Defining Justice: Vacillating between Order and Chaos in "The Dark Knight"

Christopher Nolan's take on the Batman legend seems to present the protagonist, Bruce Wayne, as a figure dealing with competing definitions of how society should function. Within the framework of the first film, Batman Begins, Wayne finds himself redefining "true justice" as he works against corruption in Gotham City. The Dark Knight branches out from defining justice to answering a larger question: Can justice and morality survive in a battle against chaotic forces? Naturally, the two figures that draw the most intriguing focus are Batman and The Joker. In the context of The Dark Knight, the definition of justice, represented by Batman and established previously in Batman Begins, is challenged by The Joker. He tests the limits of Batman's and the justice system's sense of identity and its sense of morality. This might suggest that Nolan's film series would prefer one position over another, but that is not the case. Nolan, in The Dark Knight, argues for a flexible system of justice, one that embraces order and chaos.

Before discussing the flexible societal system within The Dark Knight, a brief outline of justice and how it is defined with the Nolan's conception of Batman, specifically within Batman Begins, will be helpful. Batman Begins, through the Bruce Wayne's exploits, defines justice and how it can work in a corrupt system. Wayne and his alter ego, Batman, reinstate a very American definition of justice, where criminals--those who break the governing codes of society--are arrested and tried. Nolan, then, advocates due process and the notion of "innocent until proven guilty."As Wayne himself states when confronted with an execution: "This man should be tried" (Batman Begins). According to Wayne, the burden of proving guilt lies upon the societal system that accuses a person of a crime. Of course, in a perfect system, this would be ideal, but Gotham is not perfect. In fact, systems of order--government, police--frequently fall under the influence of corruption. Henri Ducrad himself mentions this very phenomenon when he responds to Wayne's refusal: "By whom? Corrupt bureaucrats? Criminals mock society's laws. You know this better than most" (Batman Begins). In a way, Ducard is right to question society's ability to enact justice. Corruption keeps society from being able to function properly. However, Nolan rejects Ducard's philosophy that "a purging fire is inevitable and natural" (Batman Begins). Reducing Gotham to ashes in order to build anew is not a good solution; it is not even a moral one. In order to restore balance to the justice system in Gotham, Wayne finds himself breaking the law, transforming himself into the super-vigilante known as Batman. By the end of the film, order is on its way to being restored. Batman Begins is, as the title suggests, a beginning. However, the follow up complicates the system of order Batman and company attempt to instill. Order is disrupted by the introduction of chaos.

Order is important to the Gotham of Nolan's films. Even in a corrupt system, order is necessary for the functioning of society. The system is unbalanced in Gotham City, yes, but there is still an ordered system. Crime lords, like Carmine Falcone, in Batman Begins have rigged everything so that they benefit from the exploitation of others, yet order remains. That is, until The Joker challenges the logics of the system to prove his argument that an ordered system is unnatural and inherently corrupt. For The Joker, chaos is the only true system worth following: "Introduce a little anarchy in your life, and everything becomes chaos. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos? It's fair" (Dark Knight). Indeed, The Joker lives this his philosophy in every scene. Take, for instance, the two different stories he delivers to explain the scars on his face. Both stories involve mutilation, but both differ in the source of that mutilation. In the first version of the story, the child-Joker is cut by his father in a domestic dispute; and in the second version, The Joker mutilates his face to make his wife feel better about her own scars. Oddly enough, in a way, the sources of both come from a perversion of love, both of which result in the permanent physical and mental scarring of The Joker. Although both stories are different, the result is still the same. The Joker sees familial and romantic systems of order as destructive and unsustainable. This results in the birth of his own brand of social philosophy: individual choice, regardless of the consequences. Naturally, the societal systems in place within Gotham City cannot allow such a thing to happen. Chaos, after all, is not very efficient. And so, the city becomes the battleground between two forces: order and chaos.

