Cinema
Batman & Robin (PG, selected cinemas)
Power dressing
Mark Steyn
Afar as I can remember, the 1960s Batman never made too much of his cos- tume. In those days, the long underwear was an all-in-one Crimplene job and, as the caped crusader swung around Gotham City, it tended to go all saggy in strange places or cause him awkward moments of static cling. In the Nineties, the Crimplene has given way to rubberised body armour, and now the superheroes and villains seem to spend half their time swapping inside leg measurements. 'Let me guess,' says Poison Ivy in Batman & Robin. 'Size 50 from Big & Tall?"Actually, I wear a size smaller,' says Mr Freeze. 'It makes me look slimmer.' For a respected botanist turned toxic eco- psycho bent on world domination, Poison
Ivy is curiously fixated on her opponents' threads, noting approvingly that Batman's rubber suit is 'anatomically correct'. She later describes herself as an 'action figure', a worrying sign that not only do this new generation of supertypes look like their toy-doll merchandising tie-ins, they think of themselves that way, too.
So does the director, Joel Schumacher. The opening sequence is full of loving close-ups of his heroes' Bat-butts and Bat- codpieces. Inevitably, when Barbara, Alfred the butler's niece, shows up on a break from her studies at England's presti- gious Oxbridge Academy, her main interest in becoming Batgirl is the costume. 'Suit me up!' she begs Uncle Alfred. Interesting- ly, both Batman's and Robin's outfits come complete with erect rubber nipples. At first, I assumed this was merely confirma- tion of Mr Freeze's awesome powers, but later, when Batgirl appears, her suit is a nipple-free zone. Maybe the guys just find rubber more of a turn-on.
Given their sartorial preoccupations, we're surely only a sequel or two away from Batman Attends The Spring Collections, where he's forced to do battle with Jean- Paul Gaultier and Vivienne Westwood. In the meantime, we have to make do with Mr Freeze and Poison Ivy, a pair of supervil- lains so dreary Gotham City is mainly in danger of being bored to death. The ice- cold Freeze and the toxically seductive Ivy
have an obvious symmetry, but they're one- trait characters and, as realised by Arnold Schwarzenegger (top billed) and Uma Thurman, barely pass muster on that level. (For Freeze, this latest casting is quite a comedown: in the Sixties television show, he was played by George Sanders.) As the
embittered molecular biologist, Schwarzenegger clanks around in a cum- bersome icy white suit (stalactights?) as if weighed down by his salary. Thurman plays Ivy with an amateur-hour Mae West accent. Her bluestocking botanist alter-ego was harder to place, but I think it's meant to be an hommage to Su Pollard's Peggy in Hi-De-Hi! Despite her topical concern for the way man is abusing the earth — 'Bat- man and Robin,' she sniffs, 'the militant arm of the warm-blooded oppressors' there's a faintly desperate, barrel-scraping air to their scheming. Schumacher attempts to oomph things up by showing us Gotham City's loucher side but even the big party scene — a sort of Carmen Miranda night at Studio 54 — falls flat.
Instead, the picture is quietly stolen by Britain's Michael Gough as Alfred. Gough never gets above-the-title billing, but through four Bat-movies he's been happy to play Wayne Manor's doddery old retain- er (which, given that he probably gets less than Schwarzenegger's personal hair-stylist, is doubtless the best description of his pay cheque, too). In this outing, he emerges as the linchpin of the film, the actor who gives this merchandising franchise what humani- ty it has and best exemplifies screenwriter Akiva Goldman's theme of family and trust. Alfred is slowing dying of MacGre- gor's Disease, though quite what this is is never made clear — possibly a desire to get back to good character roles with the RSC. But his illness brings his niece Barbara to Wayne Manor and prompts Bruce Wayne and his ward Dick Grayson to examine their own relationship.
As Barbara/Batgirl, Alicia Silverstone is sweet, plucky and girlish; as Dick/Robin the Boy Wonder, Chris O'Donnell is a lippy brat, forever whining. 'I want a car,' he demands. 'Chicks dig the car.' This is why Superman works alone,' sighs Batman. After the brooding self-doubt-riddled Michael Keaton and the pouting sourpuss Val Kilmer, ER's George Clooney has now donned the Batsuit, the closest so far to the bland uncomplicated manliness of Adam West on television. In a way, that's all you can do with the part. 'Julie, I'm not the marrying kind,' he tells his companion (Elle MacPherson). 'There are things about me you wouldn't understand.' Strangely enough, the less you try to under- stand them, the easier they are. The pre- sent team — Clooney, O'Donnell, Silverstone — are all actors of limited range, yet seem absolutely right. But they're fortunate in having Michael Gough's Alfred to infuse their scenes together with the sense of something deep- er. I didn't tremble when Mr Freeze threat- ens to destroy Gotham, but I did when Bruce Wayne tells Alfred, 'I love you, old man.'
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