Recently Viewed - Batman: Caped Crusader

Batman: Caped Crusader does not aspire to be the definitive interpretation of the eponymous superhero, nor is it a postmodern deconstruction of the “tropes,” “lore,” and “mythology” traditionally associated with the source material (à la Matt Reeves’ recent blockbuster film). It’s just a straightforward, no-frills adaptation—and in an era where everything comic book related has to be a capital “E” Event, that modesty feels positively radical.

The show’s structure is elegant in its simplicity. As in Bruce Timm’s classic ‘90s animated series (as well as such similarly influential works as Teen Titans and Batman: The Brave and the Bold), each episode tells a self-contained story, with a handful of recurring threads—Harvey Dent’s mayoral campaign, the increasingly blatant corruption of Detectives Flass and Bullock, the gradual development of Bruce Wayne’s initially icy relationship with Alfred—contributing to a season-spanning narrative arc that ultimately culminates in an explosive two-part finale. This non-serialized approach allows the writers to experiment and discover variations on the versatile “villain of the week” formula: “…And Be a Villain” and “Kiss of the Catwoman”, for example, revolve entirely around the origins of their respective antagonists; “The Night of the Hunters”, meanwhile, utilizes its costumed criminal du jour as a mere prop in a plot that explores the growing schism within the Gotham Police Department.

Beyond this surface-level familiarity, of course, there is ample room for novelty, innovation, and subversion. The creative team’s depiction of Batman’s duality is particularly compelling. Defying the commonly held fan theory that the performative “lazy playboy” façade is the real mask, whereas the “brooding vigilante” alter ego is closer to his actual self, this iteration of our hero treats both personae as equally fabricated—divergent embodiments of the same fundamental vulnerabilities. His “true identity” resides somewhere between these extremes, obfuscated by the repressed trauma that he refuses to confront, emerging only in fleeting moments of compassion—when he prioritizes rescuing imperiled innocents over pursuing perps, for instance, or when he chooses to be merciful towards his vanquished foes.

Lean, efficient, and easily digestible, Batman: Caped Crusader is refreshingly old school in its style and sensibilities. To Hell with the corporate gruel of Multiverses, multibillion-dollar budgets, and bloated “prestige” television; give me ten more years of the bite-sized gourmet meals that Timm, Reeves, and Abrams are cooking.

Cyberpunk: Edgerunners - Neon Drenched Nihilism

[The following essay contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

That quote is Cyberpunk: Edgerunners in a nutshell. Elaborating on the themes established in CD Projekt Red’s open-world FPS (itself an adaptation of Mike Pondsmith’s classic tabletop RPG), Studio Trigger’s tie-in anime represents the very best that this niche sci-fi subgenre has to offer. Over the course of ten lean, mean episodes, director Hiroyuki Imaishi paints a neon-drenched, nihilistic nightmare of capitalism gone awry—a feast for the eyes… and a bullet straight to the viewer’s morale.

In the show’s setting of Night City—which one character, observing from the outskirts, describes as resembling a “cage made out of light”—true equality prevails... insomuch as everyone is utterly insignificant. From the average working stiff struggling from paycheck to paycheck (and when your in-home washing machine requires a monthly licensing fee, every penny is precious) to the mid-level desk jockey desperate to claw his way to the top of the social ladder, the decaying metropolis’ economy is intentionally designed to fail, fueled by thwarted ambition. As long as its residents dream of owning things that they’ll never be able to afford, the cogs of the system keep on turning, benefitting only a privileged few—and grinding the rest into a fine paste that lubricates the machinery.

On the fringes of this broken society lurk the eponymous Edgerunners—cybernetic mercenaries that sell their deadly skills to the highest bidder. In theory, these “freelancers” personify the counterculture, sticking it to “The Man” by making money on their own terms. In practice, however, their independence is entirely illusory; they’re corporate stooges in all but name, exploited to commit acts of sabotage, subterfuge, espionage, and murder on behalf of the wealthy elite. And because they don’t appear on any official company payroll, they’re totally expendable.

When death comes for our protagonists, it arrives without glamor, fanfare, or ceremony, striking abruptly and brutally; even those with the richest backstories and most sympathetic of motivations are mercilessly snuffed out, their goals reduced to a gory pile of viscera and shattered chrome. This is, of course, consistent with the source material, in which cocktails are named after “heroes” not to celebrate their accomplishments, but rather to commemorate how spectacularly they flatlined.

And if you think you’re “special” enough to escape such a grim fate… well, you’re just plain delusional, choom.