A key victim in this battle is Harvey Dent, whose transformation reveals that a rigid system of order does not allow for a more complicated approach to the ordering of society. The Joker's opposition--those representing order--include Batman, Commissioner Jim Gordon, and Gotham City District Attorney Harvey Dent. All three figures are pushed to the limits in their efforts to instill order in Gotham City, and Dent discovers that enough of a push can cause a person to descend into the same line of thinking as The Joker; at film's end, Dent transforms into the villain Two-Face. As the representative of law and order within Gotham City, Dent faces the nearly insurmountable problem of ridding the city of crime and corruption. Even before Dent was elected as the District Attorney, he was an investigator at Internal Affairs, trying to route out corrupt cops. The tension between Dent's ideals and the realities of Gotham's corruption is present during an early scene when Dent and Gordon discuss the possibility of tracking the mob's money. Dent expresses reservations because he does not trust the cops in Gordon's special task force; "I don't like that you're working with cops I investigated at Internal Affairs"; to which Gordon replies, "If I didn't work with cops you investigated while at IA I'd be working alone. I don't get political points for idealism. I have to work with what I have" (Dark Knight). Dent is clearly uncomfortable working with corrupt cops, yet he has to go along with Gordon's line of thinking. Otherwise, nothing would be accomplished. Dent even goes along with Batman's assistance in establishing order, but the focus is always on bringing order back to Gotham City. At some point, Batman will have to atone for his crimes; "The Batman will answer for his crimes... to us" (Dark Knight). Dent's eventual goal is order, the rigid kind of order that must clean up the corruption within the system; and yes, even Batman is a symptom of the city's corruption, at least in Dent's eyes.

Dent's idealism shatters in the face of death, and the rigid system of order in which he places so much faith crashes around him, thus breaking his identity and replacing it with Two-Face. After the thrilling arrest of The Joker, Dent and Rachel Dawes--his girlfriend and Wayne's former love--are both kidnapped and placed in different warehouses filled with drums of gasoline rigged to explode. Despite the efforts of Gordon and Batman, Dawes is killed and half of Dent's face is burned away. The Joker uses this situation to push Dent into insanity, an insanity so powerful that Dent takes revenge against Gordon and Batman. Dent's insanity seeks fairness in chance, hence the two-sided coin Dent uses to determine his victims' fates, and blames Gordon and Batman for Dawes's death. The coin reflects the binary that dominated his thinking before the attack. Before he viewed reality as a binary: a choice was either right or wrong. Despite embracing The Joker's philosophy of chaos, Dent still sees the world through a binary, but one that embraces chance rather than morality. It is still a rigid system, regardless the application. Even the scene when Dent (before Two-Face) kidnaps one of The Joker's men, Dent exhibits what looks like psychotic tendencies, like he has the capacity to embrace a more fluid sense of justice. However, this scene instead reveals that Dent as an "on/off" switch when it comes to his application of justice. And as the focal point, the face, of the reformed justice system in Gotham City, Dent has to present a pure and clean face to the public. As Batman notes, "If anyone saw this, everything we have fought for would be lost" (Dark Knight). In Nolan's Gotham, justice must present a clean face to the public; in order to legitimately fight corruption and the mob, Dent must be free from corruption himself. Yet, the pressure of such a stance ends up breaking him, especially when he realizes corrupt cops had taken both him and Dawes, the same corrupt cops Dent had warned Gordon about. Dent's transformation is the result of following a binary system of justice, instead of protecting the public from criminals, he becomes one with just a little push.

