No one can lay claim to the words “I’m Batman” quite like Christian Bale. His turn as the caped crusader in Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy (2005–12) remains the measuring stick for all interpretations of the comic book character.
In part, this is because his performance as Bruce Wayne is equally impressive. He looks as cool with his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch as he does in the Kevlar of the Batsuit. Bale’s Wayne has the confidence expected of a billionaire bachelor, and the vulnerability of a child whose parents were shot in front of him.
Bale’s Batman is more super-ninja than superhero. And while we can stop short of calling any Batman film especially realistic, there is something refreshing about how Nolan’s trilogy dedicates screentime to the training Wayne must undergo to maintain his Batman physique. Most superheroes tend to glean their powers from radioactive incidents or are born on other planets, but Bale’s Batman feels attainable in comparison—for anyone into Hyrox and with a complex network of caves under their mansion.
The trilogy’s second instalment, The Dark Knight (2008), usually steals the spotlight. This is thanks to Heath Ledger’s chilling performance as the Joker, made doubly chilling by the actor’s death six months prior to the film’s release.
But the series opener, Batman Begins (2005), which celebrates its 20th anniversary this week, is the more complete work. In fact, Batman Begins is not just the best Batman film ever made, but the best superhero film ever made, too.
In a genre now saturated with sprawling multiverses and tonal chaos, Batman Begins stands out as a credible action-noir. It blends mythic storytelling, the psychology of privilege, the concept of vengeance versus justice and the weaponisation of fear.
Offering a sharp reset from Joel Schumacher’s Batman and Robin (1997)—which, with its hideous dialogue and tacky aesthetic, risked undoing all interest in the Batman character for anyone over the age of 10—Nolan’s more mature reboot is a treatise on statecraft, with some badass action scenes for good measure.
“People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy,” Bruce Wayne tells his butler and emotional ballast Alfred Pennyworth, through whom the superb Michael Caine provides both emotional weight and comic relief. “As a man, I’m flesh and blood, I can be ignored, I can be destroyed,” he says. “But as a symbol... as a symbol I can be incorruptible, I can be everlasting.” Such pensiveness is a far cry from the dad jokes of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Mr Freeze.
And what, indeed, of the villains in Batman Begins? Tom Wilkinson’s Carmine Falcone is a mob boss with police officers and politicians in his pocket. He is a symbol of systemic corruption and a reminder that evil often likes the feel of a suit.
Cillian Murphy, who screen-tested for the role of Wayne/Batman, instead plays another split figure in Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, the psychiatrist who uses a fear-inducing hallucinogen to manipulate his victims. Liam Neeson’s Ra’s al Ghul, meanwhile, is the classic ideological villain who, as leader of the League of Shadows, aims to cleanse Gotham through devastation. He is a dark mirror to Batman’s own desire to change his city—but through radical punishment rather than reform.
Batman Begins has aged well. Many of the themes it considers have present-day pertinence. Ra’s al Ghul’s mission smacks of eco-terrorist nihilism. “When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural,” he suggests. Scarecrow’s control of people through fear is a perfect allegory for misinformation.
The film strikes a balance, though. It’s both a character-driven drama and a blockbuster spectacle. It’s a story about the experiences and decisions that shape people’s lives.
Batman doesn’t make his first appearance on-screen for around 45 minutes—and this delay is deliberate. The film is devoted to discovering Bruce Wayne’s motivations. It explores his moral evolution.
The foundational trauma—Wayne witnessing the murder of his parents—is not treated as a simplistic trigger for heroism. Rather, it prompts a spiralling identity crisis. His wealth becomes a source of inner conflict. Instead of using it for comfort or influence, he abandons it entirely. He disappears into exile, to understand the roots of criminality, before returning to try to fight it.
Besides, Batman Begins still looks great. Nolan’s rejection of CGI in favour of practical effects—including miniature models for the urban panoramas and train sequences, real locations (notably Chicago, London and Vatnajökull National Park in Iceland) and expertly choreographed stunt work—achieve levels of authenticity and immersion that blue screen could never manage.
The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises (2012) are both excellent films as well. And post-Nolan Batman pictures aren’t all bad. Matt Reeves’s The Batman (2022) features a captivating performance from Paul Dano as the Riddler.
But, two decades after its release, Batman Begins is still the one to beat. It makes comic book lore comprehensible without deflating it. Bale is believable—with or without the mask.
