1. The Burton/Schumacher Batman movies
What am I on about here? From the grotesque, vaudevillian rabble that run through the streets, to the revolving door of faces and characters--certain inhabitants actually change race and others seem to vanish completely-- to the unquestionably artificial nature of the German Expressionist city of Gotham, it's clear that the world of the first Batman series is one big theater stage. Think about that for a moment. A young man out to the theater with his parents witnesses them killed directly afterwards, and has his view of everything completely changed that night. So, instead of simply inspiring Batman, this episode triggers a mental break that sends young Bruce into a grand world of surreal, larger-than-life melodrama where every single day he's but an actor on the stage of his own theatrically-driven imagination. There's a typical criminal mastermind who re-emerges after his fall as a painted clown with a rictus grin, but that face reminds not of circus folk but the thespian masks of tragedy and comedy. Bats' ultimate villain is a homicidal theater geek that's flung from the top of a cathedral, only to be replaced by an S&M contortionist and a fat, oozing Shakespearean tragedy whose birth name summons memories of Dickens, followed by a spandex-wearing creep who speaks in riddles and a character literally divided into warring dramatic facets that make sense to a boy fighting for hope against despair. Just as the world itself is about to cave-in completely, the antagonists are reduced to pure carnival kitsch, an unintelligible performance artist who freezes stuff, a preening transvestite who likes to play with vines, and a beefed-up Mexican luchador wrestler. Throughout this miasma there are very few recurring faces, ultimately just the butler and the police commissioner, arguably the only "real " people that Wayne ever actually interacts with. Even his own visage continues to change as he charges through the collapsing floors of his madhouse, his mind continuing to rid itself of the Bat and find a pleasing illusion it can latch onto. As young Master Wayne grows and absorbs more theatrical culture, he adds to this universe--at first Gotham reminds of noir and dark opera, but it grows cold and frigid and sexualized, and eventually it's a whirling, psychedelic merry-go-round of Freudian nightmares and fetish gear, and when he can stand it no longer, everything turns to shards of ice, the feared freezing of his long broken heart. Along the way, there are comrades who insinuate themselves into his fantasy and attempt to correct it. None of the women are very successful at drawing out Wayne (are they four different therapists, all with varying methods?) and he incorporates his parent's death into his concepts of fear and responsibility. When a young man comes into the picture, he's got the same past as Bruce and ultimately needs the same solution; hiding his impotence behind black, nipple enhanced rubber. Still, it might be most interesting to consider Batman, Batman Returns, Batman Forever, and Batman and Robin as the various degenerating levels of an opium-induced dream that Bale's Wayne has while with the League of Shadows in Batman Begins. Once Bruce finds his way out of this epic fever-dream, he realizes exactly the importance of being dour, shrewd and mopey, lest he ever fall face-first into the dark netherworld of mad flamboyance.