Excerpt from Geek Talk #25
Podcast Hosted by Derek Lun & Miles Bourne | Special Guest: JakeTalksComics
Derek: "Okay, so if anyone caught my review on the channel, you already know how much I loved Captain America: The Winter Soldier. That movie was just chef's kiss."
Miles: "Other than Iron Man, it's hands-down the best Marvel movie so far."
Jake: "Honestly… for me, Avengers comes really close. It's like right behind."
Derek: "Let's pull back from Marvel for a second, because in three weeks, DC is bringing us the much—much—anticipated sequel to The Batman… The Dark Knight. And look, if we're talking Marvel vs. DC, this one's a huge deal."
Miles: "Big stakes."
Derek: "Exactly. Because it's coming right after Winter Soldier, and the comparisons are inevitable. It's like what happened with Superman and Thor —but considering how Winter Soldier has been, I think it'll be hard to beat."
Jake: "I gotta disagree…hard disagree, man. From what I've seen, The Dark Knight is gonna blow Winter Soldier out of the water."
Miles: "I'm gonna meet you guys in the middle. I think it's gonna be on par which is good for all of us, by the way. We don't need one to be bad."
Derek (ignoring Miles): "I don't know, man. Winter Soldier was just… fucking great."
Jake (interrupting): "Yeah, yeah, we get it. But you are kinda biased toward Marvel, dude."
Miles (laughing): "He's got you there, Derek."
Derek (laughing): "Okay, fine, I admit it. Are you going to admit, Jake, that you're kinda biased toward DC?"
Jake (chuckling): "Okay, maybe. Just a little."
[Everyone laughs.]
Miles: "You know what? I think we've hit that point. We've had enough films on both sides. Let's officially do it Marvel vs. DC. We compare the movies."
Derek: "Fuck yeah, let's do it."
Jake: "Let's do it. It's not fair DC has like three movies and Marvel has, what, like nine now?"
Derek: "We're doing this. Okay, here's my thing: the MCU? It's been consistent. Like, love it or hate it, they've nailed a tone and stuck to it. The world feels real like a this-could-actually-happen-in-our-world kind of way. It's our world, just with superheroes dropped in."
Jake: "Sure. But DC has also—"
Derek (interrupting): "Bro—look at the DCU right now. I feel like Adler can't make up his mind. In the first Batman, it looked like they couldn't decide whether to do a realistic Batman or a straight-up fantastical, out-of-the-comics Batman. I felt like Adler just added to Nolan's script, which made parts of it really jarring for me."
Miles: "That's fair. Same with Wonder Woman in some parts."
Derek: "Exactly! And then Superman comes along, and it's straight out of the comics. I love what they did with Metropolis fashion's different, all the tech feels very fantastical. There's a real sense of otherness. But still, I felt Adler didn't fully commit, especially with that deleted scene showing the Hall of Justice and murals of heroes from the past."
Jake (nodding): "Yes, it was supposed to show that there were heroes before Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman kinda mad it was cut out."
Derek: "That's what I'm saying. He wants to go full comic-book, but then he reins it back in to make it 'realistic.' It's like he's chasing Marvel and trying to find some weird balance."
Jake: "Alright, fair critique. But I'll say this—I think Adler has made a decision now. He's already doing it. Because in that interview last week, he said he's rethinking the whole 'phases' model. He even admitted it was a good idea at first, but he's having second thoughts now."
Derek: "And honestly? I can't think of anything DC has over Marvel right now."
Jake: "Uh… a two-billion-dollar movie?"
[Laughter erupts.]
Derek: "Okay that's not fair."
[More laughter.]
Jake: "You know what I think DC is doing way better than Marvel right now?"
Jake: "The villains."
Miles: "Now that is 100 percent accurate."
Jake: "Seriously. In the MCU, the only really memorable villain has been who… Loki. Nine movies and only one really memorable bad guy. But DC? You've got Ra's al Ghul, Lex Luthor, Metallo and even Paula from Wonder Woman, who I think is the weakest of the bunch, is way more memorable. And people are still talking about her. They all feel like they could come back. They don't feel like one-off villains."
Derek: "Come on, man, the one-off villain thing isn't a big deal."
Jake: "I disagree. It really matters, and I think this will make the DCU stand out."
Derek: "Okay, okay. But still—overall? I think Marvel's ahead. That's just the reality."
Jake: "Maybe in number of movies, yeah—I agree."
[They laugh.]
Derek: "Oh, I just remembered another big problem for DC: it's four months until The Flash, and we've had, what, one teaser? Barely any marketing. That's not a great sign."
