"The Dark Knight" continues to dominate the box office and has garnered unanimous critical acclaim.
The prestigious New York Times even dedicated an entire page to singing its praises. Here is the original review:
"Batman" — The Most Perfect Darkness
Perfect darkness: a showdown in Gotham City.
Something has grown cold. Something else is unfolding...
The latest Batman film, co-produced by Christopher Nolan and Martin Meyers, is as dark as midnight and as sharp as lightning.
It strikes a perfect balance between art and technology, poetry and entertainment.
Deeper and more shadowy than any previous Hollywood comic-book adaptation — Batman Begins included — this film blends light and dark emotions at first glance, with a trace of pessimism. But no other film has ever presented such raw terror within pure tragedy… until this post-heroic epic: The Dark Knight.
Truth, justice, and dreams still exist, but they're murky, refracted through the Dark Knight's wings. Those wings cast long shadows over the simplistic optimism of other superheroes and superspies.
Director Christopher Nolan and screenwriter Martin Meyers approached the story with solemnity and sincerity, infusing it with a wisdom rarely found in blockbuster cinema. Watching The Dark Knight, one immediately understands why Superman fell in Superman Returns (2006).
Gone is the clumsiness of similar genre films. Instead, we are offered a superhero burdened with solemnity and sorrow — a Batman trapped in a spider's web, whose forced smile feels like a grimace etched in stone. Bruce Wayne's face bears the stoic fortitude of a Greek statue.
Without a doubt, this elevated Ben Affleck's performance immensely.
Compared to all previous entries in the Batman franchise, The Dark Knight stands out as a radical holding a torch of truth. His small step forward feels like a giant leap for the entire genre.
Like all visionaries, Christopher Nolan has found the golden key to filmmaking — stories that resonate profoundly with the spirit of their time. In an era when crises erupt plainly and publicly, we — like Batman — respond with shades of black.
This may not be a new theme, but few films follow it through so relentlessly to the end. Batman and his nemesis resemble estranged brothers — two faces of the same coin.
That nemesis, of course, is the Joker, played by Martin Meyers. Through both script and performance, Meyers brings to life a demon steeped in evil and twisted joy.
In interviews, Martin has humbly remarked that the film's dark and deathly tone was merely an extension of his performance — and that without Nolan's direction, he couldn't have achieved it.
His Joker is zombie-like in appearance and pitch-black in spirit. A performance that chills to the bone and instantly drags the viewer into darkness.
When he enters his killing spree — a carnival of violence — and reveals that mad, explosive smile, all your emotions drown in unease.
The Joker is an uninvited guest in Gotham. No one knows his origins.
Soon, he controls the city's criminal underworld.
His bizarre, unmotivated crimes catch Batman's attention.
Martin vanishes entirely into the character, hidden behind the Joker's white-painted face and mad eyes. He becomes a deranged cynic — mocking crime, mocking the police, watching the world burn.
He isn't fighting for a cause, nor for anyone. He's not a terrorist — he is terror itself.
Nolan is playing with fire — perhaps because he enjoys showing off.
Before unleashing the Joker, Nolan crafts a blend of the comedic and the terrifying.
This blend draws partly from Michael Mann's The Wire, and more from Cirque du Soleil — that avant-garde circus that wove narrative and artistry into performance.
And The Dark Knight captures this fusion perfectly.
This tonal hybridity creates a tense, twisted atmosphere. Against that backdrop, Nolan builds the Joker's crimes — whimsical yet malevolent — and the trials of Gotham's defenders. Over two relentless hours, every excess and embellishment is stripped away.
The climax erupts in a final thirty minutes of gunfire and explosions, then gives way to silence.
Those fragmented images linger, hinting that some form of righteousness may yet exist — albeit inconsistently. Still, it stirs the heart.
You sense that Nolan enjoys dwelling in darkness, but doesn't wish to stay there.
And he succeeds.
As Martin once said, he couldn't have done it without Nolan — but without Martin, Nolan's vision wouldn't have reached such heights either.
