Splitting the difference between film noir parody and DayGlo action-adventure, Batman Forever stars Val Kilmer as our titular hero, a role he approaches with what could be referred to as either deft subtly or awkward woodenness. A convoluted plot about mind-control devices contains what you’d expect plus a few fun surprises: Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, flanked on either side by sexy henchmen Drew Barrymore and Debi Mazar; Nicole Kidman looking snatched as criminal psychologist Dr. Chase Meridian; and Jim Carrey as the Riddler, pulling as many faces as usual, his arms and legs akimbo in a lime green skintight catsuit.
More intriguing to me than the neon lights of Gotham City are the movie’s infamous offscreen spats, including a standoff between Carey and Jones in which Jones reportedly snapped that he would not “sanction this buffoonery.” Even more ridiculous is the feud between the movie’s director and its star: Schumacher, known to be a prickly queen, said Kilmer was the most psychologically troubled human being he’d ever worked with, while Kilmer, notoriously difficult on set, refused to talk to Schumaucher for two weeks during filming, a period the director referred to as “bliss.” The movie did well enough at the box office to grant it a sequel, but Kilmer declined to return. “He sort of quit, we sort of fired him,” said Schumaucher, presumably with a shrug. Some say Kilmer’s departure was the result of irreconcilable differences, others say he left to take a role alongside Marlon Brando in The Island of Dr. Moreau. Personally, I blame wardrobe. “Whatever boyhood excitement I had was crushed by the reality of the Batsuit,” said Kilmer, “When you’re in it, you can barely move and people have to help you stand up and sit down. You also can’t hear anything and after a while people stop talking to you. It’s very isolating.” I can’t help but feel sorry for Kilmer: rich, misunderstood, and lonely, just like the character he chose not to reprise.
"I can’t help but feel sorry for Kilmer: rich, misunderstood, and lonely, just like the character he chose not to reprise."
Goaded by the success of Batman Forever, Schumacher decided to double down on his vision for its sequel, the highly anticipated Batman & Robin. Inspired by marble sculptures of hunky Greek gods, Schumacher’s Batsuit featured a pair of prominently protruding nipples, a detail the director augmented even further before handing the costume over to George Clooney, known at the time as Hollywood’s hottest bachelor, who agreed to don the suit as Kilmer’s replacement. Clooney was joined by a supporting cast of stars including Alicia Silverstone as Batgirl, Uma Thurman as Poison Ivy, and Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze. Before shooting began, the studio told Schumacher to make the next installment “toyetic,” a corporate directive resulting in prop weapons designed by toy companies and Batmobile tires sponsored by Goodyear. Filming became a circus, with paparazzi swarming the set, Jon Bon Jovi dropping by to deliver cigars to the cast, and Schumacher presiding over the fray with a bullhorn screaming “Remember everyone, this is a cartoon!”
"How many twinks have been in Robin’s position, enchanted by an aloof older gentleman only to have the situation sour once they turn 25?"
The combination of all-star hijinx, blatant product placement, and rock-hard nipples failed to impress audiences and critics, who largely dismissed the movie as a needlessly long toy commercial. “I think we may have killed the franchise,” said Clooney, and maybe he was right. The public unanimously agreed that the actor was simply too debonair to play Batman, too naturally charming to make a believable recluse, and perhaps the movie as a whole suffers from a similar problem, a cynical slickness too close to advertising. But underneath the corporate sheen lurks the palpable queerness evoked by Uma Thurman’s Drag Race-ready bodysuit and Mae West impression, wardrobe’s fixation on nipples, pecs, and codpieces, and maybe most obviously, the sexual tension between Batman and Robin.
Schumacher’s Batmans are the only movies in the history of the franchise to focus on the relationship between the Caped Crusader and his neophyte sidekick, played in both features by the puppy-eyed Chris O’Donnell, who declares at the end of Batman Forever that he’s a partner, not a friend. Imagine the arc of this double-bill from Robin’s perspective: following the death of his family at the hands of a sociopathic supervillain, the young acrobat is taken in by a mysterious millionaire who he must convince to recognize the nature of their relationship. Cut to several years later, the duo languishing in domesticity, the millionaire transformed into a philandering George Clooney and Robin tasked to win his affections anew. How many twinks have been in Robin’s position, enchanted by an aloof older gentleman only to have the situation sour once they turn 25? It’s a classic trope of gay relationships, one that Schumacher, the only homosexual to have ever directed a Batman movie, manages to sneak into his films amongst a barrage of corporate tie-ins and G-rated puns.
Due to the critical and commercial failure of Batman & Robin, Warner Brothers pulled the plug on all pending Batman projects, including Schumacher’s in-development follow-up and a sidekick spin-off starring Chris O’Donnell. The studio returned nearly a decade later with Batman Begins (2005), a title suggesting a clean cut from the past. Directed by Christopher Nolan, the Dark Knight trilogy ripped the nipples off the Batsuit, turned Gotham City from neon green to charcoal grey, and removed any suggestion that the entire premise might be in any way ridiculous. This turn away from irony has characterized the superhero genre for the last two decades, with each new movie praised for its gritty realism or the sincerity of its performances (Consider The Batman (2022), lauded by the Atlantic as “long and grim”). Watching the Schumacher Batmans, I became nostalgic for the homoerotic camp of hooded masks, bright spandex tights, and foolhardy men trying to save the world. Picture Batman as a romp, a caricature, a Hollywood hunk with perky pink nipples. It’s possible. It happened. Is there a reason our heroes must be solemn and grave? Or put another way: why so serious?
