PeriodOne

I wouldn’t say The Economist is given to alarmist journalism, but this week’s front page and main leader are, if not alarming, then certainly disquieting. Especially so for Europeans; possibly even more so for those Europeans, like PeriodOne, that live in Germany.

Few begrudged the former Communist states of eastern Europe the economic success they enjoyed and their subsequent entry into the EU. Yes, the Polish plumbers ruffled feathers (though not British ones; we were just glad that SOMEONE could repair stuff properly). Yes, Nokia destroyed its standing in Germany when it pocketed German subsidies then shifted production to Romania and Hungary. But the states themselves were implicated in these factors, not the single causes. And most people had at least a vague awareness that the fact they could afford better computers and phones was not just a result of Chinese manufacture, but also of cheap labour closer to home.

The problem is, this growth was fueled to a large extent with easy credit. And as The Economist points out, it is entirely conceivable that one of these states will default on its debt and require the kind of bail-out that we’ve become used to seeing doled out to banks and industrial sectors by governments. But this happening to an actual country? That’s something different, not least because the country’s government obviously can’t do it: that’s the point. So what happens? There are various institutions which preside over funds which could theoretically be used to prop an entire national economy – the World Band and the IMF for example. But for the new EU members – well, it’s going to be the EU. And when it comes to money, the EU mainly means Germany.

All of which isn’t that alarming, until one considers Germany’s position. During the boom years, Germans were the model of self-restraint, and had to watch Londoners and New Yorkers rake in the cash while they battled with stagnation, high-umemployment and the associated general social malaise. Despite what must have been immense temptation, successive governments resisted the urge to encourage borrowing or lean on banks to offer easier credit. Either that, or the German people simply weren’t interested in living beyond their means with quite the same alacrity as their British neighbours. In any case, reforms were pushed through – and they were painful – and it seemed as though the country might be on the mend, about to ultimately recover from the long-term trauma of already integrating a failed economy in the 90s.

So now you can understand the concern that the German people will not stand for pumping money into economies yet again. The Economist states that not to do so would be even worse (a phrase we’ve all heard a lot in recent months), and it is undoubtedly right. It just seems very unfair, and, historically-speaking, sets a precedent that encourages a ‘can’t beat them, join them’ attitude in governments whose prudent policy leaves them no better off in a crash than the cash-happy states whose lax regulation caused it.

It all adds up to a field day for populist and national political parties who offer a voice to those with a raging sense of injustice. There are, sadly, no shortage of those in Germany, and an EU state default would play right into their hands.

It’s strange and wonderful how sometimes words come, and sometimes not. The most difficult, stressful and terrified moments can trigger a torrent of broadly coherent and essentially relevant sentences; yet for every one of these moments we spend another in twisted silence, willing words to arrive like a late bus we need to catch. So I sat lemon-like last night. And for that I spent all of today in oral exams which required constant improvised dialogue. No problem. But last night I just didn’t know what to say. It’s an interesting feeling, in my case accompanied by regular short intakes of breath, bizarre mini-shrugs and half-completed facial expressions repeated in various combinations until the poor soul trying to decipher my gyrations gets up in frustration to make a cup of tea. But as an inveterate talker (i.e. a teacher), I’m starting to realise the inherent value of shutting up – and let’s face it: at 29, it’s frankly about time. We’re always communicating, and sometimes moments of silence chime together, building to a wonderful moment of understanding. I’ve underestimated it for a long time, believing always that silence meant awkwardness: a lack, an emptiness, a broken connection. But the same balance exists in intimate verbal interaction that regulates everything else as beautiful – I’m listening to Sigur Ros right now, and the gaps are as enchanting as the bits you can hear; as a drama teacher I constantly encouraged kids to pause between lines, to savour and foster audience anticipation; my band’s obsession with creating awesome noise is increasingly tempered by a desire to frame this in silent moments of musical reflection. In other words: shut up Steve.

