Dancing with the Dark Knight

Last night I had the pleasure of going to the cinema for the first time since I was eight months pregnant, which makes it… uh… 2 years and three months without jelly sweets and popcorn.


A funny thing happened when I gave birth, and that is that I became a total wimp. Previously a horror movie fanatic who knew every line to ‘The Shining’, I suddenly developed an aversion to anything even mildly thrilling.


I think it was a consequence of hardly being able to balance my enormous womb and suddenly having to be one of those slow-walkers who clog the pavements of London on a daily basis. I felt like an old lady, stiff and frail. Then my son was born and he was this outworldly, tiny little creature, and the world outside the confines of my living room just seemed bigger and badder in comparison.


I suddenly developed about a million phobias; I was afraid of crossing the road, of being in a car, of flying, of drinking, of watching the news or disturbing films. And I was the queen of disturbing films! The more fucked up the film, the more I enjoyed it.


Fortunately, as I eased into motherhood, the crippling fear I felt started to ease, but I am ashamed to confess that as I sank into my dark seat and stared at the big screen I found myself feeling aprehensive as to whether I could sit through a film with a 12A classification. What had become of me?! I shifted nervously in my padded chair and waited for the movie to start.


Now, as soon as Christian Bale appeared on the screen I remembered how much I enjoyed the last Batman  movie. He is definitely the coolest Batman, like, ever. Cor, I wouldn’t even mind being his Robin if the chance ever befell me. What a hottie too. My anxiety suddenly vanished and my greedy eyes got ready for more. I wasn’t entirely convinced at first that Heath Ledger’s performance hadn’t been overhyped in the wake of his death, but as the film unfolded it became clear that the rumours were true, and his Joker was sicker, more psychotic and sinister than any of his predecessors. And he was still hot, even under all that make up. Why oh why do fit men die?


Now, much as I loved it, there was an annoying (if brief, compared to other superhero movies) ‘damsel-in-distress’ moment. C’mon people, isn’t it time to cut down on these cliches? Is this not the 21st Century? And why is Maggie Gillenhall the only female to have more than 3 lines in the whole thing?


Anyway, I DEFINITELY want a batmobile. Hell yeah. The best part of the film for me was when the batmobile is basically completely ruined after driving through a billion explosions and Brucey Batty is expelled on the sickest, most poisoned motorbike ever.


I wish he’d taken me for a ride.

2 Responses to “Dancing with the Dark Knight”

  1. 1 Rick Boyer September 11, 2008 at 12:01 pm

    I found your site on Google and read a few of your other entires. Nice Stuff. I’m looking forward to reading more from you.

  2. 2 Professional Housegirlfriend September 24, 2008 at 8:18 pm

    Oh wow! You just brought a little tear to my eye. Woo hooooooooo! Get in.

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