In August last year the internet exploded with the news that Ben Affleck (the proprietor of Fashionable Male in Mallrats, for anyone who canât place the name) was to be cast as Batman in the upcoming (now put back to 2016) Superman vs. Batman (or Batman vs. Superman) sequel to Man of Steel. The general consensus was that this was a controversial decision, to say the least. Interestingly, when Gal Gadot was cast as Wonder Woman in the same film in December, nobody really batted an eyelid, despite the fact that this will probably be one of the biggest blockbusters in history, with anticipation already high a good two years before the filmâs release. This is interesting only because people doubted Affleckâs ability despite a very long and varied career (including playing another superhero, albeit not very well), while the casting of Gal Gadot, whose only really experience is in the Fast and Furious flicks, goes essentially unnoticed because apparently no one cares about Wonder Woman (even though by rights she should probably be the third biggest character in the movie). Â
Perhaps it is worth asking why no one cares very much about Wonder Woman, who has appeared in a slew of animated films (which I donât think are actually theatrically released) and is a big part of the DC mythos (being essentially number 3 in the JLA after Batman and Superman and always being a big part of the various animated series). However, the first thing that struck me about the Affleck argument is just why so many people care so much about the Batman character?
The psychological problems faced by Batman and the problem he presents in the society he exists within is, of course, a commonly tackled subject; while his instability would not be suitable for any long running storyline within mainstream comics or any continuous storyline, as it would be impossible to maintain for an extended period (one could just imagine writers envisioning Batman attending therapy, being incarcerated in an asylum for a time, receiving electro-shock therapy, etc.), it has been tackled head-on or at least explored within limited storylines such as The Dark Knight Returns, The Killing Joke, the recent videogame series, etc. However, for mainstream audiences, anything more than the most subtle implication that Batmanâs vigilantism, violence and parent issues are troubling can be far too much to handle; while some would seek to question his place in his own society and ours, most prefer to portray him as anti-hero rather than the crazed fascist that he really is.
Of course the problem lies in the move in comics over the last forty years from child-aimed stories, to psychedelic freak-out adventures with a child/teen slant, to attempting to place the character (and all superheroes) in a convincing world of real crime and real criminal motivation. The problem with this is that it asks for writers and readers to examine the motivations of their heroes as well as the increasingly vicious and non-wacky supervillains. The world of Batman is as variable as the socio-political atmosphere that he lives within, which is affected by target audience and the climate of our non-fictional world.  His progression from campy caped crusader to an armoured detective living in a modern and ultra-grim American city has, at times, taken him back to his origins in an attempt to return comics to their inspirational and innocent beginnings. However, through it all he has been a projection of a rather idealised view of billionaire Bruce Wayne; a man who is deemed to be a hero because he has unlimited resources and a personal vendetta against the criminal underworld of Gotham (as well as, of course, a rather tacked-on paternal Capitalist throwback worldview about making the world a better place for the innocent â mostly by terrifying them into behaving properly). Some writers have undoubtedly focused on the cerebral nature of his work, the way he uses his vast intelligence to solve fiendishly difficult puzzles â an American Sherlock Holmes, in fact. A Sherlock Holmes who often uses technology in place of pure deduction, who does not share the same cold intellectualism as his original (Sherlock Holmes is a morphine addict who hates woman, Batman has a kid and doesnât mess with drugs), who revels in violence, who disguises his face instead of walking onto a crime scene unmasked and taking command, who is a billionaire Capitalist, and who solves crimes as part of an extended game of one-upmanship rather than for the simple joy of logic and reasoning (and, in Sherlock's case primarily, in proving to the police and wider society, rather than to the criminal, that he is the best).
Batman is now absolutely more popular than Superman; the commonly accepted reading being that Superman is the Big Blue Boy Scout, a do-gooder who plays by the rules at all times, while Batman is the anti-hero, willing to bend the rules to get things done. I think people, particularly Americans, like this view of him best â the idea that someone has a sense of social justice but does their own thing, isnât tied down by âbureaucracyâ or even the generally accepted rules of modern society. Someone who does what they wish they could do, and whatâs more they are incredibly rich and have lots of great toys to play around with. In some ways, Batman represents the American Dream, in that he is undoubtedly self-made - although he has made power for himself, and not money.
