As we barrel towards the release of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, I want to stop the train and go backwards to make a controversial statement about this film’s predecessor, Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Trilogy.

The biggest drawback to The Dark Knight Trilogy is that it consists of Batman films. Which, I assure you, is intended to be a slight on the films themselves rather than on the Batman property as a whole.

Yes, they’re innovative and incredibly well-made pictures that gave us countless classic moments and Heath Ledger’s Joker, one of the greatest cinematic villains ever. I won’t deny that, nor will I pretend that they weren’t immensely influential in my own development as a film lover, being the first films that held some value to me beyond mere entertainment.

But as Batman films, they’re remarkably drab interpretations of a character who can be a lot more interesting. Nolan’s Batman is a decent special-forces soldier fighting crime in Gotham City, which is essentially Chicago. He’s got tragedy in his background that he eventually moves on from, but there is certainly a more dynamic way to go about his character.

I know that thanks to 1993’s Batman: Mask of the Phantasm, an animated take on the Dark Knight that still stands as the most interesting interpretation of the character to ever hit the big screen.

For a little bit of background, Mask of the Phantasm was a cinematic spin-off of Batman: The Animated Series, a Fox animated show co-created by Bruce Timm and Eric Radomski. Often hailed as one of the greatest adaptations and animated television shows of all time, Batman: The Animated Series took the title character and gave him a dark art deco spin. It created a number of now-definitive interpretations of characters (most famously through fleshing out Mr. Freeze with an actual backstory), gave us Harley Quinn and won four Emmys for its surprisingly mature take on the mythos.

But most importantly, while it was dark and mature, the show never lost sight of the fact that Batman was created as a children’s character. Instead of using violence and grittiness to fuel the maturity, the show did the simple job of not underestimating its audience. The creators knew that the parents watching needed to be entertained, but they also knew that the kids watching were capable of handling a fun, exciting take on Batman that treated them like they were mature enough to watch the same show as their parents.

And it’s that ethos that is brought into Mask of the Phantasm. The story follows Batman, who is well into his career, as the mysterious new vigilante, the Phantasm, begins to kill off members of the mafia and frames Batman. As the government of Gotham begins to hunt the Dark Knight down, a woman from his past returns, bringing back memories of Batman’s earliest days, leading to a confrontation that clashes Batman’s past with his future as the Dark Knight.

First, this film gets the look of Batman better than any other film has. Let’s take a quick glance:

Perhaps there’s virtue in its animation — that it can look so close to the comics — but there’s a sense of design that exists within Mask of the Phantasm that we’ve not yet seen in any other film. It’s colorful while still maintaining a sense of darkness. Thanks to the unique design mind of creator Bruce Timm (who made the important decision to draw the show on black paper, giving it the uniquely shadow-based pallet), Mask of the Phantasm presents a wholly unique Gotham. It isn’t just some city; it’s a distinctly anachronistic place. It includes a mixture of modernized computers and technology and a ‘20s and ‘30s architectural aesthetic where everyone dresses like a ‘40s film noir character. There’s a sense that Gotham is locked into its own world.

But it’s not just design. Mask of the Phantasm also consists of a wonderful story and life to fill out its world. The script by Alan Burnett, Paul Dini, Martin Pasko and Michael Reaves is a legitimately compelling mystery story, with enough twists and turns to keep people, even those not interested in the property, on the edge of their seats. It’s tightly written, and not a moment is wasted.

And most importantly, it features the most absolutely defining idea of who Batman is:

First off, all due shoutouts go to voice actor Kevin Conroy, who voiced Batman for almost 23 years. In this scene, he demonstrates how he owned this role with incredible aptitude. He gives his voice such depth, power and nuance in this role. He says as much as the animation and the script.

But this scene also drives home ideas that I think the Nolan trilogy whiffed.

Batman is an inextricable part of Bruce Wayne’s psyche. The character is simply more interesting when he isn’t trying to overcome being Batman, but rather when he’s fully given in to the darkness. He’s trapped in the moment his parents died, forever trying to live up to the promise that he made them. In my mind, there should never be a moment when he can stop being Batman — he is Batman and nothing more.

And that’s what this scene does. Even when Batman’s happy, his parents loom over him and loom inside him. He’s begging them to let him stop, but he’s really begging himself.

He can’t. He can’t win, at least not in the life he expected.

That’s why this is the best adaptation of Batman. Because it understands how the character was born: in death. Batman’s every action and deed has risen against that. Batman is not a revenge narrative, in which he tries to get back at the world and achieve justice. It’s a monster tragedy of a man unable to overcome a world that turned him into something worse. It’s only redemptive because he focused it towards something good, something noble, and because the people around him keep him in check.

Soon, you’ll have the chance to check out Ben Affleck’s Batman. But before you do, check out Conroy’s Batman and discover the best, most interesting and most nuanced portrayal of the character yet.

+ posts

Opinion Editor | Brandon Wagner is a College Senior from God Only Knows Where, America studying Film and Media Studies with a minor in Religion. This is his first year for the Wheel, in a likely misguided experiment to be a film critic. When he's not writing on the biggest blockbusters or the films of Spike Jonze or Andrei Tarkovsky or Zack Snyder, he's writing on comedic television, the future of gaming as an art, or the relationship between audience and cinematic experience. In other words, Brandon Wagner has basically nothing else going on but this.