. But that's really not hard to do. I'm still a little frightened of the scene in The Simpsons where Bart imagines Homer's skull melting (a la the Nazis in Indiana Jones) after Homer forgot to pick him up from soccer practice. So that's no huge feat scaring me, in other words. Where DePalma faltered was in trying to cram all the subculture from the 1940s into one spooky movie, subsequently leaving his audience overwhelmed by the plot machinations and underwhelmed by the outcome.

But the film has one saving grace in Mia Kirshner as the eponymous dead girl. I had never heard of her before the movie. And you know what? I still wouldn't if I hadn't watched the movie and looked her up. And that, to me, is a crying shame. Some of the other performances are good--Aaron Eckhart, Hilary Swank, and Fiona Shaw's, for example--but uniformly I felt the acting was rather bland and invisible. So a stand-out performance like Kirshner's deserves far more acclaim.

She appears only in screen tests peppered throughout the film, following her progress from a slightly unhinged but still girlishly optimistic Hollywood newcomer to an even more unhinged, fadingly sad little-girl-lost who realizes she'll probably never rise above Z-movie porno's. These brief tests are the most haunting scenes in the film. Kirshner, like Pfeiffer, has an aura about her that transcends acting talent alone. She captures that smoky, film noir setting better than in any of the other attempts DePalma makes throughout. Her Betty Short is fragile, vulnerable, and unearthly, yet somehow manages to reveal a steely resolve just barely poking through her dazed meandering. This is most blatant in her first scene, where she embarrassingly stumbles through Scarlett O'Hara's "never go hungry again" monologue. The director of the screen test (Brian DePalma hisself) is laughing at her, enjoying the view but obviously not about to hire this charming little nut. She realizes this, and starts laughing as well. She throws her hands up cutely, but the radiant smile doesn't reach her eyes. She leans over and starts rearranging the items on his desk. And she finishes the monologue. With each word, her determination slowly surfaces, not tempered by any of her usual spaced-out affectations. By the time she says her last "I'll never go hungry again," she's staring frankly into the unseen man's eyes, her smile sad but her voice warm and genuine--strangely triumphant.

Amy Acker in just about anything

The public seems to enjoy inflicting Audrey Hepburn Syndrome on any actress these days who demonstrates the least bit of class and charm. In other words, you hear a lot of "Anne Hathaway reminds me of Audrey Hepburn!" Or "Audrey Tautou is totally Audrey Hepburn come back as a short French girl!" Or "Natalie Portman is so the new Audrey!" "Nuh-uh, Keira is!" And so forth. While I like all those actresses,  to me they all bring to the table traits and qualities very different from the late Ms. H, and besides, pigeon-holing an actress as the new anything is simply unfair to an actress trying to make an individual name for herself.

Having said all that, Amy Acker comes closest.

She isn't the new Audrey Hepburn or anything like that, but she is the only actress I know of these days who affects her small but devoted audience in that same way Audrey did to an entire world. I recently discussed this on a thread on IMDb. Even when her character is written unevenly, as happened to her frequently on Angel, the viewer is drawn to her character, Winifred "Fred" Burkle, and often wants to reach out to her. She has the gamine waif thing down pat, so that you end up on her side no matter what. Period. Her classiness and intelligence are not intimidating, since she combines those traits with a lot of warm good will. 

Now granted, I haven't really seen her outside of Angel and...uh...thekidsshowWishbone. Y'know, the one with the little dog who acts out old books with human actors? Heh heh...heh? Look, I was all nostalgic one day and looked up the actors in my favorite show from when I was a kid and that's how I started watching Angel, okay? There? You happy? 

But back to Acker. Oftentimes, like I said, Angel's writing was uneven, and her hyperbolic babbling and insecurities as Fred could grate on one's nerves, but again, Acker's so innately likable that it's hard to actively dislike Fred. Just...stuff about Fred. And when Acker plays Illyria, a resurrected demon god, an Old One? Well, I hate to say it, but the wonderful Audrey never had to perform such an about face in any role she ever had. If given the chance, would she have aced it like Acker? We'll never know. All's I know is Acker's frighteningly amazing ability to clap on (Fred) and clap off (Illyria) without so much as batting an exhausted eyelid is an incredible feat for someone known primarily as a TV actress (though some of the best cinematic stuff is ironically on TV currently). Her characters transform and so does she, in voice, carriage, temperament, looks, etc. She's a great actress who can't seem to make a very big name for herself. Possibly because she really is our day's closest equivalent to Audrey Hepburn, and sadly, though we say that's what we want in actresses like Hathaway, when the real deal comes along there's no place for the Hepburn personality anymore.