So, if Dent falls because of his rigid philosophy, what kind of system is Nolan advocating in The Dark Knight? Through the characters that survive, Gordon and Batman, it is possible to detect the kind of system that works within Gotham City. Gordon and Batman together represent a fluid system of justice, a system that recognizes that judgments need to be based on context, using the law as a guide rather than dogma. Two scenes in particular bear out this idea. The first depicts Gordon's special task force in their search for Batman. On a board are all the pictures of possible "suspects." Abraham Lincoln and Bigfoot are the two most prominent figures. Obviously, Gordon's task force is not actively looking for Batman, but working with the vigilante in order to clean up the city. Dent is smart enough to recognize the duplicity of Gordon's unit, but he only uses their resources when the law fails--as it does in regard to extraditing Lau from China--and then he reverts back to the law when Lau is back in the United States. The second scene highlights highlights Batman's willingness to break principles of privacy when he asks Lucius Fox to spy on all the cell phones in Gotham in order to track down The Joker's location. Interestingly enough, this is the first and only time in the entire trilogy that Fox and Batman occupy the same space. Yes, Wayne and Fox spend quite a bit of time together, but the jarring nature of Batman's request is made even more powerful because Wayne appears as Batman. Wayne recognizes that his request is a violation of civil liberties, but the context of the situation demands a bending of moral principles. Fox recognizes the uniqueness and the dangerous potential of the situation; "I'll help you this one time. But consider this my resignation. As long as this machine is in Wayne Tower, I won't be" (Dark Knight).  During this final section of the film, Batman comes close to exhibiting tyrannical behavior--a theme touched on in The Dark Knight Rises, but never quite examined thoroughly. Batman's actions in the film's final act demonstrate his potential for villainy, but it also revels a moral response once the danger passes: the return to moral principles. Fox is rewarded in the final moments of the film when the machine is destroyed; Batman had never intended for the machine to used on a permanent basis. Both Gordon and Batman recognize that the fluidity of their system must, at some point, settle closer to order than chaos, but that moment proves elusive by the film's end.

The fluid movement from hero to villain, from order to chaos and back again, helps to illuminate the final moments of the film, which some critics find baffling. The film's final images are viewed under the rather poetic narration of Gordon: "He's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now" (Dark Knight). Like the narration suggests, both Gordon and Batman must exhibit a more fluid definition of justice. This definition must bend and break rules when the situation calls for it. However, the idea, the intention that grounds their definition is that the severe bending and breaking of moral principles must come to end, must give way once order is established. Of course, as the end of the film seems to suggest, such an ending may never be quite possible, at least not completely. The complete establishment of order is impossible due to the realities of civilization. Therefore, the final moment of the film is appropriate: The Dark Knight riding his mechanical horse, forever fighting, forever rising to the light, but never quite reaching it. He and the system he represents is the system that works best, at least for now, because reality is a blend of chaos and order, which means our definitions of justice must be adaptive.

Engaging in Public Discourse: Part 1

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. School, work, writing, reading, French studies. All seem to get in the way of posting stuff to this blog.

Well, here I am posting something I find fascinating.

Over the past two days, I have engaged in a dialogue with a friend of mine. He's Christian, I am agnostic. Therefore, we approach the subject of homosexuality from two different angles. Yesterday, he posted a blog that addressed the issue of homosexuality and how Christians should approach the issue, based on teachings found in the Bible.

This post has led to, I believe, a productive dialogue, highlighting the possibility that public discourse doesn't have to involve antagonistic rhetoric, like the kind found in public discussions of "hot-button" issues, like the kind found in modern American political discourse.

Therefore, I'm posting our dialogue for all of you to see because I found it intellectually stimulating, and I'm curious to know how others might view this discussion.

Scott and I consider each other friends, which means we see each other as human beings. And that, I think, is a great place to start.

*Fair warning, this post requires a bit of reading.*

Scott's original post can be found here.

Now, here's my response.

Scott:

Me: (This response required some research on my part.)

Scott responded to this comment on his blog: here.

I have yet to respond to Scott's most recent post. I plan to, but there are only so many hours in the day, and while I do find the subject fascinating, I will need more time to compose a response.

Nevertheless, I want to preserve this dialogue before it lost among the multitude of Facebook posts. I think we handled ourselves well. We may not have completely satisfied each other's aims, but I think we've come to a common ground. Despite what some may think, reaching a compromise is not so bad a thing. In fact, I think it only makes use stronger as a society.

Thoughts?

The Hobbit and a Desolation of Tension

 

You know, I think I'll start this review with an admission that will probably surprise no one: I love long movies. Think about it, movies today are expensive, and if you forgot to smuggle in drinks and snacks (or maybe you don't have anyone carrying a large bag or cargo pants), the whole movie-going experience can set you back quite a ways. And this is why I love long movies. Long movies make the expense worth it by giving you enough entertainment to sustain the kind of money spent. Of course, usually, longer movies tend to be better, at least in my eyes. They spend more time developing characters and worlds, thus making the whole experience more fulfilling, more enriching.