Jake: "I actually agree with you there. But I have a theory—it's due to the recent changes at the studio. They're finally becoming autonomous within Starfust Entertainment."
Miles: "They're treating Flash the way Marvel treated The Dark World just kinda tossing it out there."
Jake: "Yeah, it kinda worries me. I'm a huge Flash fan. I like the casting. But this rollout isn't giving me hope… I mean, it's directed by Edgar fucking Wright! Like—what are they doing, man? Just give it the treatment you gave the other movies!"
[There's some more discussion on The Flash…]
Derek: "All I'm saying is, Winter Soldier is still the best comic book movie of the year. There's no doubt in my mind."
Jake: "Come on, man. Really? Just let the year end. We've still got The Dark Knight, Flash, Guardians of the Galaxy…"
Derek: "No, no, no—I don't think any of them will top it. Look, the only way I'm going to change my mind is if The Dark Knight turns out to be the greatest comic book movie ever made, and it completely shatters all my expectations. Winter Soldier? That movie was a revelation. It raised the bar for Marvel."
Miles (interrupting): "Oh shit, guys. The Flash trailer just dropped."
.
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I coughed into my hand as I slipped through the theater's side entrance, still bundled in the coat I hadn't taken off since stepping outside. My voice was hoarse and a dull ache throbbed behind my eyes, but I pushed through it.
Tonight was a special early screening of The Dark Knight, just like the one we'd held for Superman. Internet personalities, die‑hard fans, and a few critics were all packed into one room to see it first. These events were my favorite—the energy, the anticipation, the sheer love for the material reminded me why I did any of this in the first place.
I'd missed the premiere a week ago, much to my frustration. A brutal virus I'd picked up after returning from Paris had knocked me out cold. I spent those days shivering in bed, sweating through fever dreams, barely able to speak. The doctors blamed it on some unpronounceable word—something about my SGPT levels rising. Whatever it was, it sucked. Worst week of my life.
I still wasn't at a hundred percent, and both Margot and my mom had urged me to stay home. But I needed to be here. It was just John and me this time—Matt bailed, not that I blamed him. He'd finally worked up the courage to ask out the girl he'd been talking about for months. I hoped things went well for him.
"You all right, dude?" John asked as we walked.
"I'm good," I said, forcing a small smile. "Let's just find our seats."
We headed to the back. The place was packed. Cosplayers were everywhere—Batmen, Jokers, a few Robins, even a surprisingly convincing Commissioner Gordon.
I looked around and felt a surge of nerves. In my past life, this movie had been a cultural moment. Now, with our version… could we do it again?
Could we create something not only beloved but lasting? Could we carve out a space that stood tall—even above Marvel? Secretly, I hoped this film would win an Oscar—not just for the validation, but because it would be a clear, thunderous statement: the DC Universe wasn't just catching up; it was leading.
The lights dimmed, and cheers erupted around us. Someone shouted, "Let's gooo!" and the crowd laughed.
The screen flickered to life.
The movie began starting with the bank heist.
A clown‑masked man stood on the sidewalk with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, waiting. Inside the theater, the audience fell dead‑silent—hooked immediately.
The camera glided through the bank's sleek lobby as masked men moved like cogs in a machine. Tension built with every line of dialogue, every betrayal, every calculated execution of a fellow clown.
Then BANG. A school bus smashed through the wall.
The camera panned to the last masked man standing alone amid the chaos.
And then it happened.
"I believe whatever doesn't kill you… simply makes you…stranger."
He pulled off the mask, revealing a grotesquely painted face, scars curled into a sickening smile. The Joker. The crowd erupted cheers, gasps.
The next scene cut to the Gotham skyline. The Bat‑Signal flared against the clouds—bright, stark, foreboding.
A TV voice‑over played over shots of empty alleys, flickering streetlamps, and criminals scattering like rats at the sight of the light in the sky.
"Batman is the cause of Gotham's newfound peace," the anchor declared.
The mayor's voice cut in.
"Batman has nothing to do with it. It's the GCPD and our new district attorney, Harvey Dent it's their hard work …"
Quick cuts showed newspapers spread across a desk inside GCPD HQ: "Crime at All‑Time Low," "Dent Cleans House," "The White Knight of Gotham?" Gordon stood on the roof near the Bat‑Signal.
I grinned, waiting for one of my favorite scenes, one I was especially proud of, since I'd helped direct it with Nolan.
On‑screen, the image faded from the glowing signal to a decrepit warehouse.