It’s actually a very solid film. Problem is, when portraying the Nazi regime, more than solidity is required. If anything, being solid is a disadvantage when a nuanced exploration of character, motivation and morality is what the subject matter and viewing audience demands. So adept is Bryan Singer at establishing suspense and – I believe the verb is ‘ratcheting’ – up tension, that Valkyrie comes off like Speed with swashikas and downbeat ending. But let’s make no mistake – Cruise is not Keanu Reeves, and his work as Stauffenberg is as solid as the film as a whole. But as Empire’s review has noted, we need more. Beyond an opening voiceover (which apparently in the US and UK features the unlikely prospect of Cruise speaking German, though this was oddly not the case in the continental European cut I watched in Berlin) and a brief sequence establishing his war injuries, we just get Maverick’s slightly older, more sensible brother. Again – historical accuracy aside – it’s solid: he’s a good guy, he has (extremely) legitimate doubts about Hitler. But why? Who can really tell. So you’re forced to watch the film as a thriller, not a moral exploration. Which is fine. But it would have been better to have the option, as one did with The Dark Knight (which I go on about at length below). If Singer wants to make a seriously good thriller, he should base it on a group of crooks manipulated to their own fate by a cunning criminal, and cast someone like Kevin Spacey. No, wait a minute …

The well-documented brilliance of the supporting cast is both a help and a hindrance. Exchanges between Kenneth Branagh and Cruise are distractingly imbalanced, while his cohorts in the superb HBO/BBC collaboration Conspiracy – Kevin McNally and Ian McNeice – bring depth and urgency. And if you’ve seen that film, imagine Cruise playing Branagh’s role … No, I don’t want to either. Yet in Valkyrie, that’s pretty much what’s happening. All of the Stauffenberg Plot’s protagonists knew what was at stake when they signed up – and this is very much evident in Bill Nighy’s infuriating indecisiveness and Eddie Izzard’s desperate double-dealing. But Cruise’s Jerry McGuire-esque recruitment tactics are out of synch – it’s not shown in the film, but hundreds of people were tortured and put to death in the aftermath of the failed assassinated – including friends, families and associates of all involved. If I had been appointed Staffenberg’s PA only to be told with a smirk that my first assignment was high treason against the Führer, I’d have been a lot less accommodating than Jamie Parker’s Lieutenant von Häften.

Watching the film in Germany adds yet more resonance at several levels. Since opening its provocatively ostentatious new office in Berlin, the Scientology movement have not received much love from the Germans, whose government is one of the few to deny it status as a legitimate religion. Every one of my German friends, when asked about Valkyrie, has spoken not about historical accuracy or similar, but about the fact they don’t like Tom Cruise because of his extra-curricular activities. Coupled with the studio’s inexplicable decision to market the film in Germany with huge posters of Cruise giving it his eye-patched, jaw-clenching best which omit every other member of the cast, ‘Walküre’ was never going to do that well round here. Even worse, in Berlin some enterprising group of (possibly right-wing, possibly anti-Scientology, possibly just idiot) vandals have taken to sticking black labels across Cruise’s top lip. Bizarre. And disturbing.

AP’s movie critic suggests that any of the supporting cast could have done a better job in the lead role, while Empire reckons that the film ought to have focussed on Thomas Kretschmann’s dryly weary officer. And given that actor’s brilliant showing in The Pianist, I can’t help but wonder what Valkyrie could have been if Singer hadn’t engaged Cruise control.

“You’ve changed things,” drawls the Heath Ledger’s Joker during his pivotal interrogation by (or – depending on your inclination – of) Christian Bale as Batman. Watching the scene, it’s difficult to comprehend exactly how far off the pace Gotham’s protector is, and as his pitiful predicament worsens and frustration peaks (“Where are they?!” he roars over and over again), it’s easy to believe the Joker’s gleeful pronouncement: “There’s no going back”.

