Batman Returns, an Essay No One Asked For

Batman Returns, an essay no one asked for because I woke up from a Batman dream.

I was 16 when Batman Returns came out, which was great, because there are few movies more targeted to 16-year-olds.

What’s hard to explain is the paradigm, because now, post-Marvel, post-Nolan, it is impossible to fully comprehend that when Batman and Batman Returns came out, it was unimaginable that a comic book movie could be darker than they were. Now that movie looks ridiculously campy and childlike. Then, it was a dream come true.

I’m thinking specifically of the masquerade ball. A dance floor full of people in masks, with Bruce Wayne in the center, not wearing a mask, but in a tuxedo. Symbolism there being, he is wearing the mask of normality. Selina Kyle, aka Catwoman, walks down a staircase to meet him. She is also sans mask, looking around as she passes the masked guests. They are united in their situation, though they don’t know it.

Earlier, as Batman and Catwoman, they fought on a rooftop. Catwoman got the upper hand, bringing Batman down and then jumping on top of him to taunt him. There they were, two attractive people in black leather looking outfits, fighting and flirting, and now she was sitting on top of him, purring.

He looked up and sees some Christmas ornaments on the rooftop. There was some mistletoe.

Batman: Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it-
Catwoman: but a kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.

She leans down, having all the power in the situation, and instead of kissing him, licks him from his chin to his cowl covered nose.

Back to the mask-less masquerade ball. The two of them, not knowing each other’s secrets, on a date, dance. They are face to face, like they were on the rooftop, only without masks, looking almost naked.

She tells him there is a king size bed in another room, they could go there. It’s unlike her. The line between Catwoman and Selina is thin. Bruce, similarly, is more stoic than his usually “millionaire playboy” personal. They are both almost their other selves. They sense the “otherness” in each other and they are still raw from their fight.

He asks if she wants to go to that bed and “take off their costumes” and she sighs deeply and says she is “tired of wearing a mask” he says “me too.”

Eventually they kiss, she laughs, looks up, “a kiss under the mistletoe,” she purrs.

“You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it-” she says dreamily, repeating what Batman said.

“But a kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it-” he replies instinctively, but he realizes everything before he finishes the sentence.

They both know. They know each others’ secrets. They take a step apart. She is crying, her makeup a mess. He wipes a tear away and then pulls her back into the dance as they both look fearful of what happens next.

“Oh my god. Does this mean we have to start fighting?” she whispers to him.

“Let’s go outside.”

And that was it. I was in love. There was so much going on, even in the ridiculousness of the cartoon-like movie. The symmetry of the earlier scene. The flipped power dynamic. The overt sexuality within layers of subtextual BDSM coding. It all made me dizzy. I didn’t want to watch them fight anymore.

In rewatching these two scenes while writing this, I noted that on the roof, when she walks over to sit on him, she steps on his arm briefly and oh lord this explains a lot of things.