Tuesday Weld in just about anything

Speaking of Audrey, in my first post I called Tuesday the naughty, evil, blond version of her. And that's true. In fact, maybe that very edge was what gave Tuesday the opportunities Audrey never had to play against type. Unlike Audrey, Tuesday got to play characters all over the moral spectrum, from bubble-headed beach bunnies (Lord Love a Duck, 1966) to cuckoo-psycho-bird cheerleaders/molls (Pretty Poison, 1968). Unfortunately, it's that very versatility that probably kept her from becoming as beloved a figure as Audrey, since "pretty poison" really is an apt description of her: she's pretty, charming, and delightful, but all those traits seem to be laced with something toxic. This bubbly and venomous quality of hers is even more obvious than Pfeiffer and Kirshner's, because from watching her performances and reading her personal interviews, you get the impression that the disturbed energy came from within. To some viewers like me (and I'm guessing The Real Tuesday Weld), that's captivating. However, I can see how her performances could come across as potentially off-putting. Plus, it doesn't help her reputation any that she was self-destructive in her life and in her career (you turned down effing Bonnie & Clyde?!) 

But for those of us who like the demonic little twinkle in her eyes and her toothy grin, Weld's performances are endless amounts of underrated fun.

Elsa Lanchester as The Bride in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

 I of course concede that of all the performances mentioned, Elsa Lanchester's Bride of Frankie is probably the most celebrated, with the widest fanbase, so many might not categorize it as ignored. But, darnit, she ain't celebrated enough fer my likin'! Her appearance as the bride is sadly brief, but I still believe that it should be mentioned in the same breath as other horror greats, such as Lon Chaney, Bela Lugosi, and her co-star Boris Karloff. The Bride of Frankenstein is just about tied for first place as my favorite movie of all time, maybe slightly usurped by The Big Lebowski. Just like The Dude, The Bride abides, at least in my creepy little heart. I wanted to be The Bride of Frankenstein when I was a little girl. Hell, I still want to.

Lanchester's portrayal resonates with me on a completely different level than the other horror actors I mentioned. While her character is silent, her jutting movements and expressions differ from the bombastic performances you get from silent thrillers like Nosferatu and the 1925 Phantom of the Opera. And she's not deliberately evil and seductive, like Lugosi and the vampire's sisters. Nor does she give her character a warm human edge, like Karloff.

What she does do is act precisely how you'd expect a creature jolted electrically to life to act.

Lanchester apparently studied the swans at Regent's Park in preparation for her role, and the highly alert, quick twitching she noticed transfers perfectly to The Bride. It's a realistic performance of a woman with no personality or intellect yet formed, whose character relies completely on her newborn senses and impressions. Those who have seen the performance don't forget it. You can tell how linked together my tastes are when you discover that there are quite a few discussions comparing Catwoman in Batman Returns as a nice parallel to The Bride.

I'd also like to point out that Elsa Lanchester was born October 28th, my birthday. And she died in December of 1986, not much more than a year before I was born. But it's very unfair of you to accuse me of pondering briefly as a child the possibility that I could in fact be her reincarnation. That's an unfounded accusation and I won't stand for it.

But yes, Elsa is my favorite actress, after Vivien. Oh, and speaking of whom, last but not least:

Vivien Leigh as Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

"Now wait a second, you chucklehead," you might be saying to yourself. "Elsa Lanchester's Bride of Frankenstein unappreciated, maybe. But Vivien's Blanche? Um, hello, didn't she win a freaking Oscar, you addle-pated ninny? How is that underappreciated, exactly?" Well, first of all, no one calls anyone names like "chucklehead" and "addle-pated ninny" anymore. So get over yourself. The second is, yes, Vivien did indeed win an Oscar. Y'know, back when the movie first came out. But now almost sixty years later, what do people pretty much only remember about that film?

Brando. And that's about it.

Yes, his performance was uh-may-zing. Very innovative and method-y and with loads upon loads of animal magnetism. Incredibly effective and memorable, and it's rightly called one of the best film performances out there. So I'm cool with the recognition he gets.

