Film Review: The Dark Knight Rises

The Dark Knight Rises directed by Christopher Nolan; written by Johnathan Nolan, Christopher Nolan, and David Goyer (Warner Bros. Pictures, DC Entertainment, and Legendary Entertainment, PG-13, 164 Minutes)

Starring Christian Bale, Tom Hardy, Michael Caine, Gary Oldman, and Anne Hathaway

The Trilogy Phenomenon

I’m forever dubious of the trilogy phenomenon. Whether it be The Hunger Games, the dreadful Twilight phenomenon, or even something wonderful like The Lord of the Rings, I find myself stepping foot into the movie theater ready to undergo some form of disappointment. Why? Once the second or third movie is made, the filmmakers all too easily assume it’s a sure thing that people will see the movie, as they are already invested in the franchise’s past. As a result, the filmmaker (or even author) will normally put less effort into the storyline, and the story ends up flat-lining.

However, with the Dark Knight trilogy, I’m happy to say I didn’t find my worries to be the case. In the last installment of the Christopher Nolan series, The Dark Knight Rises succeeds where so many other trilogies fail only because it holds the key: redemption.

Dark vs. Light

Redemption is what makes the story flourish. In the wake of the Aurora, Colorado shooting, it would seem as though redemption is hard to find in The Dark Knight Rises. And, in such a darkly made film, one would assume redemption would be the last thing to find. However, I think Nolan intentionally uses the darkly lit screen and the depravity in the storyline to intentionally illuminate this single theme.

In the final installment of the Nolan trilogy, we find Batman/Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) secluded in his mansion, unaware of the city around him. Peacetime has entered Gotham City, and while Gotham rejoices, Bruce Wayne lingers in endless depths of remorse. 

Simply, Wayne is a defeated man and suffering a loss of a dead lover, Rachel (Maggie Gyllenhall from The Dark Knight) when a thief (Anne Hathaway) enters his mansion stealing his fingerprints. This simple act spurs Wayne out of inaction and into saving his city from a new threat, Bane (Tom Hardy).

Torture of the Soul

Avoiding any major spoilers, Bruce Wayne eventually finds himself in a prison with a way out: to climb. Put there by the villain of the movie, Bane, Batman is now worse off than he was before. Feeble, broken, and damaged he wallows in prison as the guards slowly work to bring him back to health. The question is, “Why?”

Bruce Wayne: “Torture?”Bane: “But not of your body...Of your soul.”

A television screen dimly lights the prison where Wayne recovers. It shows footage of a broken Gotham falling into anarchy. Wayne can’t help but watch, knowing he is stuck in prison.

Bane explains there is no worse torment than to see and grasp hope and not attain it. Eventually, Wayne gets better and stronger than before. He tries to climb out with a safety rope, but can’t make it. 

Why? He isn’t afraid; he is simply angry. Bruce fails time and time again, unable to make the jump. The prison’s physician reminds Wayne that fear is good, and fear is healthy. The right kind of fear motivates, and the proper fear is even redemptive. Wayne finds his fear is ultimately for others: it is a sacrificial kind of fear.

Wayne must become like a child (akin to Matthew 18:3) in order to get out. A child ascended before, without the rope, and made it. Wayne is forced to do the same in order to reach out to his devastated city and save the day as the Dark Knight. 

Wayne’s past and brokenness is redeemed because he is forced to be like a child. More to the point, an entire city discovers redemption because one man was forced to realize his ardent love for his city and reconcile with the truth of the situation. 

As Alfred (Michael Caine) puts it in the movie: 

“It’s time for truth to have its day.”

Christopher Nolan finds a way to make truth have its day. He puts forth the theme of redemption throughout the entirety of the movie, making The Dark Knight Rises a fitting end to the trilogy. If you haven’t, I sincerely recommend seeing the movie now.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: A Clockwork Orange

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1962. 220 pp)

Born in 1917 as John Burgess Wilson, this English author, poet, playwright, composer, linguist, translator, and critic published under the name, Anthony Burgess. Though he dismissed it as a lesser work, Burgress is best known for A Clockwork Orange, more than likely due to the controversial Stanley Kubrick movie of the same name. In his youth, Burgess attended Xaverian College and later studied at Victoria University of Manchester receiving a B.A. in English. In addition to his publications, Burgess composed many musical pieces in his free time. During his career, Burgess was a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and earned honorary degrees from St. Andrews University, Birmingham University, and Manchester University. He died in 1993.

