From Rolling Stone:
Dark Knight
A review by Peter Travers (3 1/2 stars)
Starring: Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Heath Ledger,
Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhart
Directed by: Christopher Nolan

Heads up: a thunderbolt is about to rip into the blanket of bland we call summer movies. The Dark Knight, director Christopher Nolan's absolute stunner of a follow-up to 2005's Batman Begins, is a potent provocation decked out as a comic-book movie. Feverish action? Check. Dazzling spectacle? Check. Devilish fun? Check. But Nolan is just warming up. There's something raw and elemental at work in this artfully imagined universe. Striking out from his Batman origin story, Nolan cuts through to a deeper dimension. Huh? Wha? How can a conflicted guy in a bat suit and a villain with a cracked, painted-on clown smile speak to the essentials of the human condition? Just hang on for a shock to the system. The Dark Knight creates a place where good and evil — expected to do battle — decide instead to get it on and dance. "I don't want to kill you," Heath Ledger's psycho Joker tells Christian Bale's stalwart Batman. "You complete me." Don't buy the tease. He means it.

The trouble is that Batman, a.k.a. playboy Bruce Wayne, has had it up to here with being the white knight. He's pissed that the public sees him as a vigilante. He'll leave the hero stuff to district attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) and stop the DA from moving in on Rachel Dawes (feisty Maggie Gyllenhaal, in for sweetie Katie Holmes), the lady love who is Batman's only hope for a normal life.

Everything gleams like sin in Gotham City (cinematographer Wally Pfister shot on location in Chicago, bringing a gritty reality to a cartoon fantasy). And the bad guys seem jazzed by their evildoing. Take the Joker, who treats a stunningly staged bank robbery like his private video game with accomplices in Joker masks, blood spurting and only one winner. Nolan shot this sequence, and three others, for the IMAX screen and with a finesse for choreographing action that rivals Michael Mann's Heat. But it's what's going on inside the Bathead that pulls us in. Bale is electrifying as a fallibly human crusader at war with his own conscience.

I can only speak superlatives of Ledger, who is mad-crazy-blazing brilliant as the Joker. Miles from Jack Nicholson's broadly funny take on the role in Tim Burton's 1989 Batman, Ledger takes the role to the shadows, where even what's comic is hardly a relief. No plastic mask for Ledger; his face is caked with moldy makeup that highlights the red scar of a grin, the grungy hair and the yellowing teeth of a hound fresh out of hell. To the clown prince of crime, a knife is preferable to a gun, the better to "savor the moment."

The deft script, by Nolan and his brother Jonathan, taking note of Bob Kane's original Batman and Frank Miller's bleak rethink, refuses to explain the Joker with pop psychology. Forget Freudian hints about a dad who carved a smile into his son's face with a razor. As the Joker says, "What doesn't kill you makes you stranger."

The Joker represents the last completed role for Ledger, who died in January at 28 before finishing work on Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. It's typical of Ledger's total commitment to films as diverse as Brokeback Mountain and I'm Not There that he does nothing out of vanity or the need to be liked. If there's a movement to get him the first posthumous Oscar since Peter Finch won for 1976's Network, sign me up. Ledger's Joker has no gray areas — he's all rampaging id. Watch him crash a party and circle Rachel, a woman torn between Bale's Bruce (she knows he's Batman) and Eckhart's DA, another lover she has to share with his civic duty. "Hello, beautiful," says the Joker, sniffing Rachel like a feral beast. He's right when he compares himself to a dog chasing a car: The chase is all. The Joker's sadism is limitless, and the masochistic delight he takes in being punched and bloodied to a pulp would shame the Marquis de Sade. "I choose chaos," says the Joker, and those words sum up what's at stake in The Dark Knight.