What bugs me is when all those accolades come at the expense of how people receive Vivien's performance. Whenever her Oscar win is mentioned, along with Kim Hunter and Karl Malden's, it's usually framed by someone fuming about the injustice that Brando didn't win anything that year. I can understand this outrage, since he was pretty much robbed. I mean, much love to you and all, Bogie, I did love your performance in African Queen, but you yourself knew it didn't deserve to win the Oscar over Brando. You shoulda won for Treasure of the Sierra Madre instead, consarnit!

So people bitching about Brando's loss, I don't mind. What I do mind is people focusing not only solely on Brando's performance to the point where every poster you see these days has Brando in the most prominent position if he's not the only person featured, but when people start maligning Vivien's interpretation in order to build up Brando's. I've seen her called overly stagy next to Brando's apparently more natural turn, her Blanche labeled as too melodramatic and phony, too obviously of the classic acting school when the rest of her co-stars are obviously top-notch, revolutionary method actors.

And you wanna know why that sort of criticism really rankles me? Because the genius of her Blanche lies in those very qualities.

Blanche is supposed to wax phony and artificial; her whole life is a charade. She's a woman rapidly approaching middle age, striving to appear just as young and flirtatious as she was in her younger years--those younger years coinciding with the time when classical acting was all the rage, by the way. The reason I find the dynamic between Leigh's Blanche and Brando's Stanley so explosively awesome is because Leigh's classical training and Brando's method acting are perfect examples of their characters' dynamics: Stanley is brutish, modern, and exciting, while the fragile old world sensibilities Blanche cherishes are fading into the ether. Their performances work on multiple levels, until they're almost meta.

Plus, nobody could accuse Leigh of not getting into character as much as her co-stars. Oh, she did and how. Another thing that bugs me: when people do talk about her performance, it's usually to point out how Vivien's sanity starting slipping playing Blanche, and how erratic her behavior became. Not that her condition should be ignored or stifled, but that's all people start to remember her for, and without that much sensitivity a lot of the time. Oh, yeah, that crazy broad who played Scarlett O'Hara. She sure was crazy, huh? Really, her outbursts and breakdowns don't sound much different from similar stunts Method Actors have pulled on movie sets, but because that's all modern and edgy, that's apparently acceptable. But a chemical imbalance she couldn't control? Pff, who cares about her?

No other performance has ever touched me like her Blanche has. For those of you curious about my fanatical devotion to Pauline Kael, I must confess that a large part of it is due to discovering that she is one of the few critics I've come across who shares my view completely about the importance of Vivien's performance  (to be fair, I haven't been able to find many reviews from the actual year Streetcar was released, so critics back then might have been kinder to Vivien than those I've read recently). Here's how Kael begins her capsule review of Streetcar:

Vivien Leigh gives one of those rare performances that can truly be said to evoke both pity and terror. As Blanche DuBois, she looks and acts like a destroyed Dresden shepherdess...Shakespeare must have had a woman like this in mind when he conceived Ophelia...you're looking at two of the greatest performances ever put on film....

 This is a perfect review about a perfect performance. Kael gives Brando plenty of due as well, which is important. But what's most refreshing for me is to read someone who was affected like I was, who saw Vivien's wide Dresden Doll eyes as windows of absolute despair, her thin body so delicate that her movements are almost wraith-like--but with enough wiry strength left to at least try twisting the broken bottle into Stanley's face. A porcelain tigress indeed.

Great What-Ifs Vol. 2, Electric Boogaloo: Batman The Animated Series in the '40s?

Starting yesterday, I've been having a Batmanathon with my dad, sister, and brother-in-law, since the latter two now own the DVD boxset featuring all of the fantastic animated series episodes from the '90s. Overall I consider myself a fairweather Batman fan, seeing as it was only a latent bout of nostalgia that led me to watch the show recently (even in my childhood, when the show was on the air, I only cursorily watched it when I had nothing better to do. I was a pretty dim kid). But now the cartoon is my Batdrug of choice. I've gotten a fun kick out of watching the '60s TV show (what gal out there doesn't want to be Julie Newmar?), and I enjoyed the parts of the '89 Burton movie and its sequel that I've seen (again, what gal wouldn't also want to be Pfeiffer?). And I acknowledge that Ledger looks awe-inspiringly brilliant in Dark Knight. But that film appears to have just too much of that dreaded realism crap for me to really get into it too much. I mean, I acknowledge I should get around to actually watching it one of these days and judge it from there, but when it comes to something adapted from a comic book, I prefer the output...y'know....a little more comic-y.

