The Dark Knight is noisy, jumbled, and sadistic. But then the novelty wears off and the lack of imagination, visual and otherwise, turns into a drag. It’s a shock-and very effective-to see a comic-book villain come on like a Quentin Tarantino reservoir dog. We’re now in a modern, untransformed Manhattan, where the Joker’s opening bank heist unfolds in a tense, realistic style with multiple point-blank shootings. Forget Gotham City-or Anton Furst’s splendid Gothic Gotham of Tim Burton’s Batman, which summoned up the freaky superhero’s inner landscape of vaulted arches and gargoyles. (He does die a little, on the inside.) The director, Christopher Nolan, has decided to get real with the thing. Even if the death of Heath Ledger hadn’t already draped it in a funeral shroud, The Dark Knight would be a morbid affair: It could only be darker if Batman died.
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