Inside, goons hustled crates guns, ammo, contraband stealing nervous glances at the distant light in the sky.
"Move it, now!" a gruff voice barked. A man in a black skull mask stalked through the rows of crates.
Suddenly, a crash. Screams.
From the shadows, figures emerged cheap Halloween‑style Batmen wielding bats and even pistols. The goons attacked; the fake Batmen were untrained and sloppy. One was tackled, another pistol‑whipped. They were overwhelmed quickly shoved to the ground, groaning.
Black Mask sneered and ordered his men to kill the impostors, mocking them as he spoke.
Then the real Batman arrived—first playing mind games from the darkness, then sliding out of the shadows. When he finally stepped into the light, cowl glinting beneath a flickering bulb, the entire theater exploded in applause—cheers, whoops, whistles.
Chaos erupted—pure carnage.
The fight choreography echoed the warehouse sequence from Batman v Superman, but without the killing or the gun finish. A body flew across the screen; a crate shattered; the sound design was thunderous every strike a gut punch. We'd sprinkled in a dash of John Wick, and Nolan insisted most of the fight unfold in one continuous shot after seeing the movie and being inspired by it. It worked perfectly.
John laughed, full‑throated. "Fuck them up, Batman!" he shouted, eyes wide with joy.
The last goon staggered backward. Black Mask tried to fight but was no match; Batman took him down hard. Applause roared again louder this time.
I leaned back, grinning. Any lingering ache from the flu vanished under the rush of adrenaline.
The movie pressed on, its momentum never faltering. The central plot remained, but key details had evolved.
Bruce Wayne was more present no longer just a detached trust‑fund kid, but an active force at Wayne Enterprises. Lucius was shown planning to step down as CEO so Bruce could officially take the helm.
It was revealed that Batman, Gordon, and Harvey Dent had secretly worked together for two years—an uneasy alliance built on results but fraught with doubt. Gordon distrusted Dent's people; Dent questioned corruption in Gordon's department. The audience chuckled at their sharper exchanges, yet their off‑screen history was perfectly conveyed.
Rachel was no longer caught between two men. The love triangle was gone. She and Dent were engaged and happy. Bruce was simply her friend—supportive, respectful, and, yes, a touch envious. He felt he'd missed his chance and knew he could never live that kind of life while wearing the cowl.
Then came the biggest change.
The Batcave appeared—and finally, finally—Dick Grayson revealed himself.
The crowd stirred as the camera followed a young man tumbling across the cave's rocky floor, landing flawlessly in front of Bruce. The moment felt playful yet carried real emotional weight. Bruce held a battered suit in one hand.
"I need a new one," he said.
Dick lounged against the Batcomputer, scrolling through schematics. "You know what I've been thinking?"
"I need a name."
He lists some like Batboy Wonderboy and more making many laugh.
Bruce didn't even look up. "You're not joining me. Not for a long time."
"I'm ready."
"No, you're not."
Alfred cleared his throat from the sidelines, watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. A found‑family triangle: the stern father, the stubborn son, and the ever‑patient grandfather. The audience loved it—laughing in the right places, smiling in others.
Then came the reveal of the new Batsuit.
A murmur rippled through the theater as fans leaned forward. The suit was sleek, reinforced, more armored than before, and rendered in a dark gray inspired heavily by the Arkham Origins design I remembered. Eagle‑eyed viewers spotted a few Easter eggs on the Batcomputer's monitors.
The scene shifted.
Gotham's crime bosses sat around a long table hollow‑eyed, defeated, their syndicates dismantled. Their darkest hour.
Into that walked chaos incarnate: the Joker.
Cheers and gasps erupted, especially during the pencil trick. But afterward? Silence a reverent, chilly hush. Heath's Joker held them all in the palm of his hand; you could hear a pin drop.
From there, the film raced forward: Batman's trip to Hong Kong, the infiltration, the capture of Lau. Dent leveraged the arrest to dismantle the mob's remaining infrastructure. For a moment—just a moment—Gotham felt like it might actually heal.
=====
The next big scene was the charity gala. The film gave us more interaction between Bruce and Dick, as well as a clearer picture of Bruce as Gotham's leading social figure. But the mood shifted the moment the elevator dinged open.
Joker.
He stepped out, chaos trailing behind him—gun in hand, his voice slithering through the crowd.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen..."
The theater crowd erupted as the gala scene unfolded. Joker stalked through the room, unblinking, stopping at Rachel and threatening her.
A funny moment followed: Bruce, making sure Dick wouldn't interfere, shoved him into a panic room before changing into the Batsuit.