Of course, as some have pointed out to me in the past, long movies are an expense in time as well. And, finally, after three Lord of the Rings movies and one Hobbit, I believe Peter Jackson has tested my limits, which is a weird thing to write since I'm anxiously waiting for the final book in Robert Jordan's fourteen-book series to come out in paperback.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug has enough entertainment and spectacle in it that it's a fun outing, but it lacks something I so enjoyed about the first Hobbit and Lord of the Rings: purpose. Yes, I know, the purpose is the get to the Lonely Mountain and remove the fiery Smaug from the dwarf kingdom, but Desolation is so concerned with throwing the characters from one adventure to the next, that the characters have little time to discuss, well, much of anything.

Desolation starts with a rather unnecessary flashback. Gandalf (Ian McKellen) meets Thorin (Richard Armitage) in a familiar tavern fans of the first trilogy should recognize. Really, all we get from this scene is something which we could have inferred from previous events and character developments. We know Gandalf has a funny way of turning up when needed, a knack for pushing people to do things they would not have do otherwise, so this scene is pointless. As a point of comparison, take a look at the scene with Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Saurman in which they debate Thorin's purpose. It's a wonderful scene that is both informative and fun considering Gandalf is only there as distraction. The first scene of Desolation does not have any of that going for it.

From there, we flash forward to the merry gang of dwarves, one wizard, and Bilbo. They are still running from the pursuing orc gang and therefore hide in the home of Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt), who may or may not be a friend. He hates dwarves, see. But really, that doesn't matter because just a couple of scenes later and we're off again.

Next is one of three extraordinary set pieces. I'll only say that if you're scared of spiders, be prepared to spend the scene covering eyes and squirming in your seat. I know I was. But even this scene seemed to be over far too soon because just a couple of minutes later the dwarves are saved by Bilbo (Martin Freeman) and captured by the woodland elves, Legolas (Orlando Bloom... in case you didn't know) among them.

I'll stop there with the plot summary because from that moment on it's just more of the same, one adventure after another. Now, I'm not upset about this. The book pretty much does the same thing, but the book at least had the lyricism of Tolkien's writing to break it up. At least there was a steady build up of tension. This film lacks that kind of build up.

You may say that's because it's the middle chapter in a longer story. You'd be right. But even Two Towers had a steady build up, a growing momentum that concluded with two fantastic battles (three if you count Frodo's near capture at the end of that film, still one of my favorite visual images from the original trilogy). Even Empire Strikes Back built up to that famous final confrontation. Desolation is one confrontation after another, and while they are staged wonderfully, there's no build up, no tension.

In fact, the only amount of serious build up is near the end of the film, right before Bilbo descends into the mountain to face the dragon. That was the only point in the film when I had time to feel unease about the approaching moment. And boy does Jackson deliver.

Smaug (voiced with the delicious baritones of Benedict Cumberbatch) is the most impressive aspect of the film. For once the characters are allowed to have a conversation where the outcome could mean life or death. In addition, this was the only moment when I thought the use of a higher frame rate necessary. In 3D and HFR Smaug and that gold-horde of his come alive in a way I never thought possible.

The other scene I thought was quite memorable is the dwarves' escape from the woodland elves. Now that was a piece of filmic brilliance, where the absurdity of the situation threatens to be too much but it nevertheless delivers as a piece of visual storytelling. For some, I can imagine that it may go on for too long, but I thought it was quite brilliant. I was smiling during the whole sequence.

The other addition I thought was surprisingly effective is the potential romance between an elf of Jackson's own invention, Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly), and one of the younger dwarves, Kili (Aidan Turner). The chemistry between the two characters works, even if their storyline borders on the melodramatic in this film. I actually wished Legolas would disappear to allow the pairing a little more space to breathe. After all, his big romance is still to come in the Lord of the Rings trilogy (*wink, wink).

