BATMAN (1989) — A Look Back Into the Shadows
Before Batman became a gravel-throated tank driver or a CGI silhouette in a cape orgy, there was 1989. Tim Burton’s Batman was dark, weird, occasionally brilliant, and entirely unsure whether it wanted to be a comic book, a horror film, or a Prince music video. It’s the kind of film that shouldn’t work, but does — just enough to stay iconic, and just messy enough to be fascinating.
We still think it’s our favourite. Not the best Batman, maybe. But the most Batman Batman — stylish, unpredictable, and absolutely convinced it’s cooler than you. And in most cases, it is.
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| The Bat, the Myth, the Merch Machine — Gotham’s original dark knight returns. |
Gotham, Designed by Madness
Anton Furst’s production design didn’t just win an Oscar — it redefined Gotham for decades. His city looks like someone mashed up Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, a Soviet power station, and a nightmare from the Industrial Revolution. You wouldn’t want to live there. No one wants to live there. And yet you can’t stop looking at it.
There’s no daylight in this Gotham. It’s always night, or almost night, or raining. It’s the kind of city where you get mugged on your way to the mugging. It works perfectly for Burton’s vision — a place where a man dressing up as a bat is actually one of the more reasonable things going on.
Keaton: The Anti-Hero Nobody Asked For (Until He Was Perfect)
When Michael Keaton was cast, fanboys lost their minds. A comedian? As Batman? Was this going to be Beetlejuice in a cape? The answer was no — but it did bring a twitchy, oddly believable energy to Bruce Wayne. Keaton didn’t bulk up or drop his voice three octaves. He whispered. He stared. He acted like someone who probably didn’t sleep much and had a few unresolved issues involving caves.
He also didn’t say much. But when he did — “I’m Batman” — it stuck. His Batman was strange, silent, and slightly unhinged. In other words, perfect.
The Joker That Broke the Bank (And the Fourth Wall)
Jack Nicholson as the Joker was less a casting decision and more a business strategy. He took a lower base salary in exchange for a slice of the merchandising and gross — a deal so lucrative it became Hollywood legend. By the time the Batdust settled, he’d made somewhere between $50 and $90 million, which is more than the GDP of several small countries and all of Gotham’s annual police budget combined.
Performance-wise, Nicholson doesn’t so much play the Joker as treat the entire film like a solo show. He paints faces, murders for laughs, and quotes art theory like a man who’s been trapped in a theatre class for ten years. He’s electric, egotistical, and completely untethered from the rest of the movie — which, oddly, works. The Joker is chaos. Nicholson brought the invoice.
Batman vs. Joker: A History of Madness
It started in 1940. Batman #1. No backstory, no rules — just a killer in a purple suit grinning through murder. Joker wasn’t a prankster. He was a psychopath with style. And Batman, grim and wordless, found his true opposite.
The dynamic hasn’t changed much in 80 years. Joker breaks things. Batman tries to hold them together. Joker kills for the thrill. Batman won’t kill at all. One tears at the seams. The other stitches them back together with fists and silence.
They’re locked in. Not because they want to be — but because they can’t help it.
Every version sharpens the edges:
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Romero painted over his moustache and played it like a carnival.
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Nicholson gave it swagger and sales figures.
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Hamill turned it operatic — murder with a punchline.
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Ledger burned down the rulebook and watched the ashes dance.
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Phoenix wandered off and gave us the prequel no one asked for.
But the core remains. Joker brings chaos. Batman responds with control. It’s not balance — it’s tension. Not peace — just pause.
They don’t need a reason. They just keep going. Like cities. Like wars.
Like people who forget how to stop fighting.
Ring a bell.
Start again.
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| Image credit: unsplash.com/@iipatrick |
Prince vs. The Plot
The inclusion of Prince on the soundtrack feels like a contractual dare. His songs are jammed into scenes with the grace of a custard pie at a funeral. And yet, somehow, it adds to the surreal, broken-dream tone of the movie. “Partyman” blares during an art museum massacre. “Trust” plays during a violent money drop. The Joker dances, people die, and somewhere, Prince collects another royalty.
It shouldn’t work. But neither should a billionaire vigilante in a rubber bat costume. And yet here we are.
The Merch That Ate the Movie
Forget the film — Batman (1989) was a merchandising juggernaut. The bat symbol was slapped on everything from underpants to cereal boxes. Warner Bros. made over $750 million in merchandise alone within the first year. If there was a flat surface, it had the bat on it.
The marketing campaign was minimalist genius — a black poster, a gold bat symbol, no text. Just vibes. You didn’t need to know the release date. You felt it coming.
This was more than a movie. It was the Summer of the Bat. And Nicholson got paid for every action figure that looked vaguely like his eyebrows.
What It Nailed
Tim Burton knew what he was doing — at least aesthetically. The film is a triumph of tone, design, and general moodiness. Elfman’s score is still the best Bat-theme ever written. The Batmobile is a murder tank with jet engines and curves. The costumes are iconic. The Joker is a flamboyant nightmare. Even the sound design — all echoing boots and cape rustles — still holds up.
It was the first superhero film to treat itself seriously without being humourless. It gave comic book movies permission to go dark, weird, and adult. Without this film, there’s no Dark Knight. There’s no MCU. There’s just a world where Batman still wears blue tights and surfs.
What Doesn’t Quite Work
Here’s the truth: Batman (1989) has issues. The third act sags like a badly-fitted cape. The cathedral finale goes on forever and ends with a death scene that feels more accidental than climactic.
The plot? Don’t think about it. Gotham’s crime problems are solved by one man in a bat suit who’s on screen less than the villain. Bruce Wayne’s romantic subplot with Vicki Vale is undercooked and mostly consists of him mumbling at her in increasingly confused tones.
Kim Basinger spends most of the film screaming or fainting. She’s not a character so much as a high-pitched alarm system.
And the biggest narrative sin: making the Joker the killer of Bruce Wayne’s parents. It ties things up too neatly. Batman’s trauma is supposed to be anonymous. Random. A symbol of senseless crime. Giving it a name — Jack Napier — weakens the myth. It makes it personal when it should be universal.
Legacy: The Bat That Changed Everything
For all its quirks, Batman (1989) changed the game. It proved a superhero film could be dark, stylish, and financially bulletproof. It gave us a new Gotham, a new Joker, and a new way to think about men in capes. It kicked open the doors for Batman Returns, Batman: The Animated Series, and every Bat-reboot that followed.
It also taught Hollywood a valuable lesson: you don’t need a great script when you’ve got great design, great marketing, and a lead actor willing to whisper “I’m Batman” like it’s a threat and a confession.
Final Verdict: 7.5/10
We love it. It’s flawed, inconsistent, and sometimes completely bonkers. But it changed cinema. It made Batman cool again. And it did it with art deco architecture, a killer soundtrack, and Jack Nicholson dancing to Prince in a purple suit.
That’s not just a film. That’s history in greasepaint.
Further Reading
Jack Nicholson’s Batman Payday – The Deal That Shook Hollywood
How Jack Nicholson’s contract changed Hollywood actor pay forever.
The Production Design of Gotham – Anton Furst’s Mad Masterpiece
The visionary behind Gotham’s iconic dark and gothic look.
Batman (1989) — IMDb
Full cast, crew, reviews, and trivia on Tim Burton’s Batman.
Batman (1989) — Rotten Tomatoes
Critics’ reviews and audience scores for the 1989 Batman classic.