Just as Batman and the citizens of Gotham are stuck on a one way train with the Joker up front, The Dark Knight has changed contemporary commercial cinema, whether we like it or not. Be it ground-breaking production (vertiginous sequences filmed on the unwieldy IMAX format), a boundary-blurring viral marketing campaign (which saw obsessed fans decoding dozens of websites, locating mobile phones hidden in cakes and actually being recruited by the Joker), commercial success (statistics litter the web, but notable is the proportion of viewers who have seen the film more than once) or the enormous critical aftermath of reviews and articles, the creation of this film has exposed the fallacy underpinning every rule in the summer blockbuster handbook. Were the Joker a film buff – one suspects not – he would surely have approved.

What has not yet emerged is any critical consensus on the meaning of the film philosophically, psychologically, politically and socially, or for cinema itself.

For what it’s worth, PeriodOne wants to get in on the act, so here goes …

Startling it may have been, but The Dark Knight is not without precedent. 007’s recent spectacular revival was lauded by an audience enthusiastic for a shot of moral ambiguity with their escapism. And earlier, Fight Club brilliantly portrayed the paradoxical, self-organising chaos bred of urban ennui, in effect road-testing one of The Dark Knight’s central conceits: even if we don’t break the rules ourselves, we love watching others break them. Both Mephistophelian, both irresistible, both crowd-pleasers: Tyler Durden and the Joker are separated by a knife’s edge.

However, neither of these films went all the way: Fight Club sweetened its vision of chaos with arch references to gender and sexuality, while Casino Royale’s LeChiffre was an amoral, money-grabbing villain of the old-school. Baffled and disturbed by Bond tanking whiskey or Edward Norton beating himself black and blue, audiences were reassured by these concessions. Not so those who went to see The Dark Knight: at best, it’s conclusion suggests Batman has saved the lives of Gordon’s family – a silver lining after the film’s chaos and carnage, but a pretty thin one. A more pessimistic reading of the film’s conclusion would suggest that the only a cynical plan to deny the truth to the people of Gotham has prevented outright victory for the Joker. Holy opportunistic spin-doctoring Batman! etc etc.

While the film’s portrayal of anarchic disorder is wholely emboddied by Ledger’s performance, it outsources the forces for good to Wayne, Gordon and Harvey Dent, each endeavouring in his own way to make things better. Where Wayne’s broken family history forces him to the margins, disguised and frequently unsure of his motivation, Dent follows the straight path, determined to work good through Gotham’s existing administrative structures. Having been at this game for a while, Gordon stands between: as an honest police officer he represents the city, as a pragmatist he is willing to tolerate corruption and vigilante-ism if it brings results. He is also able to consolidate the disparate approaches of Wayne and Dent. Among these three characters, we surely all find something we can relate to. And see much we recognise.

In pitting not one but three heros against the Joker, the Nolan brothers effectively create a filmic scenario through which each and every approach to making the world a better place can be systematically destroyed. You admired the Bush administration’s determination to take tough decisions, even bend rules, to make the world a better place? Then Batman’s the one for you. Prefer a more considered approach redolent of the rhetoric of the new US President? Then Harvey Dent’s your man. If you find both of these options either too idealistic or too amoral, well, there’s Gordon in the middle, expressing precisely this view. And if you have a brand new theory not yet mentioned, then please let us know about it asap. In any case, none of these approaches prove particularly effective in the film. Not one.

But then, the adversary in The Dark Knight is the Joker – a charismatic and unpredictable foe who manipulates the media, recruits supporters with apparently no effort, embodies a philosophy incomprehensible to his opponents and strikes civilian targets to maximise terror amongst the population … it’s not like he’s real, is it? Just most realistic super-villian committed to celluloid, that’s all.