The Joker wants Batman to choose chaos as well. He knows humanity is what you lose while you're busy making plans to gain power. Every actor brings his A game to show the lure of the dark side. Michael Caine purrs with sarcastic wit as Bruce's butler, Alfred, who harbors a secret that could crush his boss's spirit. Morgan Freeman radiates tough wisdom as Lucius Fox, the scientist who designs those wonderful toys — wait till you get a load of the Batpod — but who finds his own standards being compromised. Gary Oldman is so skilled that he makes virtue exciting as Jim Gordon, the ultimate good cop and as such a prime target for the Joker. As Harvey tells the Caped Crusader, "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain." Eckhart earns major props for scarily and movingly portraying the DA's transformation into the dreaded Harvey Two-Face, an event sparked by the brutal murder of a major character.

No fair giving away the mysteries of The Dark Knight. It's enough to marvel at the way Nolan — a world-class filmmaker, be it Memento, Insomnia or The Prestige — brings pop escapism whisper-close to enduring art. It's enough to watch Bale chillingly render Batman as a lost warrior, evoking Al Pacino in The Godfather II in his delusion and desolation. It's enough to see Ledger conjure up the anarchy of the Sex Pistols and A Clockwork Orange as he creates a Joker for the ages. Go ahead, bitch about the movie being too long, at two and a half hours, for short attention spans (it is), too somber for the Hulk crowd (it is), too smart for its own good (it isn't). The haunting and visionary Dark Knight soars on the wings of untamed imagination. It's full of surprises you don't see coming. And just try to get it out of your dreams.

From ReelViews:
Batman: The Dark Knight
By James Berardinelli

Consequences. In real life, these ramifications emanate from every action like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond. Often in movies, especially those that feature characters who don't play by the rules, such penalties are suspended. However, in Christopher Nolan's Batman universe, decisions and actions have consequences. The Dark Knight, arguably the moodiest and most adult superhero motion picture ever to reach the screen, illustrates this lesson in ways that are startling and painful. This is a tough, uncompromising motion picture - one that defies the common notions of what is expected from a "superhero" film. While there are plenty of action sequences and instances of derring-do, The Dark Knight's subtext has a tragic underpinning that would intrigue Shakespeare or the Greeks. It's about power and impotence, sanity and madness, image and reality, selfishness and sacrifice, and - yes - consequences.

It has often been said that Tim Burton's vision of Batman was the darkest representation we were ever likely to see of a superhero. Compared to how Nolan sees the character, Burton's version was a pantomime. For many long-running franchises, Burton's included, the second volume stands tallest. Nolan has followed up on his gritty and successful Batman Begins with one of the best all-time sequels, and perhaps the most impressive mainstream entertainment experience since 2003's The Return of the King. The Dark Knight builds upon the themes and premises founded three years ago. With the introductions and origins dispensed with in Batman Begins, Nolan uses this opportunity to expand upon his portrait of Batman as a haunted individual who, driven by forces rooted deep in his psyche, must dispense justice according to his own strict code.

Following his defeat of Ra's Al Ghul at the end of Batman Begins, Batman (Christian Bale) has become a mythical figure in Gotham City. The Caped Crusader, as he is now known, is the city's great hope, although the debate rages as to whether he is more hero or menace. There are copycat "Batmen," as well - vigilantes who wear similar costumes but whose methods are crude. Batman's nocturnal activities are taking a heavy toll on Gotham's organized crime syndicates, and things take a turn for the worse when the new D.A., Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), decides to take them on rather than turn a blind eye or take a payment. Abetted by incorruptible police lieutenant Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman), Dent meets with Batman and the two come to an understanding about how to proceed in this war against crime. But a new threat is rising in the form of a sadistic lunatic called The Joker (Heath Ledger), who offers to become the mob's enforcer in the pursuit of a single goal: chaos. And this brings him squarely into conflict with the city's black-costumed guardian. To Batman, he makes one demand: remove the mask and turn himself in or the streets will run red with blood. When Bruce Wayne's identity remains secret, The Joker makes good on his word.

