Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises (Warner Bros., 7.20) is the first superhero flick in a long time to have won me over so completely that it made me feel like a geek. It felt so overwhelmingly effective that I just folded up my crabby attitude and put it in a Fed Ex package and sent it off to a p.o. box in New Jersey. Ultra-disciplined pacing, dialogue that is clear and true and adds up (and which you can actually understand except for occasional Bane moments), breathtaking IMAX footage, whomping aural impact and an exhilarating movie-ish euphoria...Nolan wins, I capitulate, and Marshall Fine and the naysayers are just too picky and picayune.
Every line of dialogue, every shot, and every cut counts in this thing. The sheer discipline that went into The Dark Knight Rises got me off more than anything else. It's made of high-quality fibre and is densely and expertly threaded like a world-class T-shirt. And it is eighteen or nineteen times better than either of the Joel Schumacher or Tim Burton Batman films. When they say "stop your bitching and just kick back and enjoy it for the movie-movieish wows and adrenaline highs," this is the kind of film they're referring to -- this is the gold and silver and bronze standard rolled into one.
TDKR is tight, tight, tight, tight. It breathes and moves and doesn't feel turgid but God, it's like it began as a four-hour movie and somehow Nolan whittled it down to 165 minutes. I can't imagine how Nolan could tell the story he's chosen and cram it all into a two-hour running time. It flew right the hell by, I can tell you that. (I was furious that I was forced to hit the head at the 75-minute mark.) And when something is flying by (as opposed to plodding or jogging by), you just stop caring about the problems and the speed-bumps, which TDKR certainly has if you really wanna go there.