The most remarkable thing about Matt Reeves’ The Batman is that, despite the dark knight’s enduring status as a superhero who feels ubiquitous to the point of redundancy on the big screen, this still feels like the caped crusader movie we’ve been anticipating for decades. Without making any obvious attempt to reinvent the character, Robert Pattinson offers us everything we ever wanted from a Batman flick. Reeves gives us a silky, well-oiled machine of a movie, a glorious Gotham City yarn that delves deep into every dirty corner of the masked hero’s world at a stage of his heroic journey when he barely knows what he stands for or who he is standing against. It’s the closest thing we’ll ever have to a big screen sequel to Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One, without needing to borrow so much as a sniff of a storyline from the seminal comic.
A tortured, thinking man’s Batman who lives in a Gotham more violent than ever