Often in superhero movies, there's a sense that, no matter what challenges the protagonist must face, all will be right in the end. That certainty is missing here, and its absence may represent Nolan's most impressive accomplishment. Batman is fallible and his world is dangerous. No character, no matter how well-established in Batman lore, is safe. This director's Gotham City may be less garish and gothic than Burton's, but it is in many ways a bleaker and more oppressive place. It's a joyless venue and the hero takes his demeanor from his city. Batman is a grim, brooding superhero. He rarely speaks while in costume and, when he does, his voice quivers with menace and his words are devoid of the quips and one-liners audiences have come to associate with action heroes.

The survivors of Batman Begins are all back. Christian Bale has become the first Batman where it matters which actor is under the cowl. Keaton, Kilmer, and Clooney were all interchangeable when wearing the Bat-suit. Not so with Bale, who owns the role. His presence in the costume is forceful in a way that none of his predecessors achieved. Michael Caine's Alfred acts not only as Bruce Wayne's butler but as his conscience. Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) is Batman's version of "Q." Indeed, there's a scene in The Dark Knight that could have been lifted from one of many James Bond films. Gary Oldman's Jim Gordon, who wasn't too sure about Batman for much of the first film, is now fully on board as his unofficial liaison to the police force. Assistant D.A. Rachel Dawes remains the girl who got away, the woman whose promise of a normal, happy life provides Wayne with hope for the future. For The Dark Knight, Maggie Gyllenhaal has replaced Katie Holmes, but the change in actress isn't a detriment. Gyllenhaal is a better actress and makes the character her own from her first scene.

Of the newcomers, the Joker is the biggest addition. One could argue that it's impossible to make a Batman series without facing the main character against the Joker at some point. No superhero and villain are more inextricably linked. Yet this Joker is unlike any we have previously encountered. Cesar Romero's interpretation of the character (in the '60s TV series) was that of a deadly prankster. Jack Nicholson's over-the-top performance made 1989's Batman all about the bad guy. The late Heath Ledger, however, gives us something darker and more twisted - a role that would have been no less memorable had it not been his last and most grueling. There's nothing humorous about this freak. No flowery lines like "You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?" This is no caricature - The Joker is a frighteningly vicious and intelligent monster who represents a legitimate match for the title character.

The other major character to join the ensemble is Aaron Eckhart as Gotham's charismatic, photogenic D.A. Harvey Dent is Gotham's Knight in Shining Armor, and that's how Eckhart plays him - an individual with a pure heart who makes his own luck. Those even passingly familiar with Batman lore know Dent's fate, and it plays out here as one might suspect, although Nolan puts a different spin on things than did Joel Schumacher.

For all of the heavy lifting done by the movie's screenplay, dealing as it does with substantive issues and existential questions, there's still plenty of the meat-and-potatoes content of any superhero movie: action sequences. There are numerous fights, chases, and races. The Batmobile gets its share of screen time as does a new Bat-cycle. Batman takes on bad guys singly and in bunches. And there's a heart-pounding sequence in which the Caped Crusader must race against time to save a life, where the price is almost as terrible if he succeeds as if he fails. Nolan's inherent sense of how to transform a relatively mundane fight scene into something involving is in evidence here, much as was the case in Batman Begins. He avoids flash editing and allows the action to evolve in a coherent manner, drawing the viewer in rather than keeping him guessing what's going on.

2008 may be the year that the superhero movie comes of age. Iron Man represents the best screen adventure of a Marvel hero. Now, D.C. has answered with The Dark Knight, a film so impressive in every significant facet that it makes one wonder why it took so long for the genre to reach this high level. Christopher Nolan has provided movie-goers with the best superhero movie to-date, outclassing previous titles both mediocre and excellent, and giving this franchise its The Empire Strikes Back.