No one who has watched this film fails to be mesmerized by the Joker.
He's a complete lunatic — and Martin plays him as such.
What's most astonishing is that, beyond the horror, the performance is deeply entertaining.
He delivers something iconic — with unexpected vulnerability, with depth that radiates not from the script but through his very presence.
He makes you believe the Joker.
And that belief makes the Joker even scarier. Even more charismatic.
You believe he could walk into any room at any moment and make everyone tremble.
The critic concludes that Martin's Joker surpasses Jack Nicholson's — reaching a height few can dream of.
Beyond the Joker, the film introduces new and memorable characters.
Harvey Dent, the righteous prosecutor and Bruce Wayne's new romantic rival, becomes entangled in a love triangle with Rachel Dawes.
Like Bruce and Rachel, Harvey lives in a "glass house" — that is, Gotham City.
This Gotham is brighter, more vibrant than the grim setting of Batman Begins.
In the comics, Gotham was modeled after a symbolic, overcrowded modern metropolis — in essence, a stylized Chicago.
Soulless. Faceless. A twisted city made of mirror shards.
But on screen, Gotham often resembles New York — until you search for the shadow of 9/11 in the visuals.
When a building collapses in smoke, or firefighters charge through flames, those memories flicker — but only in the viewer's mind.
The resemblance lies more in our associations than the film's imagery.
Like many thrillers before it, The Dark Knight brushes against the trauma of 9/11 not through depiction, but through atmosphere: chaos, panic, death.
Even so, a fleeting resemblance is enough to prove American cinema has entered an era of emotional complexity when dealing with heroes — or with superpowers, real or fictional.
With or without his cape, Batman might seem unremarkable. Almost forgettable.
Partly, that's due to costume.
Every actor in the cape inherits layers of complexity. The suit masks Ben Affleck's expressions, distorts his voice into something distant and gravelly.
Nolan had no plans to reinvent the character after Batman Begins — until he realized that by giving Batman adversaries to fight and relationships to lose, he could unleash Bruce's inner demons into the world.
That narrative twist deviates from Nolan's original message — but elevates the film beyond mere internal struggle.
This Batman is less man than monster.
Perched atop Gotham's towers, he looms more like a predator than a savior.
There's something unholy in his silent menace.
At one point, a wise character observes: "This is not a time for heroes."
Indeed, it is a time for madmen and monsters.
Which explains why, when Batman spreads his wings, they resemble enormous black palms — not offering salvation, but seeking control.
"…Wow, this review is something else. Are they actually saying Batman's so-called mission to save Gotham is really just his way of toying with the city?" Natalie Portman set down the New York Times, astonished. "Martin, doesn't that line up with what you've said before? You've always claimed Batman's no-kill rule is really just him keeping the monsters — no, his kind — alive to keep the game going!"
Martin laughed and stood up. Of course it aligned with his thinking — he had written the review, just published under someone else's name.
Controversial takes like this were exactly what The Dark Knight needed after nearly two weeks in theaters. It was Nolan's idea.
Back during the script meetings and even during filming, Martin had floated this unusual theory about Batman.
He'd sensed then that Nolan had taken it to heart.
He never expected it would resurface here — but Nolan never missed a marketing opportunity.
The New York Times review had sparked a firestorm. Batman had too many loyal fans, and many of them were outraged that their idol had been likened to a devil. The comment section was a battleground.
The Dark Knight, which had been enjoying a moment of calm in the media, was suddenly roaring again.
Jonathan Nolan set the paper aside and smiled at his brother. "Chris, looks like your marketing scheme worked again. Everyone's wrong — you're not an artistic genius. You're just a ruthless businessman."
Christopher Nolan chuckled. "It wasn't my idea. I just learned from Martin. He's the real businessman."
Jonathan grinned mischievously. "I'm telling him you said that."
"Go ahead," Nolan replied, "I think he'd take it as a compliment."