All in all, the film is entertaining. And for those who thought The Hobbit too long and boring, I guess this film is the antidote. However, I missed the playful language and witty banter of the first film. Too many films nowadays avoid that kind of lyricism, which is sad. Tolkien, among his many other talents, loved language. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey reminded me of this fact; Desolation forgets.

P. S. Was anyone else bothered by the aesthetic design of Gandalf's magic? I thought it looked too much like a video game, as opposed to the wonderful displays in Fellowship and Return of the King. How can Jackson go from the beauty of Gandalf charging down the Nine or standing up against a balrog to this?

Tragedy and Random Thoughts

Today, I am furious. Sad and furious, really. But the anger and frustration outweigh the sadness.

In my life, I've never known anyone who suffered a violent death. Yes, I've known family members, friends, and coworkers who passed suddenly, unexpectedly, but never violently.

To be honest, I don't know what to say here. My mind is still trying to process all of this, searching and grasping for some logical foothold, but these things are rarely logical, are they?

Those of you who follow my blog are probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about and with good reason. I haven't provided the story yet, the reasoning behind my bewildering words. Well, the truth of the matter is I just don't know where to begin, so I started with my thoughts.

Yesterday, I received an email from my dean, informing all of us here at Mountain View College that the director of Writing Center--and soon to be official Instructional Support Leader--had died early Sunday morning. As these things go, there was very little information regarding exactly what had happened.

I thought, well, Kevin's too young to die so suddenly. It could have been an unknown health issue. Or maybe even a car accident. Yeah, a car accident. That's what it has to be. Nothing else makes sense.

However, I soon learned that like everyone, Kevin had more going on in his life than work.

I won't go into too many details. One, because I have very little. Two, because Kevin was a private individual and probably would not have wanted his private life spread across the Internet (not that I'm presumptuous enough to assume it will make it beyond my circle of friends). So I'll just say this: He died a victim of domestic violence.

Naturally, I feel sadness for the loss of such a wonderful coworker. Kevin worked tirelessly to improve the student experience here at Mountain View College, often working long hours. He accomplished so much in his year and a half tenure as Writing Center Director that it's actually quite astonishing. He constantly promoted the cohesion of all areas in instructional support and constantly reminded us that our first priority is developing students' potential.

A gaping void has been left in his wake here at MVC.

And now to the fury.

For today's class, we were discussing a chapter of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, specifically the part where she tells a hypothetical story involving the question, "What if Shakespeare had had a sister of equal talent?"

Basically, Woolf argues that women were incapable of reaching their full potential in Shakespeare's time because women were not allowed to cultivate their talents, and those women who had the talent to be artists of Shakespeare's caliber probably died without ever finding an avenue for their talents. It's a very good essay to remind students that education and opportunity are rather recent gifts.

In addition, it raises the question of women being treated like property, and I usually bring up the fact that even today women are not always treated with respect and dignity. Even today, violence against women is more than alarming, it's horrifying.

Yet, while in class, I couldn't help but think how violence plays such a large role throughout human society. And I'm not just talking about large acts of violence, those acts that grab most of the headlines, those acts of violence that spur gun owners to purchase bullets for protection against random acts of violence.

No, I'm more concerned with the alarming statistic that we are more likely to suffer violence at the hands of someone we love, someone close to us, than at the hands of some random stranger.

Just a couple of weeks ago, police officers were called to my apartment building because a couple had gotten into a fight and a guy had broken a mirror over his boyfriend's head. Thankfully, nothing more serious had happened, but still the incidence reminds me that domestic violence is not a problem for just one gender, but for anyone in a relationship. Violence is a human problem.

But I guess it angers me a bit more when it happens in the LGBT community. We face so many other obstacles in our lives that domestic violence seems to be forgotten, hidden, especially when coupled with the societal pressures that force us to remain hidden. Why must we hurt each other when there are plenty of people out there who are more than willing to hurt us?

Of course, this is not to diminish the violence women experience. To misquote Martin Luther King Jr., violence anywhere is an injustice everywhere. No relationship is worth taking a life. I don't care how "in love" you think you are. Obsession is not love, but merely a product of a human desire to possess.