ACTION/ADVENTURE
United States, 2008
U.S. Release Date: 2008-07-18
Running Length: 2:30
MPAA Classification: PG-13 (Violence)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 2.35:1

Cast: Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Michael Caine, Aaron Eckhart, Gary Oldman, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Morgan Freeman, Cillian Murphy, Eric Roberts
Director: Christopher Nolan
Screenplay: Jonathan Nolan & Christopher Nolan, based on characters created by Bob Kane
Cinematography: Wally Pfister
Music: Hans Zimmer, James Newton-Howard
U.S. Distributor: Warner Brothers
Subtitles: none

From The New York Post:
GRINNER TAKES ALL
By KYLE SMITH

July 16, 2008 --

"TO them, you're just a freak - like me," the Joker tells Batman in "The Dark Knight." The alienated Batman finds it difficult to disagree. He takes a fierce stance in favor of untruth, surveillance and (but?) the American way. "Batman has no limits," is how Bruce Wayne puts it, and there are two sides to that coin.

The highest praise I can give a superhero movie is that it makes me forget about its 10-cent-comic-book soul. "The Dark Knight," unlike its superior predecessor, has some absurdly improbable scheming and sputtering one-liners. It also lacks the chord of ancient evil found in "Batman Begins."

But summer blockbusters don't get much better than Batman on his new mega-cycle barreling down a Gotham highway straight at the Joker and his 18-wheeler, or the caped one hurling himself out of the window of a skyscraper to first catch a falling body, then worry about landing. When Batman needs to turn his bike around, he runs it up the side of a building.

Not least among the welcome features of the new edition, which ventures into shadowlands unknown to "Spider-Man" and the rest, is its references to "the bat man," a distancing touch. He's not one of us, someone you're on a first-name basis with. He is a weird loner who doesn't care what you think of him. Batman is obsessed, unrepentant and excessive. Batman is cool.

The hard-charging set pieces, photographed in extravagantly moody splendor, come with implicit commentary on Guantanamo, wiretapping, the indispensability of propaganda, the age of terrorism and faith. There's even a mention of the corrupting possibilities of health care costs. "The Dark Knight" benches a lot of weight for an action flick. It creates an experience either less fun or less silly, depending on your taste, than, say, "Iron Man."

Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne has lost his girl Rachel (Maggie Gyllenhaal, replacing Katie Holmes) to the arms of the ambitious new DA Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart). Dent has the grin of an infomerical pitchman but an impressive record of rounding up criminals, and Batman considers handing over to him the leadership of the Gotham crime-fighting business. That could carry the added benefit of winning back his girl, who insists she can't be with Bruce until it's no longer necessary for him to be Batman.

Enter a wild card.

Bale is nobody's patsy. When Dent talks about attending a dance performance with Rachel, Bale's dry delivery neatly cuts him down with the line, "So, you're into ballet?"

Yet the picture is wholly owned by a cold-blooded Heath Ledger as the asparagus-haired mountebank who robs banks, makes mobsters tremble and seems to have seeded the entire city (an almost undisguised Chicago) with explosives and double agents. (Why would anyone work for him? The opening scene establishes that his confederates have the life expectancy of Sea Monkeys.) Instead of cackling his lines a la Nicholson, Ledger utters them like a naughty third grader, his weirdness accentuated by a fantastically unnerving score built on terror tones, like air-raid alarms or life-support equipment. Occasionally he shakes his jowls, drunk on his own crazy sauce. You know you've got skills when you can get a laugh out of saying, "Hi!" Of one kidnappee, he says, "He may be in one spot or several." To the Dark Knight himself, he declares, "You complete me." Brokeback Batman.

At first, the Joker is tied in with a mob money-laundering plot that seems far too small and bland for a hero of Batman's proportions.

What next: Batman vs. high gasoline prices?

There is also some dim dialogue ("Let's not do that again," "The night is darkest just before the dawn," "I didn't sign up for this"), and Gyllenhaal is jarring, making little effort to match Holmes' earnestness. It's starting to look like Gyllenhaal can do only one thing - saucy, smart-mouthed alterna-vixen. That might have been fine if she had created the role.

