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Even a Blind Man Could See This Religious
Symbolism
Unless my brain is beclouded by the miasma of studio sewage
that's seeped into the multiplex, I think that director Mark
Steven Johnson intends a bit of religious symbolism in his
new movie. Might I have divined this idea when Daredevil fell
from a steeple onto the floor of the sanctuary? Or when Daredevil,
feet poised on the arms of a cross, sprung into Hell's Kitchen
to battle evil? Perhaps when Daredevil was pierced through
the palms by metal spikes? I spent a full fifteen minutes
pondering the significance of Bullseye using the collection
plate as a saucer weapon against Daredevil. And why not? If
you can't keep up with the Overbearing Symbolism, screenwriter
Brian Helgeland will cudgel you with it like Sir Heath Ledger
taking a lance to the chest. You see, Mr. Helgeland was the
visionary who felt the tales of Chaucer needed underscoring
by Queen and AC / DC, thus conceiving the anachronistic A
Knight's Tale (which, had Helgeland the power of his convictions,
would have been bookended by "We Will Rock You"
and "We Are the Champions"). Likewise, his three
previous scripts delicately manage theme: Clint Eastwood's
Blood Work, in which a retired cop forgoes blood
work for a heart transplant to track down a killer; Payback,
in which Mel Gibson must pay back his enemies and get
his pay back from them; and, well, Kevin Costner's The
Postman, in which a postman delivers hope to a
terrorized, post-apocalypse village.
To be fair, Helgeland has an Oscar on his mantle for LA
Confidential, but it's also fair to note that that script
was handled Curtis Hanson. The rest of Helgeland's scripts
don't exactly model subtlety, so are we to expect that professed
"Daredevil Enthusiast" Mark Steven Johnson
is going to quiet the gong-effect of Helgeland's symbolism?
All we know is that Johnson directed Simon Birch, which
manipulated dwarfism and Morquio's syndrome into such schmaltz
that source writer John Irving asked for a reduced screen
credit. Round out the resume with scripts from Grumpy Old
Men, Big Bully, and Jack Frost (which
inspired Roger Ebert's funniest review of the last five years),
and I'm afraid that the citizens of Multiplex City are left
little hope in the fight against Lame Movies.
So this is the deal: Matt Murdock (Ben Affleck) is the son
of a boxer-turned-henchman (nicknamed "The Devil,"
you see) who, upon witnessing his dad beating up some debtor,
decides to skateboard through a toxic waste dump and, by freak
forklift accident, is rendered blind by a chemical spill.
As penance, Dad (David Keith) vows that he and his son are
going "to stick up for the long shots." Aiding this
charity is little Matt's hyper-developed senses that compensate
for his loss of eyesight—his superpowers, as shown by
the film, are acquired in the same process by which Vin Diesel's
roadster acquires nitrous in The Fast and the Furious.
Matt's world is much like a permanent state of wearing Clarice
Starling's night vision goggles in The Silence of the Lambs,
and like Clarice, Matt's mission is ridding the world of the
most dastardly evil, like serial killers and insurance agents.
Clarice's advantage over Matt is that she has a job that actually
earns a living; Murdock and his partner "Foggy"
Nelson (Jon Favreau) do mostly pro bono cases. Foggy
informs Murdock that this is no way to do business, but that
doesn't deter Matt from renting a big fancy apartment and
stocking a closet full of leather suits.
Anyway, Matt spends his days in court (positioning himself
for maximum effect in front of the words "In God We Trust")
fighting the good fight, and when corruption in Hell's Kitchen
wins out, Matt morphs into Daredevil at night to enact revenge
on the wicked. You see, Matt Murdock is the Angel of Mercy,
and Daredevil is the Angel of Death, or as it's explained
"a lawyer during the day, judge and jury at night."
If this sounds a bit Batman-ish, you've read your Marvel Comics—the
themes of justice and revenge embodied in a deeply conflicted
superhero. Like Tim Burton's Batman, the superhero
draws strength from the tragic childhood, performing savage,
gymnastic acts of justice before returning home for a guilt-riddled
sleep. Daredevil gets this part right: My favorite
scene of the film is Murdock stripping off his Daredevil leather
flesh to reveal deep scars in his human flesh, downing a few
pain killers before his nightly baptism in his watery, aphotic
coffin-bed that shuts out the noise of the world and washes
away the sins of his nocturnal vengeance.
For all its religious pretensions, Daredevil goes
wrong in its lack of conviction. Mark Steven Johnson and Brian
Helgeland stare into Burton's dark abyss, but blink at the
thought of losing the popcorn audience to gloom and doom.
Scenes like the above play with the appropriate caliginous,
but Johnson insists on underscoring action scenes with hard
rock rather than let the sounds of combat set the tone. If
you think that Colin Farrell and Michael Clarke Duncan don't
secrete enough evil for your audience, you must believe they're
not only blind, but that none of their other senses have taken
over. Even worse, Johnson seems to think that Jennifer Garner
(Elektra Natchios) needs help being a hot, butt-kicking babe,
so he underscores their "romance" with bland pop
songs. Had Johnson trusted his material and his audience,
he could have amplified the tenebrosity and let the cast and
the Marvellian template cultivate the story. Instead, as if
resigned to a lack of faith in a sequel, he crams the whole
story into two hours and caters cosmetic emotions and themes
to teenagers who just happened to be dates opening weekend.
One of the legacies of Superman is a faith in superhero
sequels: Superman's 2-4 may not be that good,
but in the least they show audience loyalty. If anything,
Spider-Man's pace lags a bit, but the payoff will come
in the next two or three installments. Johnson has said that
the success of Spider-Man boosted his movie's budget,
but apparently it didn't boost his confidence in developing
the screen epic a good comic book deserves. Opportunity is
lost with Jennifer Garner, who lobbied for the part of Elektra.
Her appeal lies in her equality with Daredevil, but what to
make of her now? I thought it pretty obvious, when she fought
Daredevil with twin crucifix-shaped daggers, which character
was in need of saving. Personally, I wouldn't charge Tim Burton
with misogyny (I think Michelle Pfieffer's whip-proficiency
acquits her nicely), but Elektra could embody the feminine,
compassionate conscious to balance Daredevil's masculine bellicosity—a
Bronx tough-chick Christ who doesn't turn the other cheek.
As it stands, there's less intricacy of character in a single
scene of Kirsten Dunst's Mary Jane (whose defense mechanism
is a derivative of Spider-Man's: a chameleonic actress capable
of adapting to difficult situations). Still, the gender issue
could have added a layer of intrigue, but where could Daredevil
possibly go from here? Daredevil's redemption doesn't make
much sense without his redeemer, so we're left choking on
volumes of plot and character like an oversized mouthful of
popcorn.
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