While I have a very limited knowledge of the original comics, what I have seen and what I've researched makes me believe the '90s cartoon comes closest to Bob Kane's original vision in 1939: dark and energetic, gothic and stylized--heart without camp, grit without downtrodden naturalism. Y'know, only without the killings. For the kids! Oh, and I'd just like to point out you couldn't capture the slick artwork and expressions on the characters' faces with CGI, thankyouverymuch. Plus, who knew Mark Hamill of all people could make The Joker sound so maniacal, twisted, and hysterical?

 Little Lukey....

....Equals this guy?

Right on.

Did I mention how the first comic came out in 1939? That's right, this is where I'm heading: a kickass, full-scale, top-notch film noir made in the '40s, depicting the tone and characters of the animated series (see, I know there was a lower budget version of Batman made in 1943, so I wanted to specify that this is BIG BUDGET BIG STARS and exclusively in TAS-verse). I'm just going to throw this out here right away: directed by Fritz Lang, circa 1945 (wanna give the comics a few years to gain popularity). Now let's cast the hell out of this! Wheeee, I'm never going to stop with these things!

Dana Andrews as Batman/Bruce Wayne

One of the handsomer stars of film noir, Andrews also had a dark, rough, and somehow vaguely tragic edge. He was moody but no weakling. And perfect for playing the stalwart hero (see Laura). Andrews also has that square-cut jaw and strong/lean physique perfect for Batsy. 

Yeah, I have a bit of a crush on this guy.

You know who's an even weirder crush of mine?

Richard Widmark as The Joker

I read once that Widmark was actually inspired by Joker comics when he infamously portrayed the giggling psychopath Tommy Uto in Kiss of Death. I mean, look at those two faces! Any surprise, really? Someone with mad photoshop skills should try Jokerizing the heck out of that picture of Widmark. Seriously, slap some white body paint on him, slather on the red lipstick, and dye his hair bog green, and he is Joker.

I would like to note that after researching Mr. Widmark on IMDb, I found out that in spite of his "pushing-wheelchair-bound-grannies-around" image he depicted onscreen, he was apparently a very peace-loving, pro gun-control sort. Kind of a relief to know, innit?

For Batman's principal femme fatale, I have a list of potential candidates, like

Gene Tierney....

...Ava Gardner....

...or, yes, my girl Vivien....

...As Catwoman

All these ladies would bring phenomenal qualities to Catwoman. Gene Tierney's got the elegance, mystique, and the established chemistry with Dana Andrews. Gardner has the wicked cat eyes and attitude, plus she probably has the best bod of the bunch. Vivien has the most kittenish personality, plus the best acting chops, so if Lang wanted to go with the deeper Jeckyll /Hyde persona that Pfeiffer brilliantly portrayed in Batman Returns, Viv would be superb.

So, I'm stuck on this one. Thoughts? Concerns? Other ideas? Merp.

 Jeanne Crain as Batgirl /Barbara Gordon 

In Leave Her to Heaven, a marvelously ludicrous melodrama that nevertheless remains a classic film noir despite the blazing technicolor, Crain played the good girl-next-door role to Tierney's seething baddie. Crain played what could have been a simpering character with an undertone of strength, making her believable and sympathetic (though often outshone by Tierney, but everyone in that film was). Crain has the youth, sweetness, spunk, and the bright auburn hair crucial to Babs. I think she could pull off both the loving daughter and librarian, and the plucky superheroine.

C. Aubrey Smith as Alfred

Not really much I can add to this one. Smith is refined and stuffy, but with an underlying paternal kindness. It's all good. Kind of a weird photo of him, though.

Burt Lancaster as Two Face / Harvey Dent

 

Lancaster often played the steady, the hero. Yet my strongest impression of him comes from his ferocious portrayal of megalomaniacal, obsessively covetous and incestuous columnist J.J. Hunsecker in the masterpiece noir Sweet Smell of Success. Hunsecker tries presenting himself as an affable man-about-town and caring brother, but his face quickly shifts from bland benevolence to reptilian malice as needed. That coupled with his foreboding broad shoulders and razor sharp glare makes him just twisted and fascinating enough for tragic, dynamic former D.A. Harvey Dent.