So what can we conclude? It’s all pointless? Although it ends on the tight-shot showdown between Dent and Batman, the film’s earlier climax reveals that Fight Club isn’t the only David Fincher film the Joker’s been watching – his double-ferry-bombing-impossible-moral-dilemma-extravaganza is straight from Se7en’s John Doe. And this is the moment in this singularly uncompromising film where the Nolans blink. Having for two hours portrayed Gotham as a morally-bankrupt hell hole whose citizens begin rioting and shooting at the provocations of an obvious lunatic, they now suggest that a boat of the city’s criminals are happy to sacrifice themselves. It’s certainly an intriguing scenario, and in the midst of the viewing experience, there’s no time to question the validity of what is happening. But afterwards, one does wonder: assuming a degree of motivational continuity, we can only believe that both ferries’ passengers believe they are going to die (the Joker’s previous schemes have all come very much to fruition). So, what’s the motivation? As the seconds tick by, do they really believe it’s best if they all perish? Or do they think the other boat will definitely blow them up, and are thus just waiting to sacrifice themselves? Or are they just too scared to do it? Or are they panicked and not thinking at all?

Wayne, as Batman, claims to the Joker that the passengers’ refusal to press the button is evidence that Gotham is “full of people who believe in good”. Well, not really. It’s evidence that Gotham is full of people who become scared and indecisive when faced with very probable death. As you do. Although the Joker acknowledges Batman’s point, he needn’t: the Gotham citizens as portrayed earlier in the film would have pressed the button at the drop of a hat. But even if we do accept this narrative inconsistency (and we should, given the richly nuanced moral questions it allows the filmmakers to explore), the Joker has ANOTHER card up his sleeve, namely his complete corruption of Dent. This, he postulates, will sever the final thread holding the city together. Fortunately, Wayne saves the day. By killing Dent, the one man who could have saved the city, and by offering himself as a scapegoat for Dent’s misdeeds, and thus destroying any trust Gotham still had in Batman. Ho hum … at best a mixed week for the dark knight.

And what is left when the dust settles? The Gotham police department doesn’t have a good record in terms of keeping the Joker locked up – during his previous brief spell in their cells he orchestrated a triple bombing before promptly escaping. He evidently doesn’t have to be around for his minions to lay their plans. With Dent now only a memory and Batman severely compromised, what future does Gotham have? It’s clear that this is no-one’s idea of a happy ending, and it’s surely a miracle that the film got made in its current form at all – perhaps the fact that it’s very complexity might prevent the casual viewer from grasping its implications is what allowed it to end as it does.

And what about us? One might as well state it openly: The Dark Knight is far too complex to portray an unambiguous moral message. In face, without wishing to unduly patronise the cinema-going public, it’s probably too complex for many people to get any kind of message out of. My impression is that viewers emerged dazed, confused and entertained, briefly tried to work out what they had just experienced, then gave up. It’s certainly what I did. Apocalyse Now had a similar effect. However, the analysis above would suggest the film is verging on the nihilistic – what’s the pointing in striving to work good when evil triumphs at every turn? Yet this is not the message people seem to be taking from the movie. Remember how you felt after watching Se7en? It’s not quite the same feeling.

I actually think that in the final analysis, the film is positive, and it’s the Joker that makes it so. By depicting chaos so enigmatically, Ledger acts as the audience’s guide, leading us through twisted logic, dishonest reasoning and casual cruelty to the rotten heart of his character. Even as Gotham is suffering, we as an audience get to look behind the scenes at the Joker’s craft. Gotham doesn’t see him lie, but we do. Gotham believes he has planned their destruction. We see that he couldn’t have. Fascinated as we are by his charisma, willing as we are to believe he can control a vast, well-organised network to orchestrate terror, we know it could never be real. If the obvious parallels with real-world terror organisations are examined (and scriptwriters pointedly refer to the Joker as a ‘terrorist’), they don’t ultimately stand up. Yes, these groups have wreaked unspeakable horror. But mercifully rarely, at least compared with the film’s timescale. Yes, a loose network of accomplices has been able to plan terror without central planning, logistics and co-ordination. But they have failed far more often than they have succeeded.

The Dark Knight presents a ‘What if’ scenario. What if an impossible, unbeatable phenomenon such as the Joker existed? What would happen? Well, all hell would break lose. But forces for good – in different forms – would keep fighting until the very moment all was lost. Ultimately, thinking about the film sharpens our awareness that our world in not Gotham city, but that we see ourselves in its inhabitants, and we can be thankful that most of us are spared the choices they have to make.