Rorschach is a more extreme version of Batman, which of course was Mooreâs intention in creating him, and yet he is very frequently interpreted as an anti-hero rather than as a sociopath with a twisted sense of justice (one of the many problems with the Watchmen movie is their reading of Rorschach). One can just imagine the cheers from Daily Mail readers, if they for some reason read Watchmen, during the sequence in which Rorschach deals with the child-murderer and his dogs. Of course Rorschach, like any well constructed character, is not one-dimensional; his lack of vanity, his strict personal code, his unwillingness to roll-over for the whims and hypocrisy of  society are all commendable. And yet, ultimately, he is not a desirable member of the community; only someone completely self-assured in their moral perfection would not find something to fear in him. He is ultimately an outsider, and is more likely to turn up at the house of someone he feels has wronged him or society in the middle of the night and deal with them than try and control society in any larger meaningful way. Batman is not, of course, as extreme as Rorschach; and yet several main differences exist between the two; Batman incarcerates the majority of criminals he comes across due to his no-kill policy (although some would argue that being placed in Arkham is worse than death), he does have the power and possibly the inclination to control society on a wider scale as Bruce Wayne, and he has a veneer of respectability to his violence, afforded him by his slick methods of dispatching criminals.
Why, then, are we so obsessed with Batman and not with Philip Marlowe, Dupin or even Sherlock Holmes (there have been countless adaptations of the latter as a character, but he does not, at the moment at least, have nearly the same level of cultural standing as Batman), who are all detectives living on the edge of the law? Is it simply because Holmes and the rest carve out a niche within their line of work while Batman completely dominates his landscape? Gotham is essentially his playground, both as Batman and as Bruce Wayne; by day he attends charity balls, sleeps with beautiful women, drives fast cars, all under the supposed pretense of maintaining a believable cover (he isnât enjoying any of it, really). By night he swings and flies through the city, deciding in an instant whom is guilty and should be beaten up and left hanging from a lamppost. He is seemingly untouchable by police, either because they are so far gone in bitter cynicism about the state of the city they are supposed to protect and are happy for someone else to take over, or because they just canât catch or hold him. He has a personal code never to kill, and yet if he killed the Joker, who would blame him? He has the moral high ground in any case. Is it this fantasy that keeps us so interested in Batman? This idea of complete personal freedom coupled with unlimited resource, rather than because we feel he is doing someone right by beating up the sad product of an irreparably corrupt city? Perhaps it is because many people feel as if our society is on the brink in the same way Gotham is, and that Batman would be a very welcome asset in the fight against underprivileged criminals and insane supervillains (although one would argue that the current breed of supervillain is precisely summed up in the character himself; the super rich playboy who jeopardises society through reckless actions). The threat of violence, whether perceived as real or not, is counteracted only by the allure of turning the tables on the aggressor, either retrospectively in the revenge act or at the very scene of the crime. Who hasnât fantasized about being accosted and smashing in the face of our imaginary attacker, or of turning up at the house of someone who has wronged us and killing them, preferably against the odds? Or, indeed, of protecting a loved one or attractive or helpless stranger from attack? The real appeal then, of Batman, is unlimited power and not the justice he supposedly represents; the power not only to right perceived wrongs but to act with impunity outside of the law. Which is perhaps why there is a degree of indulgence in societyâs reaction whenever someone starts patrolling their local town dressed as a ninja or as Batman, and the assertion of the police that itâs best left to them is viewed with suspicion or dismissal â perhaps, in a sane society, these people would be forced to desist in the interests of themselves and others.
For me, there are very few superheroes who are able to outgrow the level of potential that they were somewhat lumbered with in their inception; now that Peter Parker is no longer a teenager, now that our society has somewhat turned against the wealth and extreme privilege of characters like Iron Man and Batman, now that the nationalism and infallibility of Superman has become unpopular and thoroughly explored in every conceivable fashion, it seems as if these sorts of characters are simply running on brand recognition, nostalgia and slick but usually quite uninteresting Hollywood adaptations. As Alan Moore pointed out recently in an interview with PĂĄdraig Ă MĂ©alĂłid:
"To my mind, this embracing of what were unambiguously children's characters at their mid-20th century inception seems to indicate a retreat from the admittedly overwhelming complexities of modern existence"
On the other side of the argument, Grant Morrison has extolled the virtues of superhero characters as figures of inspiration and possible avenues of human evolution, and yet I can't help feeling that this could be just as relevant outside of characters like Batman, whom Morrison had a recent extremely successful run with. In Flex Mentallo this idea is explored very well, but the idea of society remembering their magical potential and growing into people like Batman, whose main virtue is money and a lot of training, seems a bit ridiculous; I would err on the side of Moore's viewpoint that it would be desirable if the importance of superheroes were greatly diminished; even if this meant ditching specific superheroes and not the idea of super-humans entirely.
