Not exactly Jimminy Cricket

Recently I said to a friend

“I think that in the soul of every 20-something woman there is a pubescent boy. Mine is named Frank.”

For a long time, the little sprite inside me that made me love comic books and find words like gaelic funny (because it's gay and lick at the same time!) remained nameless. As ethereal and mischievous as Ariel in Shakespeare's The Tempest, it has been with me since around the time I turned sixteen. Around the time I began to become a woman this little creature hatched from its shell like a deformed velociraptor, the most deadly and awesome of all baby dinosaurs. I didn't realize it at the time, but all the work I put into trying to appear normal feminine during middle school and my freshman year of high school, all that repression was actually sustaining the heat of incubation for my little Jurassic time bomb. I hid him as well as I could, but it's kind of hard to keep a velociraptor under wraps.

Like a little guardian angel, or Hell banished fallen angel, he's there for all the testosterone ridden, angst filled, sex spoofed moments in my life. Every time I watch Boondock Saints or The Punisher, he's there. Every time I rock out to misogynist music, he's there. Every time DC comics publishes a new Batman graphic novel, he's there. Every time I decide not to shower for a couple of days, he's there. He's the inspiration for every Mortal Kombat reference I've ever made. Every time I utter the words, “That's what she said,” he gets bonus points; he's saving them up to mail in for a new dirt bike.

Little known fact: Every time a “Your mom” joke is told, an inner teenage boy gets his wings.

It was this past semester that I finally named him. After watching Donnie Darko for the first time that I realized that Frank had always been his name, I just didn't know it. I realized this after seeing Frank's Halloween costume and thaught, “That's totally something that my Frank would wear.”

In addition to taking part in all the teenage boy things I do, he also tells me to do things. This summer, he's telling me to go see Death Race, starring his favorite actor/seedy Brit, Jason Statham. I must admit, that request may be one I don't grant, simply because of budget issues. I've told him to settle down, but he just turned up his Marshal Mathers LP.

What's so funny?

There's no denying it; I am a HUGE fan of Batman. It's more than the character that fascinates me, it's the entire world he exists in. Thus, I was monumentally happy that Christopher Nolan did justice to the hero and world I so loved when he directed Batman Begins. The moment I walked out of the movie theater, I was already anticipating a sequel. Nolan's follow-up, The Dark Knight “delivers”, in every sense of the word. This time, my friends and I emerged from theater shell shocked, asking each other “What just happened?” The world created in the first film is essentially exploded, stretching up and out, busting beyond the boarders of imagination. I felt physically and emotionally exhausted, fully psychologically challenged.

I had actually promised someone I'd wait to see the movie with him, but saw it on opening night instead. I thought about when I saw it again, except I realized that I would be able to watch it a second time as if I had never seen it before, simply because my mind had so much to process the first time.

Completing Nolan's vision are several spectacular actors who have done an amazing job showing the depth and growth of the characters they portray. Gary Oldman as James Gorden and Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne/The Batman were particular strokes of genius in terms of casting. Once in a life time brilliance, however, came in Heath Ledger's part, in the role of The Joker. It was the subtleties in physicality that made his performance; the slight limp, the hunch, the incessant licking of the inside of his mouth, as if the scars on his face had just been cut and he still had the taste of blood in his mouth. Ledger's portrayal of The Joker was every bit as frightening as a psychopath who lives in Nolan's Gotham should be.

Many critics have said much of the same. I believe, however, that the most frightening aspect The Joker's character became a reality after the unfortunate death of Heath Ledger. Once Ledger died, there was no actor to stand for the role. In every interview, The Joker, rather than Ledger, is referred to as not to associate a tragedy with the film. With the absence of someone to represent The Joker, only The Joker can stand for himself, making it as if the character himself is real rather than a part played by an actor. Ledger's performance has a good deal of Oscar buzz surrounding it. It's a little ironic. Almost funny.