The Dark Knight Rises

I loved it. I thought Anne Hathaway was amazing. A revelation. Really, a loving nod to the old 60s TV show Catwoman, I thought. And the only place in Nolan’s movies I really saw any acknowledgment of the TV show at all. But there’s no mistaking the silhouette. It’s Eartha Kitt and Julie Newmar in a size we’re more comfortable lusting over these days.

Still, it was hard not to wonder at what point the real shooting started. I cried at the end, even though I didn’t think they were going to do the thing they of course didn’t do, because the movie ended on such a hopeful note–that people could really be their best selves, that they could find happiness, that they could escape from the weight of the tragedies that define them.

And yet, that movie will be forever associated with the dude who literally stole that ending from the people in that theater in Aurora. It’s impossible to put that out of your mind, I think, when you’re watching it–how many people literally never made it to the end, because some fuckers have to throw their lot in with evil.

I don’t know. It’s a good movie, but due to circumstances, it’s incredibly sad. In some ways, the movie posits a better world than the one we live in.

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