You see only one end to your journey. - Alfred
While watching The Dark Knight Rises, I couldn’t help but think back to one of Nolan’s best films, The Prestige. Specifically, I was reminded of Robert Angier’s final observation: “[If] the audience knows the truth, the world is simple. It's miserable, solid all the way through. But if you could fool them, even for a second, then you can make them wonder. And then you got to see something really special...”
A simulacrum of Nolan’s own storytelling ambitions, The Prestige perfectly represents Christopher Nolan, a man who revels in capturing an audience's attention and making them see what he wants them to see. He's a masterful storyteller, an ultimate showman, a consummate illusionist. But above all things, Nolan is first and foremost, a writer - a mental creator of narrative concepts - and a visual technician second. And sometimes, there’s a disconcerting disconnect between the two roles.
A simulacrum of Nolan’s own storytelling ambitions, The Prestige perfectly represents Christopher Nolan, a man who revels in capturing an audience's attention and making them see what he wants them to see. He's a masterful storyteller, an ultimate showman, a consummate illusionist. But above all things, Nolan is first and foremost, a writer - a mental creator of narrative concepts - and a visual technician second. And sometimes, there’s a disconcerting disconnect between the two roles.
As a writer, Nolan excels at manipulating the sequential timelines of his stories. He plays fast and loose with flashbacks in an effort to highlight and contrast the present. Sometimes he even tells entire stories backwards (e.g. Memento). But more interestingly, he’s a writer keen on foreshadowing (one could even argue that Memento actually plays entirely in foreshadow). Foreshadow is a tricky literary device; it’s a tool, in my opinion, whose reward is often not worth the risk. This is mainly because it requires the storyteller to give information to the audience ahead of time. By definition, the audience gets clued into a certain plot-point or emotional beat long before the payoff. (Is it ironic that I’m foreshadowing something even as I type this?)
The Dark Knight Rises left me with an odd, indelible void; it gave me neither a potent thematic thread nor an enduring image. Don’t get me wrong – it’s a fine film, and a supremely admirable film. But it is also deeply flawed. Its faults are not overtly noticeable – Nolan is far too good of a storyteller to leave the unfinished seams in plain sight. And at first, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But then it slowly dawned on me that Rise's one fatal flaw resided in the chasm between the Nolan the writer and Nolan the director – specifically, between the narrative conception and visual execution of one key scene – which noxiously permeated throughout the entire story.
At the risk of ruining the film, I will warn that the following discussion reveals the ending of the film.
In 2008’s The Dark Knight, a dinner conversation between Bruce Wayne, his date, Rachel Dawes, and Harvey Dent serves as an ominous foreshadow. “You either die a hero,” Dent comments, “Or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” This conversation is rather dry visually; but as a literary device, it effectively predicts the only two possible outcomes to the story. By the end of the film, Batman reprises this theme as he decides to take the blame for Dent’s killing spree. He harkens back to the setup that Dent outlined and starkly draws the contrast between what defines a hero and a villain; and it works very well.
Early on in Rises, Alfred, the ever-loyal butler, tells Bruce about his idealistic farewell, one which he would want for his employer many years from now, one in which he would sit at a café and catch a glimpse of Bruce. And they would speak no words to one another and simply part ways. And he would know that Bruce was happy. This idea of an unspeakable mutual understanding is a touching concept visually. But as a literary device, it sets too much of an expectation too soon; it leaves no room for interpretation. It effectively tells you exactly how the film will end because how could Alfred ever part with Bruce on bad terms? And more importantly, how could Nolan ever include such a foreshadow and not follow through with it? This flight of fancy clashes against the story’s oppressively dark tone and instead of framing the story that's about to come, plays too much as a whimsical prediction of the film’s ending.
I think I understand what Nolan (the writer) was trying to convey. Bruce Wayne is broken. His body is aged and wounded; and his spirit is shackled and grieving. “I always knew that there was nothing for you here except pain and tragedy,” Alfred laments. And from the onset, it’s clear that Bruce’s journey will not end with him back in the cape and cowl. He’s grown tired of the Batman; and for Bruce, just like for Nolan himself, it’s clearly time to move on from the Batman.
Indeed, Rises continually reminds us that Batman is a symbol; he’s now more of an abstraction – an immortal emblem – than a man. The statue erected in his honor at the end of the film says as much. Bruce even admits at one point, “Batman can be anybody.” This is most apparent in the bequeathal of the Batcave to idealistic cop-turned-hero John Blake. Arguably, this film revolves around Blake’s transformation – his evolution from a shackled cog in the justice system to imminent vigilante outside the law – in much the same way that The Dark Knight revolved around Dent’s downfall from idealistic DA to crazed murderer. If there was any doubt about Blake’s significance in this film, look no further than the final shot wherein he finds the Batcave and literally rises to take up the mantle.
Blake represents the inherent idea of Batman – one that is bulletproof, one that transcends flesh and blood. You don’t need Bruce Wayne's body; Batman stands for so much more than that. Bruce even admits in Batman Begins, “As a man, I’m flesh and blood. I can be ignored. I can be destroyed. But as a symbol, I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting.” This trilogy began with Nolan's examination of the symbol transcending the man, of the inherent limits of a physical body and the overwhelming perpetuity of an idea. The eternality of the Batman legend in the eyes of Gotham City’s civilians should have been the thematic thread of Rises; and in order to prove this thesis, there would have been no greater evidence than the demise of Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne should have died. I understand why he wasn’t killed; Warner Brothers needs the character for future interpretations, after all. But based on Nolan’s trilogy, it’s painfully clear that Bruce’s journey should have ended with his death. His parents are dead. Rachel is dead. Harvey Dent is dead. Ra’s Al Ghul is dead. Even Alfred abandoned him. The film begins with Harvey Dent's memorial; why shouldn't it end with Bruce Wayne's memorial? If The Dark Knight ended with Batman’s death – Gordon smashing the Bat-signal is as apt a metaphor as I’ll ever see – then The Dark Knight Rises should have ended with Bruce's ultimate sacrifice to restore the Batman legacy. It would have driven home the thesis that Nolan had established in Batman Begins. It would have perfectly married Nolan's narrative and visual ambitions. And it would have been a fitting juxtaposition: Alfred mourning Bruce’s death at the cemetery as the shining beacon of the Bat-signal lights up the sky. One man dies; but his symbol lives on. The man can be forgotten. But as something elemental, he's immortal.
It's an analogy that I can't help but compare to Nolan. By not killing Bruce, Nolan effectively undermines the eternality of the Batman legend he just spent a decade creating and simultaneously, undercuts his own legacy as the creator of a very, very good, but ultimately not great, Batman trilogy.
It's an analogy that I can't help but compare to Nolan. By not killing Bruce, Nolan effectively undermines the eternality of the Batman legend he just spent a decade creating and simultaneously, undercuts his own legacy as the creator of a very, very good, but ultimately not great, Batman trilogy.