And then—he appeared.
"I like that," Joker said, walking toward Rachel.
"Then you'll love me," came Batman's voice.
The audience lost it. The two icons finally faced off for the first time on screen. Fists flew. Glass shattered. Joker laughed like it was all a game—and for him, it was. His game.
The scene ended with Joker throwing Rachel off the building, and Batman saving her just in time.
From there, Gotham spiraled.
The Joker's influence spread like an infection. Suddenly, every lowlife was wearing clown masks. Robberies, chaos, and violence surged across the city copycat crimes in Joker's name. He had become a symbol for Gotham's criminal underworld.
And then came one of the film's biggest turns: Commissioner Gordon's apparent death.
Silence fell over the audience as he was shot protecting the Mayor, collapsing in Dent's arms.
Then came the scene where Gordon's family was informed.
And instead of two sons this time, it was one daughter.
Sophia Lillis, playing Barbara Gordon, stood beside her devastated mother, looking equally shattered.
Meanwhile, Harvey was changing too.
The cracks had begun to show. The desperation. The anger. The mask of control slowly slipping.
Bruce hunted for answers scouring the underworld, piecing together Joker's madness. He worked alone, mostly. But Dick was still there, still pushing to be more, to help.
Which all culminated in Bruce finally asking Dick to prove he was ready.
They sparred. Dick lost.
The scene ended with Dick on the mat bruised, broken-hearted. Alfred stood nearby, concern on his face. But he said nothing.
And through it all, the thread that held the entire room together was Heath.
Every time the Joker appeared, the theater went still. No whispering. No rustling. Just raw, hypnotized silence. Heath's Joker dominated the screen like a force of nature—unpredictable, terrifying, and funny in the worst possible ways.
Next came the ruse: Harvey Dent publicly "revealed" himself as Batman to draw the Joker out.
It worked.
The convoy sequence that followed was spectacular—though I still remember how that shoot blew the budget after an on‑set disaster. The audience erupted as Batman burst from the ruined Tumbler on the Batpod, cape streaming behind him, flipping the truck in a single, jaw‑dropping maneuver.
The Batpod skidded to a halt; Joker stood alone in the road.
"Hit me… come on, I want you to do it… HIT ME!"
Cheers and gasps filled the theater as Batman gunned the engine, then swerved at the last second, crashing instead. The room crackled with adrenaline.
And then Joker's capture.
The camera panned up to reveal Jim Gordon, very much alive, shotgun trained on the Clown Prince. The applause that followed shook the walls.
The interrogation scene delivered exactly what I'd hoped for. In that stark, fluorescent‑lit room, every second crackled: Joker laughing through each blow, Batman's control slipping into raw desperation. The dynamic between them was now cemented. It worked every beat of it.
Next, Batman and Gordon raced to save Rachel and Harvey at two different locations.
John leaned forward, white‑knuckled on his knees; the entire theater held its breath.
Then came the tragedy: Rachel's death, Harvey's rescue and Batman, battered and limping, emerging from the wreckage. The hush that fell over the crowd said it all.
At the hospital, Harvey's ruined face is finally revealed. Gasps ripple through the audience. Physically broken and mentally shattered, the district attorney is gone, only Two‑Face remains.
The tense, hushed exchange between Joker and Harvey Joker finishing Gotham's "White Knight" with a whispered push toward revenge left the crowd frozen.
As the scene faded, John turned to me, eyes wide. "Dude, what the fuck," he whispered. I just smiled.
The final act began.
In the Batcave, Alfred stood beside an injured Bruce, who was strapping on battered armor.
"You can't go alone," Alfred warned. "Not this time."
Bruce didn't answer immediately. Then he stepped aside, revealing Dick, suited up at last. The camera panned over a sleek, modern re‑imagining of the classic Robin costume tactical plates, muted colors, only hints of red and yellow.
The theater erupted in cheers. Even John shouted, "Yooo!"
Bruce nodded, accepting that he needed help and Batman and Robin left together.
Two‑Face embarked on a revenge campaign, methodically hunting those he blamed: bent cops, mobsters, anyone he deemed responsible for Rachel's death and his own disfigurement.
Meanwhile, Joker's ultimate chaos unfolded: two ferries—one packed with civilians, the other with prisoners, each wired with explosives and each given the trigger to the other.
Batman and Robin stormed the tower Joker had rigged as his stage. Hostages disguised as henchmen, SWAT seconds away from killing the wrong people the sequence crackled with tension. Robin's acrobatics complemented Bruce's brute efficiency as they disabled "hostages," subdued SWAT, and fought upward floor by floor.