Kevin was a kind and considerate individual. And while his slow manner sometimes frustrated my more squirrel-ish pace, his work as an educator and administrator is inspiring. He will be missed.

"Pacific Rim": Propulsive, Massive Fun

From the trailers, Pacific Rim didn't look like much. At least, not if you'd seen Transformers, Godzilla, or the many different "giant robot" series from Japan. Because the film is directed by someone who is quite well-loved, I thought Guillermo del Toro must have been angling for a paycheck. After all, this is the same man who gave us the great Pan's Labyrinth. Pacific Rim looked nothing like the brilliance found in that film, and so I was skeptical, opting to wait for the video/instant streaming release. However, the reviews started coming in, and since they were mostly positive, I decided this must be something to see on the big screen.

Indeed, I was right. Pacific Rim is a massive, overblown, special effects extravaganza; the plot is familiar, but that's the point. While Pacific Rim may be a close sibling of the Transformers films, del Toro's flourishes of style elevate the material far above anything Bay could produce, or rather, hasn't produced since The Rock. Pacific Rim's style propels the story, even during the slower moments, creating a fun and frequently beautiful film. Even though Pacific Rim didn't have quite the gut-punch Man of Steel delivered, del Toro's child-like film is the most fun I've had at the movies this summer, aside from The Heat, that is. Indeed, the film reminded of those long-gone days of spreading all of my action figures across the top bunk bed and spending hours creating "movies".

A few years in the future, Kajiu (giant, GIANT monsters) rise from the oceans and rain destruction upon the cities of the world. Faced with extinction, humans create Jaegers (giant, GIANT robots) to fight and kill the monsters. Years pass, and the humans piloting Jaegers find themselves famous, and the world begins to feel safe once again. However, the restful status is short-lived. A pair of Jaeger pilots, Raleigh Becket (Charlie Hunnan) and his older borther Yancy (Diego Klattenhoff), face off against the largest Kajiu anyone has ever fought. While the Kajiu is killed, its death comes at a terrible price.

Fast-forward a few years, and Raleigh is working on a huge wall world politicians believe will be enough to stop the Kajiu. Since Jaegers have been falling over the world, world leaders have dismantled the Jaeger program and have placed all their hope into the wall. Naturally, since this is a more than two hour film, the wall doesn't work. Raleigh finds himself in search of a new piloting partner as the world embraces imminent demise.

And let the battles commence!

I know I've already compared Pacific Rim to Transformers, and I'm sure you could infer how I feel about that series, but I think the comparison is needed to demonstrate that skill and planning can create an experience more fun than simply pointing the camera at stuff that blows up. Frequently in the Transformers films (with the exception of the first, which is actually pretty good), I have trouble keeping up with the action. Blocking and shot placement tends to confuse rather than inform. In the third film, Bumblebee is fighting a number of bad robots in what I thought was one part of the city, and then he magically appears to save Shia LaBeouf's character in what I thought was a completely different part of the city.

See, in those films, the action's sole purpose is to look really cool. Who cares about time and space, so long as the shots look cool? Well, time and space mean something, and when one character can simply appear at will to save someone else, there's no suspense, no sense of danger, so what's the point?

Guillermo del Toro, on the other hand, knows exactly where his camera is in time and space. He knows exactly where his characters are. Although the film mostly takes place at night during torrential downpours, I was never lost. Although both the monsters and the robots are CGI creations, there labored movements, and the actor's performances created action set pieces that seemed grounded in some semblance of physical reality. And that makes a huge difference in films with fantastical elements.

However, del Toro knows he's creating a "monster movie," and so he throws in fun moments where he seems to be winking at the audience, bringing them along for the ride, knowing that the film is first and foremost a ride. When one Jaeger wields an oil tanker like a sword, I laughed. The image is absurd, but fun nevertheless.

Of all the summer blockbusters that have been released this summer, at least the ones I've seen so far, Pacific Rim has a director who has a sense of style but doesn't let that style distract from the story; instead, that style propels the narrative forward, bringing the audience along for the fun. Thank you del Toro for reminding me that there are directors out there who can take mediocre material and elevate it beyond the promise of its story. Well done.