In the second half, as the mobsters (headed by a blow-dried Eric Roberts, overdoing it) fade from view, writer-director Christopher Nolan has as much fun as the Joker, stringing his main characters together with a series of tripwires. Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) is much more of a player this time, and there's a major disagreement between Batman and his tech expert (Morgan Freeman), though Alfred (Michael Caine) doesn't get enough to do.

As was true of the blundering Hancock in the comedy of the same name, Batman can't claim public love. His approval ratings are in the tank. Maybe he should stop inviting terrorist attacks by being such an inflexible anti-terrorist. Maybe he should be locked up while people learn to live with the Joker. Isn't it Batman's fault that cops have been killed in action?

"I'm a guy with simple tastes. I enjoy dynamite and gunpowder and gasoline," says the Joker. OK, and as for the turn-ons of Bachelor No. 2, the Dark Knight has equally explosive interests. He sets up a system for monitoring pretty much everyone, everywhere. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he says. That shuddery feeling going through the audience doesn't arise solely from Ledger's death. Batman lives in a messy world. If no one else is willing to make hard choices, he will.

kyle.smith@nypost.com

From www.calendarlive.com:
MOVIE REVIEW
'The Dark Knight'
Christopher Nolan's powerful, disturbing Batman
sequel is fueled by Heath Ledger's indelible Joker.
By Kenneth Turan

July 17, 2008

GIVEN THE success of "Batman Begins" three years ago, adventurous, eclectic director Christopher Nolan could have gone anywhere and done anything with his next film. So why did he elect to return to the mythical city of Gotham, to the confines of a superhero movie and the narrow world of a caped crusader imprisoned by the secret of who he really is?

That sequel, “The Dark Knight,” answers all those questions with a vengeance. To see it is to understand that Nolan and his co-writer brother Jonathan saw a chance to go deeper into familiar characters and mythology, a chance to meditate on darker-than-usual themes that have implications for the way we live now. A chance to disturb us in the ways these kinds of movies rarely do.

With Christian Bale returning in the title role and Heath Ledger giving a shocking, indelible performance as his arch-nemesis the Joker, "The Dark Knight" may be the most hopeless, despairing comic-book movie in memory. It creates a world where being a superhero is at best a double-edged sword and no triumph is likely to be anything but short-lived.

Because these kinds of movies are only as strong as their villains, a good part of the credit for the potency of "The Dark Knight" has to go to the unusual and unusually creepy and sadistic way the Joker was conceptualized by the Nolans and David S. Goyer (who has a story credit) and played by Ledger in what turned out to be his last completed screen role. The Joker's is a different kind of evil than we're used to, one that is harder for both Batman and the audience to dismiss than what Jack Nicholson did with the part nearly two decades ago.

"The Dark Knight," an allusion to the hugely influential Frank Miller graphic novel "Batman: The Dark Knight Returns," begins in what should be good times for our hero. While Gotham still struggles with lawlessness, his crime-fighting brand is established, he is secure in his secret identity as playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne and he has a loyal support group in butler Alfred Pennyworth (Michael Caine), tech wizard Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) and police Lt. Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman). Plus he is hopeful that his example will get the citizens of Gotham to do the right thing.

Only it isn't working that way. It's not the good Batman does but the vigilante nature of his methods ("Batman: Crusader or Menace?" screams a TV news report) that people focus on. Bale's dead-serious demeanor helps define a character who's troubled that no one without a mask has stepped up to help and increasingly worried that the act of taking the law into his own hands will further destabilize the situation.

Batman's best hope for an ally willing to show his face is crusading young Dist. Atty. Harvey Dent, but there are problems even here. Dent is going out with Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, stepping in for Katie Holmes), once the love of Bruce Wayne's life, and he's played by Aaron Eckhart, a square-jawed actor who specializes in characters you're never sure you can completely trust.

More than that, "Dark Knight's" director of photography and longtime Nolan collaborator Wally Pfister has created a bright but tainted Gotham world (Chicago was the main location) where even in daylight the mood of overwhelming bleakness is characterized by the kind of untrustworthiness the sun itself is hopeless against.