Splitting the difference between film noir parody and DayGlo action-adventure, Batman Forever stars Val Kilmer as our titular hero, a role he approaches with what could be referred to as either deft subtly or awkward woodenness. A convoluted plot about mind-control devices contains what you’d expect plus a few fun surprises: Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, flanked on either side by sexy henchmen Drew Barrymore and Debi Mazar; Nicole Kidman looking snatched as criminal psychologist Dr. Chase Meridian; and Jim Carrey as the Riddler, pulling as many faces as usual, his arms and legs akimbo in a lime green skintight catsuit.
More intriguing to me than the neon lights of Gotham City are the movie’s infamous offscreen spats, including a standoff between Carey and Jones in which Jones reportedly snapped that he would not “sanction this buffoonery.” Even more ridiculous is the feud between the movie’s director and its star: Schumacher, known to be a prickly queen, said Kilmer was the most psychologically troubled human being he’d ever worked with, while Kilmer, notoriously difficult on set, refused to talk to Schumaucher for two weeks during filming, a period the director referred to as “bliss.” The movie did well enough at the box office to grant it a sequel, but Kilmer declined to return. “He sort of quit, we sort of fired him,” said Schumaucher, presumably with a shrug. Some say Kilmer’s departure was the result of irreconcilable differences, others say he left to take a role alongside Marlon Brando in The Island of Dr. Moreau. Personally, I blame wardrobe. “Whatever boyhood excitement I had was crushed by the reality of the Batsuit,” said Kilmer, “When you’re in it, you can barely move and people have to help you stand up and sit down. You also can’t hear anything and after a while people stop talking to you. It’s very isolating.” I can’t help but feel sorry for Kilmer: rich, misunderstood, and lonely, just like the character he chose not to reprise.
"I can’t help but feel sorry for Kilmer: rich, misunderstood, and lonely, just like the character he chose not to reprise."
Goaded by the success of Batman Forever, Schumacher decided to double down on his vision for its sequel, the highly anticipated Batman & Robin. Inspired by marble sculptures of hunky Greek gods, Schumacher’s Batsuit featured a pair of prominently protruding nipples, a detail the director augmented even further before handing the costume over to George Clooney, known at the time as Hollywood’s hottest bachelor, who agreed to don the suit as Kilmer’s replacement. Clooney was joined by a supporting cast of stars including Alicia Silverstone as Batgirl, Uma Thurman as Poison Ivy, and Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze. Before shooting began, the studio told Schumacher to make the next installment “toyetic,” a corporate directive resulting in prop weapons designed by toy companies and Batmobile tires sponsored by Goodyear. Filming became a circus, with paparazzi swarming the set, Jon Bon Jovi dropping by to deliver cigars to the cast, and Schumacher presiding over the fray with a bullhorn screaming “Remember everyone, this is a cartoon!”
"How many twinks have been in Robin’s position, enchanted by an aloof older gentleman only to have the situation sour once they turn 25?"
The combination of all-star hijinx, blatant product placement, and rock-hard nipples failed to impress audiences and critics, who largely dismissed the movie as a needlessly long toy commercial. “I think we may have killed the franchise,” said Clooney, and maybe he was right. The public unanimously agreed that the actor was simply too debonair to play Batman, too naturally charming to make a believable recluse, and perhaps the movie as a whole suffers from a similar problem, a cynical slickness too close to advertising. But underneath the corporate sheen lurks the palpable queerness evoked by Uma Thurman’s Drag Race-ready bodysuit and Mae West impression, wardrobe’s fixation on nipples, pecs, and codpieces, and maybe most obviously, the sexual tension between Batman and Robin.
Schumacher’s Batmans are the only movies in the history of the franchise to focus on the relationship between the Caped Crusader and his neophyte sidekick, played in both features by the puppy-eyed Chris O’Donnell, who declares at the end of Batman Forever that he’s a partner, not a friend. Imagine the arc of this double-bill from Robin’s perspective: following the death of his family at the hands of a sociopathic supervillain, the young acrobat is taken in by a mysterious millionaire who he must convince to recognize the nature of their relationship. Cut to several years later, the duo languishing in domesticity, the millionaire transformed into a philandering George Clooney and Robin tasked to win his affections anew. How many twinks have been in Robin’s position, enchanted by an aloof older gentleman only to have the situation sour once they turn 25? It’s a classic trope of gay relationships, one that Schumacher, the only homosexual to have ever directed a Batman movie, manages to sneak into his films amongst a barrage of corporate tie-ins and G-rated puns.
Due to the critical and commercial failure of Batman & Robin, Warner Brothers pulled the plug on all pending Batman projects, including Schumacher’s in-development follow-up and a sidekick spin-off starring Chris O’Donnell. The studio returned nearly a decade later with Batman Begins (2005), a title suggesting a clean cut from the past. Directed by Christopher Nolan, the Dark Knight trilogy ripped the nipples off the Batsuit, turned Gotham City from neon green to charcoal grey, and removed any suggestion that the entire premise might be in any way ridiculous. This turn away from irony has characterized the superhero genre for the last two decades, with each new movie praised for its gritty realism or the sincerity of its performances (Consider The Batman (2022), lauded by the Atlantic as “long and grim”). Watching the Schumacher Batmans, I became nostalgic for the homoerotic camp of hooded masks, bright spandex tights, and foolhardy men trying to save the world. Picture Batman as a romp, a caricature, a Hollywood hunk with perky pink nipples. It’s possible. It happened. Is there a reason our heroes must be solemn and grave? Or put another way: why so serious?