Then Joker unleashed his dogs which was easily subdued.
Joker paused, noticing the boy in the suit. "You brought a kid to our party?" he drawled, limping closer. In his hand…a crowbar.
The camera lingered on the weapon, Dick in the background. The audience collectively gasped.
"Oh, shit—" someone blurted. A chilling nod to A Death in the Family.
John leaned over. "Dude, are you gonna kill Dick later?"
I only shrugged.
On-screen, the Joker was finally defeated dangling from the side of the tower, laughing, blood in his teeth.
"This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."
"You truly are incorruptible, aren't you? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you, because you're just too much fun."
"I think you and I are destined to do this forever."
"You'll be in a padded cell… forever."
"Maybe we can share it. They'll need to double up, at the rate this city's inhabitants are losing their minds…"
"This city just showed you it's full of people ready to believe in good."
The Joker looked up at Batman, a twisted twinkle in his eye.
"Till their spirit breaks completely. Until they find out what I did with the best of them. Until they get a good look at the real Harvey Dent and all the heroic things he's done."
He glanced toward the ferry.
"Then those criminals will be straight back onto the streets. And Gotham will understand the true nature of heroism."
Joker laughed.
"You didn't think I'd risk the battle for Gotham's soul in a fistfight with you, did you? You've got to have an ace in the hole. Mine's Harvey."
"What did you do?" Batman asked.
The audience remained in rapt silence.
"I took Gotham's White Knight and I brought him down to my level. It wasn't hard madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push."
Joker burst into laughter.
"What does he mean?" Robin asked, as Batman stood and walked away, silent.
Cheers rang out in the theater loud, sustained, and well-earned.
The ending of The Dark Knight stayed largely the same except this time, Harvey held Barbara Gordon hostage.
That change was deliberate on my part. I wanted it to be the seed of something for the future, a wound that might one day drive her to follow in Batman's footsteps. A path that, if I chose to pursue it, could eventually lead to Batgirl joining the DCU.
Batman manages to save her barely. She's traumatized, and we had cast the perfect actress for the role. She sold the scene beautifully, balancing terror with awe as Batman rescued her.
Harvey falls to his death.
The silence afterward lingered, broken only by Gordon's panicked breathing and Barbara's sobs.
Realizing that the Joker was right that Harvey's fall could destroy everything they decide Joker can't be allowed to win.
Batman makes the impossible choice. He takes the blame for Harvey's crimes and death, preserving the district attorney's image—Gotham's White Knight.
Batman becomes the hunted.
The closing montage began as the score swelled.
Gordon's voice overlayed the screen, weary and somber as he explained to Barbara why they now had to hunt the man who just saved them.
"Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now…"
Images flickered by like snapshots of a city on edge. Gotham's underworld, now leaderless, began to reorganize.
A new Black Mask assumes control of the former ones criminal empire.
A silhouette of a portly man standing with mobsters drew a murmur of recognition from the crowd.
Then a woman in tight gear dropped silently through a skylight into a shadowy apartment. That moment earned a full cheer.
In Arkham, Joker sat alone in his cell, staring into nothing. Two doctors stood just outside the glass faces obscured. One of them was clearly a blonde woman.
This was the only scene featuring Margot that wasn't cut.
Gordon smashed the Bat-Signal.
His voice echoed one last time:
"So we'll hunt him. Because he can take it. Because he's not our hero."
The final shot: Batman standing alone atop a building, watching over Gotham. The night wind tugged at his cape. Then Robin stepped beside him. In the distance, police sirens began to wail.
"He's a silent guardian. A watchful protector. A Dark Knight."
The screen cut to black.
The theater exploded with cheers.
A standing ovation.
People were on their feet—clapping, whistling, shouting. Some had tears in their eyes. A group of cosplayers hugged. One guy even shouted, "Play it again!"
John turned to me, eyes lit with glee. "Yeah… Marvel can't top that, man. You won."
I smiled, stretching a bit in my seat. "Don't be tribalistic, John."
"Oh, please," he said, slapping my shoulder. "You know you love it."
I laughed. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone recognizes me."
"But the post‑credit scene!" he protested.
"There isn't one," I said, standing up. "Now come on."
We slipped out as the theater buzzed behind us everyone talking at once. About Joker. About Robin. About the tease of Penguin and Harley.
And as we stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn't help but smile.
I knew it was going to be just as iconic as it had been in my old life.
Maybe Heath would win an Oscar. Who knows…