What Fried Chicken and Shepherd’s Pie Teach Us about Free Will and Determinism

What is for dinner tonight? Suppose I gave you two choices: fried chicken or shepherd’s pie. For most people, the corresponding choice defines the philosophical principle of free will. You like shepherd’s pie, so you choose it. You are free to choose fried chicken if you are in the mood, but today, it’s shepherd’s pie.

Philosophers – pesky and annoying as they are known to be – might disagree with your assessment. To them, you choose shepherd’s pie not because you hold the freedom to make a decision between two options; instead, they argue that the rules of causation demand that you choose shepherd’s pie. In other words, your pre-disposed likes and desires created by a causal chain throughout your life lead to this very moment where shepherd’s pie is the only choice you could ever make.

Known as free will versus determinism, A Clockwork Orange explores this debate.

An Anti-Hero and His “Droogs”

Scene from Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange

A Clockwork Orange portrays a dystopian England ruled by violence and anarchy. The main character and anti-hero in the book, Alex, conducts brutal acts with his “droogs” – a term referencing fellow gang members – on the streets of London. With no moral compass, Alex ruins the lives of many for the sake of temporary pleasure.

Leaning heavily on his linguistic virtuosity, Burgess crafts a unique dialect for his ruffians. Amazingly, this Slavic- and Cockney-influenced English can be followed with a slightly focused reading throughout the work. To get a sense of the dialect, here’s a passage where Alex and his “droogs” are torturing a victim:

“’It’s a book,’ I said. ‘It’s a book what you are writing.’ I made the old goloss very course. ‘I have always had the strongest admiration for them as can write books.’ Then I looked at its top sheet, and there was the name – A CLOCKWORK ORANGE – and I said: ‘That’s a fair gloopy title. Who ever heard of a clockwork orange?’ Then I read a malenky bit out loud in a sort of very high type preaching goloss: ‘ – The attempt to impose upon man, a creature of growth and capable of sweetness, to ooze juicily at the last round the bearded lips of God, to attempt to impose, I say, laws and conditions appropriate to a mechanical creation, against this I raise my swordpen –‘ Dim made the old lip-music at that and I had to smeck myself. Then I started to tear up the sheets and scatter the bits over the floor, and this writer moodge went sort of bezoomny and made for me with his zoobies clenched and showing yellow and his nails ready for me like claws” (25-26).

Despite his ferocious nature, Alex contains one endearing quality: he loves classical music. While most teenagers listen to and enjoy technologically advanced music, Alex prefers the stylings of “good ‘ol Ludwig Van.”

To Choose Evil or Be Forced to the Good

As with most morally questionable actions, Alex must eventually face the repercussions of his sins. Faced with endless years locked in the joint, Alex – or 6655231 as he is called in prison – overhears discussion about a new psychological technique announced by the government, one that forces the amoral to always make ethical decisions. In Alex’s mind, freedom carries more importance than choice. The chaplain in the prison, however, disagrees:

“It may not be nice to be good, little 6655321. It may be horrible to be good. And when I say that to you I realize how self-contradictory that sounds. I know I shall have many sleepless nights about this. What does God want? Does God want goodness or the choice of goodness? Is a man who chooses the bad perhaps in some way better than a man who has the good imposed upon him” (106)?

Determinism vs. Free Will

At the core of the novel resides the question of determinism versus free will. Do humans possess the capacity to choose from right and wrong or are they merely a product of their surroundings? Personally, I argue for both. Yet, A Clockwork Orange frighteningly portrays the results of determinism.

To Redeem or Not to Redeem

My version of the book, interestingly, supplies the final chapter not originally published in the first U.S. edition. Where the U.S. edition and the Stanley Kubrick-directed movie conclude on a decidedly negative point, the original edition carries a redemptive storyline in the end.

With the last chapter offering a strikingly different ending than the original U.S. version, the obvious question becomes is it better to end on a redemptive note? From a literary standpoint, I can certainly see the cohesive and exponentially depressing organization of the shortened U.S. version. However, the redemptive thread in the last chapter of the U.K. edition suggests that no matter the nastiness of an individual, he or she eventually grows out of it.