Rita Hayworth as Poison Ivy

To be perfectly honest, I haven't really seen much with Rita Hayworth. I only know she's another great fatal female, has glorious red hair, and men go all sorts of ga-ga over her. Seems quite fitting for Dr. Pamela Isley.

But what about Ivy's bestest buddy in the whole wide world?

June Preisser as Harley Quinn

Oh, Harl, everybody's favorite henchwench. I dismissed her as a mild annoyance when I was a young'un, and ironically it took me in my older years to fully appreciate, and fall in love with, the most childlike character in the batverse. She was created especially for the animated series, in an attempt to lighten the Joker--again, for the kids. Frankly, I always thought she did the opposite of that, since  Joker always beat her up and tried to kill her. But she did win the hearts of cartoon and comic book fans alike, and she was soon adopted into the canon. Screwball, nuts, squeaky voiced, and physically limber and flexible. Who could do it back in the day?

June Preisser is a recent find of mine. I was just mindlessly flipping through a Pauline Kael book, as is a frequent pastime of mine (parties? Pffft, screw that noise), and I came across this description of her in one of the Andy Hardy movies: "she's like a baby Mae West and her eyes rove with mischief."  Baby Mae West? Well, obviously, I just had to check her out. She's blonde, vivacious, and criminy, take a look at her eyes in that picture: insane. But in an adorable way! And as an experienced contortionist, she could even effortlessly pull off Harley's gymnastic stunts! Double whammy. True, she might be a bit young to fit Harley's origin as a former shrink of the Joker's, but I always thought that backstory was a bit odd anyways. Driven mad with love for the Joker, fine; after all, look at all the fangirls panting over Ledger's Mistah J. But a young woman who heretofore has thrown herself into psychology suddenly snapped into a world-class, circus level acrobat? Not so believable, in my mind. So, alter the backstory to something like Joker wooing a ditzy tightrope walker, and Preisser is absolutely perfect. Plus, by the mid-'40s, things started sliding sadly downhill for Preisser, so maybe playing Harley could have revitalized both her life and her career, and she could now be known as someone other than Judy's rival in the Hardy flicks.

Peter Lorre as The Penguin

Penguin is one of those characters seldom used effectively. Burgess Meredith did well with him in the '60s series because the quacking laugh and long cigarette didn't look out of place in that more comic backdrop. But Penguin was one of the biggest failures in both Batman Returns and the cartoon series. Neither Burton nor the brains behind TAS knew how to reconcile a man who looks like a penguin and the darker, pulpier feel they were going for, and the scenes with him turned into an uncomfortable mesh of both genres. Frankly, if you're going to do it that way, might as well have an actor excellent at both macabre and comedy. Dear Lorre, one of my favorite actors ever, was obviously a dark, scary mite, but guess what? He got his start doing comedy in revue halls. Perfect match, if you have to film The Penguin. 

Clifton Webb as Scarecrow

Yep, three Laura stars here. But I swear it isn't only narcissism because of my name. Dr. Jonathan Crane, aka THE ALMIGHTY SCARECROW KING OF FEAR, requires someone cruelly erudite without falling headlong into histrionics; I think Webb's smarmy sophistication would capture that dichotomy well. And those who have seen his Waldo Lydecker will attest to my assertion he can also nail playing a psycho-creep. Really, who else could you imagine reveling in exploiting peoples' fears, but still maintaining his sharp and classy demeanor?

I might write a sequel to this post after I finish the whole series, when I'm better acquainted with the entire rogues gallery. And I can't yet pinpoint which actors could play Riddler, Killer Croc, Clayface, and the rest. Suggestions, kids? Oh, and leaving out Robin? Not an oversight. I just don't give a crap about Robin.

And yes, to those wondering, in this wonderland Fritz Lang production, George Sanders will remain Mr. Freeze. Only it would be even better this time, because in the animated series his character would have the added pathos of fretting over his sick wife Nora, and wouldn't Georgie just be too too adorable struggling to keep her alive cryogenically? He'd do a helluva better job than Arnie, that's for sure.

(Hmm, who could have played the immobile Nora? All she'd have to is stand there frozen, looking pretty. Would Grace Kelly have been too young? She's certainly got the ice queen thing down, har-dee-har. BUT NO DON'T EVEN SUGGEST ZSA ZSA NO WAY DON'T EVEN THINK IT THAT'S NOT FUNNY).