THE BOY WHO LOVED BATMAN:
An Evening In Conversation With Executive Producer And Author Michael Uslan
[~or~ The Batman Also Rises] Discovery Channel Building, Silver Spring, MD

Reviewed December 8, 2001 by Clay Teunis (appended 12/12)

owadays when I look at One Discovery Place, I know some of my county tax dollars are in that Place. It's not a toxic asset, but I heard they're still looking for subtenants in this bear market. I did not care when the Tasty Diner had to be moved to make way for the Discovery Building, because it wasn't Tasty at all. I do mind that the bicycle shop across the street had to move-a mile (see Walter Reed). I stayed away from the Building entirely since last year, when James J. Lee was shot to death while protesting whatever peccadilloes he had on Discovery.
   Stepping into the Discovery Communications fortress is like stepping into the Mormon Temple in Kensington: You can't unless you are Of The Body. American Choppers (The Build Off!) and a sorry looking papier-mâchéd dinosaur waited in Discovery's lobby with me. I felt as if I were waiting for an audience with Mitt Romney. Security was tight in that otherwise expensive and ill-conceived white elephant of a place (Montgomery County, before the recession, lavished lots of gelt, glitz and street improvements on AFI's Silver Theater, Discovery, and of course, downtown Silver Spring. And it was good (so good the County Council considered the establishment of a youth curfew because the gangs like it, too—the curfew idea was tabled).  The AFI Silver Movie Theater and Schmoozing Emporium, once established, became a hot spot for current, old, and documentary films, lots of people wearing Indie Black and, of course, swilling Stella Artois, the indie beer of beers. Like the failed Bethesda Cinema and Draft, you can take beer in the theater (one at a time).
   I love the Silver, don't get me wrong. But if you have a film festival about labor unions, you're not going to see dusted coal miners in there buying Stella Artois. What a name! Maybe a Bud. Yeah, I know guys, you serve that, too.  I volunteered there, remember?  I digress.

THE BAT MAKER PITCHES THE BAT-O-RANG
With a hearty "it's not always the destination but the journey that counts," (didn't Martha Stewart say that?) self-kvelling comic book-collector-turned-producer Michael Uslan invited us into his lush producer's world (for $30) where Batman is everything. And money, yeah.  Hell, yeah.
   Let's clarify something right here: Comic book collectors who take over their parents' garage are hoarders. Hoarders need help. That said, Michael Uslan does not need any help now. Not with money or recognition or mic placement. He doesn't even care about book reviews. Because Mr. Uslan was a co-producer of the first Batman movie (we know little of partner Benjamin Melniker, cited in the program). Enough said. Except that the new (ha!) Batman movie is coming out this summer. Let's combine a book tour and movie marketing tour into one and charge $30 a head ($20 for Twitter-wise graduates) plus $25 for the book. Since this is the "last" Batman, it's important that we get it right. (Does anyone realize they are giving themselves over to free advertising when they walk around with his book under their arm? Just asking.)
   The "Conversation" with the author was at the end, a brief Q&A of stock producer questions with worn answers. There is no shame in success, so why brood? When the subject of the last and most profound cinematic Joker (Dark Knight) was broached, Uslan stated with the quality of practiced empathy, without any hint of dark irony, that Heath Ledger's "was a role of a lifetime." Nothing syrupy here, except that the business (and arguably the role) killed him.
   I fired off the second question, which was of course a comment, that I've always admired Bruce Wayne for being rich but using some of his money to fight crime.  I was dismissed as being a member of one of two sides of the political extreme, and that, while the Right likes Batman for his toys, the Left likes Batman because he is a vigilante.  Okay, thanks, Mike for setting me right. Charles Bronson must have been a lib.
BATGROUND:  Batman Returns (1992) had a great Cat Woman, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, who was thrown out a very high window by (who else?) Christopher Walken. She was then lapped back to life by a bunch of feral cats. Seems a lot of sequels, spin-offs and "re-launches" are lapped back to life by a bunch of feral cats. 'Returns was given a rating of PG-13 for brooding, dark violence. The dark being the horrid goo forever oozing out of the mouth of Danny DeVito (the Penguin). Give me Burgess Meredith any day. The movie was dark, dark, and darker still. People want dark:  Give 'em dark—with oozing blue-black sewer muck.
   From Mike's program: "With singular superhero like passion and vision, Michael channeled his love for the adventures of Batman to audiences worldwide." He channeled his love for resurrecting Batman from the clutches of TV to the dark recesses of what was to become a never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way of making violent, depressing movies and the fateful year of Oscar when No Country For Old Men, Michael Clayton and There Will Be Blood (oh, yeah!) were favored. I like it when movies like The Departed give us multiple gunshot wounds to the head, no, not for that!  Commercial success.  And thanks, Jerry Seinfeld, for that "Bee Movie" tie-in, not a commercial success, but it was darkly un-funny.
   Into the Q&A, Uslan once again stated that Heath Ledger's Joker "was a role of a lifetime."
I went home.  

Russian Embassy Rocks!
December 1, 2001 by Clay Teunis (appended 12/7)

Aside from the feeling of entering a secretive world (and the "eye in the sky" camera ball at the top of the stairs), the supper, mingling, cello performance and screening/after talk of the 1959 Russian neo-realistic Destiny of A Man at the Russian embassy on Wisconsin Avenue was a gig worth the wait at the gate.
   While Laura and I were detained, a busload of AU students (GW and Georgetown studentia were also in attendance) and the line flowed through the metal detector while we watched in envy. We were shuffled in with the help and good graces of a speaker at the event (who was also detained!), and once inside we headed for the door.
   Presented by American University's Initiative for Russian Culture, the event was peppered with generous good manners, very good food, drink, beautiful winter arrangements, decked-out ivy league students and tall Russian men.
   In the 2nd floor hall where we walked around but didn't shmooz much, there were twelve —nay, thirty-foot-high wooden doors opening to ?  And it wasn't hard to stay away from them (see tall Russian men above), although some curious academics who didn't dress to code tried to, and were gently but quickly asked to cease.
   One of the doors led to a recital chamber with a piano and chairs.  There we were serenaded by a young world-class cellist Dmitry Volkov.  He was fabulous and fun, and his piano accompanist was spot-on (and adorable).
   The drink, food, and later the desserts were exceptional: Russian without being so exotic you passed on the food not knowing what it would do to your tongue, as is the case with many other gastric experiences where the meal planner would play mischief with peppers and spices.
   The dessert came after the movie, which I think was a brilliant attempt at keeping the not-so-neo-classic-fan awake for the post-show discussion.  It worked, although we had a few who left before the end of the movie: their loss.