It is, I retroactively declare, a good weekend I think for seeing a new movie premiere. After spending a couple of hours around a pizza and an airing of Batman Begins, we rushed off to the theater for a Friday night showing. I’ve spent some time thinking about what I could possibly say about The Dark Knight in the subsequent 48 hours, and I honestly don’t have much better of an idea right now than I did walking out of the theater.
First of all, there’s the story route, but I refuse to do more than thumbnail it, because there are massive spoilers both for fantastic individual scenes and for the highly detailed and brilliantly executed plot. Anyway, a little time has passed and Batman hovers in a precarious middle ground between hated vigilante and police-sponsored hero. Gotham is gradually coming out of its dark age, and district attorney Harvey Dent’s hardline stance against the crumbling mob families is the best evidence of this fact. But there’s a bank-robbing clown who calls himself the Joker who has other ideas on that topic; and he has a plan.
All of which is stage-setting that’s clear within the first 15 minutes or so. If anyone wants to tell you more than that, don’t let them. Although Batman Begins was a lot more of a traditionally mythological hero’s journey, it had nowhere near the psychological depth of The Dark Knight. Christian Bale understands Bruce Wayne in a way that nobody but Michael Keaton has ever come close to, and Heath Ledger’s death was nothing short of a fucking tragedy for movie-goers everywhere, even if his portrayal of the Joker would have been the pinnacle of his talent. I would not have ever guessed I’d say someone surpassed Nicholson, but the writing was probably as much to blame as the acting. They really were two different characters, and the current one the darker and more insane by far.
My point being, with two such powerful leads, an equally strong supporting cast, and additional psychological elements from legal crusader Dent and returning ADA Rachel, Bruce’s love interest and Dent’s current girlfriend… with all of that going for it, there is a lot of room to play in and with a lot of interesting characters’ psyches. And this occurs in spades, to the point where it might be fair to describe the ride as an emotional wringer. But it is also the best movie I’ve seen all year, easily.[1] Juno and Iron Man come close, each in their own ways, but this hit all my buttons just right.
In summary: wow. Now go see it. (Yes, again. I know I would have tonight, if I hadn’t been at work instead.)
[1] Well. Zombie Strippers. But otherwise.
If memory serves, the most recent volume of Y: The Last Man ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, in which… well, okay, I guess I can assume you may not have read 
So there I am, sitting at the bar, nursing the water between my third and fourth beers, occasionally snaking a fry from Ryan, sure because they taste good but mostly for the thrill of the hunt, when suddenly the girl next to me says, “Hey, babe. Is this guy boring you? Why not come with me, I’m going to see a movie about robots who could conceivably go to another planet!” Which is why I never had my fourth beer.
If you’re wondering why I’m so out of my standard rotation on graphic novels, one reason is that the Marvel stuff reads very quickly and another is that the Stick book was borrowed. But you were probably talking about the actual rotation, not all this side stuff, right? Right, you pay attention to that as closely as I do, so of course you were! Well, the answer to that is that the newest Walking Dead volume has been delayed for months. (And the next one will be delayed even further, as Wikipedia Pete informs me there are only two out of the standard six that have even been published as single issues, thusfar.)
Back in May, I decided it was time to get back to the Dresden Files. So I grabbed the third book off my shelf, stuffed it in my luggage, and flew off to Michigan with it. At least, I assume that’s what happened, because I remember the intention to do so, but somewhere in the course of that weekend, the book disappeared into a mystical vortex or fell through a hole in reality, or something. You know how you’ll walk around life, and occasionally when you open a door you’re certain that instead of leading to wherever it’s supposed to lead, it will instead be a portal to someplace else entirely? That is what happened to my book, is what I’m saying.