Knowing that the ending is in debate, however, created a better read. A Clockwork Orange is frightening and unpleasant. It explores the centuries-old debate on free will versus determinism. Although I am grateful for reading the book, I find it difficult to recommend.

Book Review: No Country for Old Men

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy (New York: Vintage International, 2005. 320 pp)

Cormac McCarthy was born in Rhode Island in 1933. One of six children, Cormac’s family moved multiple times in his childhood as his father accepted different occupations. In 1951, McCarthy attended the University of Tennessee majoring in Liberal Arts. Midway through his studies, McCarthy served in the Air Force for four years. After his service, McCarthy returned to college writing his first short stories. In 1959 and 1960, he won the Ingram-Merrill Award for Creative Writing. Mccarthy’s first novel, The Orchard Keeper, was published in 1965. Several years, grants, and fellowships later, McCarthy published Suttree, Blood Meridian, and All the Pretty Horses marking his rise in literary acclaim. McCarthy is widely considered one of the great modern American authors and many of his works have been translated to film.

Who Actually Lives Happily Ever After?

It seems to me that there is a need for redemption engrained into humans as they encounter a story. If the narrative does not conclude with a “they lived happily ever after” motif, viewers leave unsettled and more than likely not enjoying the story. Redemption is a powerful motif; nothing pulls the heart-strings better than a down-on-her-luck character figuring it out and finding happiness. In my mind, however, life does not always resemble these idealized redemptive stories. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people; sometimes, good things happen to bad people. In McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, the narrative follows this motif with disquieting results.

No Country for Old Men details the intertwining movements of three characters: Llewelyn Moss, a law-abiding Vietnam veteran; Ed Tom Bell, a small-town sheriff; and Anton Chigurh, a sociopathic killer for hire. While hunting in the Mexico-Texas border country, Llewelyn Moss happens upon the aftermath of a drug-runner shootout and finds a bag containing over 2 million dollars. By taking the cash, Moss thrusts himself into the crosshairs of the ruthless murdering spree of Anton Chigurh.

The Mind of a Killer

Chigurh’s character is the most chilling human depiction I have ever read. First, every scene Chigurh enters results in death and destruction. Second, Chigurh carries no emotion and allows “fate” or “destiny” to make his decisions. He often allows a coin-flip to decide the fate of his victims.

“Chigurh took a twenty-five cent piece from his pocket and flipped it spinning into the bluish glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. He caught it and slapped it onto the back of his forearm just above the bloody wrappings. Call it, he said.”

“Call it?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“Just call it.”

“Well I need to know what it is we’re callin here.

“How would that change anything?”

“The man looked at Chigurh’s eyes for the first time. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and totally opaque. Like wet stones. You need to call it, Chigurh said. I can’t call it for you. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t even be right. Just call it” (55-56).

A Scene from No Country for Old Men/Miramx Films

Not only does Chigurh place the life of his victim in a coin-flip, he also uses a cattle gun as a unique execution device. Such a chilling account raises an interesting philosophical question. Is McCarthy’s representation of a serial killer considered art? On one hand, his finely crafted character represents everything that is evil with the world. Yet, on the other hand, is such a vivid representation of malevolence and nihilism prone to creating copy-cats? I remember hearing a story about a movie that accurately depicted the cracking of a bank safe. Weeks after its release, an uptick in bank robberies occurred. Should we view art differently if it affects real life? While I have not heard stories about mass-murderers mimicking Anton Chigurh, the possibility of such an occurrence frightens me.

A Sliver of Hope

In between Moss and Chigurh resides Sheriff Bell, the man charged with hunting down Chigurh and protecting Moss. As bodies pile up, Bell struggles with the toll of such dark circumstances. Nevertheless, he carries the slightest sliver of hope.

“People complain about the bad things that happen to em that they don’t deserve but they seldom mention the good. About what they done to deserve them things. I don’t recall that I ever give the good Lord all that much cause to smile on me. But he did” (91).

McCarthy’s dense and precise writing implies the gravity of the novel. The themes sit with you long after the last page turns. Not much redemption exists within the text of No Country for Old Men but redemption is not the point of the book. Dark, dreary, and depressing things happen in the world and Cormac McCarthy documents these happenings well in the novel. In fact, a happy ending in this novel betrays the premise of the book. Life is tough and the good guy does not always win. However, life goes on. No Country for Old Men is a masterpiece worth reading.