15 Years Later, Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Is Somehow Better Than You Remember
Let's wind the clock back 15 years. The term "shared universe" wasn't part of the pop culture lexicon yet. Superhero movies as a whole were still only on the verge of being taken seriously again by skeptical mass audiences. And Warner Bros. gave Christopher Nolan a blank check to turn his next "Batman" movie into a blockbuster crime drama that would change the face of this "genre" forever.
A decade and a half later, it's become obvious — and maybe even a little trite — to point out the merits of "The Dark Knight." If anything, years of holding up this shockingly grounded and straightforward sequel as the pinnacle of the genre has led to some reflexive pushback against it. Yes, the late Heath Ledger's performance was every inch as Oscar-worthy as the Academy voters made it out to be ... but take him out of the movie, the complaint goes, and suddenly it wouldn't be even half as good. (That's not how movies work, people!) Or take the fact that, in reality, it's not really a Batman movie ... just a movie that happens to have Batman in it. (Whatever that means.) And then there's the hot take that the gritty, adults-only realism Nolan prioritized here ended up having a debilitating effect on how future storytellers approached comic book media in live-action for decades to come. (Alright, yeah, I can't disagree with this one.)
But a closer look at the film, with the benefit of years of hindsight, reminds us exactly why it earned its place at the top of everyone's superhero movie rankings. Every idea Nolan plays with hits as hard as ever. And as early as the opening sequence, it's clear we're in supremely confident hands. Here's why "The Dark Knight" is even better than you remember.
It understands the importance of iconography
There's a very good reason why I'll never jump aboard the "Christopher Nolan is ashamed of comic books!" narrative. No one, and I mean no one, could make the most comic-booky concepts ever depicted on the big screen look half as cool as "The Dark Knight" does while feeling even vaguely embarrassed of the subject material. And when you compare the sequel to the vast majority of superhero movies made in the time since, you reach an unmistakable conclusion: this remains the rare example that understands the importance of iconography.
In the opening 10 minutes alone, Nolan doesn't miss a single opportunity to find the camera framing and staging to show just how larger-than-life these characters truly are. It's evident from one of the very first shots: the Joker's unforgettable introduction from behind as he watches downtown Gotham in broad daylight. There's the first appearance of the tricked-out Batmobile and Christian Bale's Batman, stepping out from the shadows to put the hurt on both criminals and Batman copycats alike. But these show-stopping moments are also laced throughout the narrative, the movie almost pausing to soak in the grandeur, mystique, and awe of such epic archetypes. Nolan could've dismissed such integral aspects like Harvey Dent's (Aaron Eckhart) coin, his "Two-Face" nickname, and the Joker's scars as inherently goofy or obligations to tick off a checklist. Instead, each is imbued with genuine meaning and pathos.
The final sequence, which literally takes an axe to the Bat-Signal while reemphasizing the dire necessity of an unshakeable symbol like Batman, puts a fine point on it. By treating these characters with such earnestness, it's clear this is all in service of testing their limits as modern myths. Bending them to their breaking point was the highest compliment of all.
It's not worried about logic
Riddle me this: How can "The Dark Knight" be one of the greatest comic book movies ever when it's chock-full of so many so-called plot holes?? Why doesn't anyone notice the Joker's school bus sticking out of the side of a Gotham bank? What happens to all those guests taken hostage by the Joker at Bruce Wayne's fundraiser for Harvey Dent after Batman flies out the window and ditches everyone to save Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal)? How the heck does shooting a bunch of bullets at different brick targets under lab conditions somehow help Bruce reconstruct bullet fragments from a crime scene and obtain a fingerprint of a Joker henchman? And, seriously, let's not even get into the finer points of Jim Gordon's (Gary Oldman) reasoning for faking his own death just to be the one driving Harvey's prisoner van in the motorcade or the Joker's unbelievably convoluted plan for, uh, literally anything he does throughout the movie.
Do you know what the answer to all these nitpicks is? WHO CARES.
Chris Nolan certainly didn't, choosing instead to craft a finely-tuned script that put silly little things like theme, narrative efficiency, and tension far above the pettiest logic concerns. No, when you break it down to the basics, a lot of what happens in "The Dark Knight" makes little to no sense. Yet it works anyway precisely because a storyteller of Nolan's caliber innately grasps that the delicate art of drama hinges not on common sense, but on emotion. We go along with the Joker's antics because it's a thrill to watch a villain's scheme executed with such precision. Audiences cheered when Gordon came back from the dead to arrest the Joker because the reveal felt so earned. That's what matters, not plot holes.
It's a Batman movie that isn't about Batman ... or is it?
When is a "Batman" movie not a "Batman" movie? Well, when it's one that's all about how being Batman is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. Honestly, after building such a strong foundation with "Batman Begins," it's almost comical how Nolan took "The Dark Knight" to the next level ... by constructing a feature-length trolley problem that exposed every single weak spot in Bruce Wayne's armor. But while fans might reflexively take offense at such a notion, this stands tall as one of the biggest reasons why the 2008 film has only aged so well.
Yes, "The Dark Knight" takes its fair share of flak for the unforgivable sin of foregrounding several supporting characters rather than keeping Batman the centerpiece of each and every scene. But here's the method behind Nolan's apparent madness: through the main trio of Harvey Dent, Jim Gordon, and the Joker, he presents multiple alternatives to the role Batman plays in Gotham. Gordon represents the flaws and corruption inherent within the police state. The Joker looms large as the inevitable consequence of a masked vigilante taking things into his own hands, a cautionary tale of how unchecked power casts a long, dark shadow. And Harvey is the tragic center, the wayward moral compass, the what-could-have-been for a Bruce Wayne (rightfully) dreaming of getting out of the game altogether and letting Gotham's White Knight take over.
Compare this shocking sense of impermanence to the everlasting, permanently frozen, and downright purgatorial nature of superhero universes that have followed in its wake. In its greatest irony, "The Dark Knight" brought a sense of finality — one that will forever keep it in the conversation.