'Batman Returns' By Rita Kempley Washington Post Staff Writer June 19, 1992

Director: Tim Burton Cast: Michael Keaton; Danny DeVito; Michelle Pfeiffer; Christopher Walken Children under 13 should be accompanied by a parent Compare prices for this movie Find local video stores More movie shopping Save money with NextCard Visa

Working from a screenplay by the equally dire Daniel Waters, who wrote "Heathers" and "Hudson Hawk," Burton aims for a lighter, brighter, sexier sequel. But the mood is so suffocatingly somber it might have been shot in the belly of an architect -- probably the one who built the movie's fabulously fascistic Gotham Plaza. A grand parody of Rockefeller Square, it represents the city's hegemony over its citizens, who have gathered for the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony when the action begins: A cadre of the Penguin's macabre harlequins attacks, and Bruce "Batman" Wayne (Michael Keaton) is summoned by Batsign.

This installment of the Batman epic concerns the "difficulty with duality," as the hero puts it to the scratchy, licky Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer), his sinuous new love-hate interest. The secretary of evil polluter Max Shreck (Christopher Walken) by day, Selina "Catwoman" Kyle takes on a dual personality when she is raised from the dead by cats. The Penguin (Danny DeVito) hopes to ally with her in his battle for dominance over Batman.

All damaged children in disguise (none of them heroic), the dysfunctional half-menagerie can't help but understand one another. Indeed Batman, who was orphaned, and Penguin, who was abandoned, are virtually birds of a feather -- which makes for an interesting relationship that Keaton explores with subtlety. But Burton as usual is focused on his most maniacal character, Oscar "The Penguin" Cobblepot, a deformed sewer-dweller who was raised by zoo penguins after his parents tossed him off Gotham's equivalent of the Tallahatchee Bridge. As Christmas approaches, he emerges from his underground kingdom claiming to search for his parents when he is really intent on leveling Gotham and grounding Batman.

Meanwhile, Catwoman, a victim of corporate evil and sexual oppression, slinks deliciously on the scene. Though predominantly occupied with fighting sex crimes, she starts to get in the way of Batman's heroics. A mousy sort before her brain was damaged in a fall, she equips herself with a bullwhip and a homemade, black vinyl suit, proclaiming: "I am Catwoman, hear me roar."

Pfeiffer alone brings human vulnerabilities to her role. It's no wonder she is catnip to Batman. He and Catwoman share a Mapplethorpe moment when she whips the rubber-suited one into submission and his bat toes curl. However, like so many other promising relationships, it's never as fully developed as production designer Bo Welsh's eye-popping sets and Michael Fink's phantasmagoric effects. If only Burton had taken as much care sculpting his scenes.

Like a hyperactive 11-year-old, the director seems both uncomfortable with adult emotions and unable to focus on the overall portrait. He leaves plot lines dangling like the threads in Catwoman's steadily disintegrating catsuit while the screenwriter crafts clever repartee instead of telling a story. Catwoman is a quotable man-basher, but all too often she seems to deliver her lines as if she'd been spending too much time around Schwarzenegger. At least Pfeiffer in latex is easy to look at. Ditto the vulcanized Keaton.

The Penguin, on the other hand, is designed to remind us of the bleaker aspects of our potty training. Shaped roughly like Humpty Dumpty on thalidomide, he is distinguished by the black bile that continuously seeps from his maw like licorice puss. Despite his violent temper and oozing orifices, the citizens of Gotham almost elect him mayor. But this flightless angel of death is undone and proceeds with a plan to murder all of Gotham's first-born children with an army of explosively charged penguins.

"I was my parents' number one son, but they treated me like number two," he says by way of explanation. Yet there are few images more whimsical than that of the Penguin navigating the sewers aboard an outsize rubber ducky. For a moment, we're reminded of the charms of Burton's melancholy fairy tale "Edward Scissorhands." But only for a moment. While Edward created art with his disfigured hands, the Penguin makes guano.

The character, albeit energetically played by DeVito, works on the movie like a stinking undertow. The title character in Burton's "Beetlejuice" came straight from hell and yet we liked him because he remained in some way human. The Penguin has made a beast of himself, losing the pain of being human. Doubtless Burton and Waters have buried some cautionary tale in their dank, loamy subtext. If we don't start treating our children well, they will turn around and destroy us.

Unlike so many sequels this summer, at least "Batman Returns" has something to say. Alas, its $45 million budget buys a litany we know all too well: urban rot, moral decay, polluted resources and so on. The point is made that "people have lost their respect for all icons." This Perot-esque indictment coincides with the gunning down of Santa Claus and the exploding of a nicely decorated Christmas tree. Be sure and bring the kiddies.

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