B is for Banal

Sorry, Ian, but this was enjoyable fluff (better than Batman Begins, lacking the subtextual tug of X-2 or the second Spider Man movie); but why should we take this hokum seriously? Hugo Weaving ("doing an imitation of James Mason in his most hyper-civilized and elocutionary roles, though Mason was acidly witty, and Weaving is merely formal and condescending" -- David Denby) in a Guy Fawkes mask wants to blow up Parliament. I mean, geez: we're supposed to clap along? Parliament represents everything the Chancellor's regime destroyed!

With materal this pulpy any serious discussion about Contemporary Parallels would be de trop. Weaving's character was even more sinister than John Hurt's Chancellor: his strained allusions to Macbeth, the roses he leaves his victims, the rather sadistic mind-fuck he gives Portman, and, that favorite comic book/graphic novel trope, falling in love with the heroine in time to Redeem Himself. He wears a mask! He's good with knives! He quotes The Count of Monte Christo!

This is a film whose intentions are muddled by creators uncomfortable with the demands of pulp (I haven't read Alan Moore's graphic novel but if The Watchmen is any indication he can juggle moral ambiguities without the Wachowski brothers' evident strain). In case we missed the point the director soaks us in violence done by the purported hero that's no different than what the totalitarian state does: the execution of the police in the final third is slowed down so that we don't miss any evisceration, laceration, or spurt of blood our Pillor of Righteousness inflicts on the evildoers.

Stephen Fry-playing-Oscar-Wilde was fine, but I'm not sure the director told him what kind of movie he was starring in; nor was he introduced to the rest of the cast. The always-terrific Stephen Rea was more convincing as a man of pained conscience than Natalie-as-Falconetti. The only scene suggesting that vigilantism might exert a terrible price on its practicer takes place between Weaving and an old doctor (Sinead Cusack), who accepts her complicity with a grace she's too shrewd to confuse for absolution.

Those of you who read graphic novels: Alex, Ian, et al. If I'm wrong, say so.