Not only Pfister's cinematography but all of "The Dark Knight's" production values are first-rate. With cost being no object in a reported $180-million budget and a director of Nolan's formidable abilities in charge, this is powerful, propulsive filmmaking in which elements that must have taken an eternity to set up stay on screen no longer than they absolutely need to.

Even at 2 hours and 32 minutes, "Dark Knight" moves right along (Lee Smith was the editor, Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard collaborated on the driving score). Nolan and Pfister have actually upped the ante by filming six of the film's action sequences, including the remarkable flipping of an 18-wheel, 40-foot tractor-trailer, with a 65-millimeter Imax camera, meaning that they have an extra sharpness when shrunken to fit into a 35mm print.

One of those shot in Imax was the film's opening set-piece, a bank robbery pulled off by a gang of men in clown masks, which symbolizes the moral abyss Gotham is falling into. For the bank turns out to be a mob bank, causing a gangland minion to scream as he is shot down, "Criminals used to believe in things like honor, respect." Replies the Joker, "What doesn't kill you makes you stranger."

Yes, it is the Joker who's behind this caper, and with his disfigured face, his white makeup, kohl-black eyes and smeared red lips, few people are stranger. Always a consummate professional, Ledger threw himself into a role he clearly relished, giving a transfixing performance as a whiny-voiced god of chaos whose hard-core nihilism is bone-chilling.

For it's what he represents, not what he looks like, that is finally the horror of the Joker. He has no scruples, no morals, no goal except anarchy, no plan except the end of planning. As Alfred patiently explains, "Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."

While the Joker understands perfectly that a highly moral opponent like Batman is a welcome gift as far as he's concerned, for Batman the matchup is much more wrenching. Can he live with what he would have to become to effectively fight the Joker and his spawn? Can he accept the unacceptable things that have to be done to be the hero? Can there be an ending to his story, and to this film, that creates a sense of closure, a sense of peace? It's a very good question, and you'll have to see "The Dark Knight" if you want to find out.

kenneth.turan@latimes.com

"The Dark Knight." MPAA rating: PG-13 for intense sequences of violence and some menace. Running time: 2 hours, 32 minutes. In general release.

From Dirty Harry's Place:
The Dark Knight
Posted by Dirty Harry
on Friday, July 18th, 2008

He hasn’t come for money, he hasn’t come for power. He can’t be reasoned or negotiated with, he can’t be reached for any kind of appeal. Void of mercy and humanity, the Joker (Heath Ledger) has only one goal: to launch a campaign of nihilistic terror for the very soul of Gotham City. And it’s not just the citizens of Gotham the Joker is sure can be terrorized into becoming just like him, it’s the Batman (Christian Bale), as well.

The Dark Knight may well be the most conservative movie since 300. There’s just no arguing that the Joker is al-Qaeda and Batman George W. Bush. In between are the citizens of Gotham who have a choice: They can cave to terror, turn on their protector and blame his aggressive crime fighting for the rise of the Joker, or they can understand that appeasing a criminal status quo in their city doesn’t convince the Joker’s of the world to see the light and enroll at community college.

Dark Knight is neither an action or comic book film. What it is, is a stunningly realized psychological thriller brilliantly using familiar genres to comment on the battle between good and evil currently being played out in faraway deserts, but more importantly, right here at home. It’s a film that fundamentally understands that the war will either be won or lost in the souls of those who inhabit our own Gothams.

The film asks one question: Will Gothamites appease the terrorist? All they need do to satisfy the Joker is to turn on Batman, and until they do, the Joker promises wanton murder and destruction. If the people blame the Joker’s reign of terror on Batman’s refusal to appease him, the Joker wins. If the people turn on each other like animals out of fear and panic, the Joker wins. If Batman becomes the Joker to beat the Joker… Well, you get the point.

The allusions to the war for civilization George W. Bush is waging and winning don’t stop there. Blown out buildings evoke the World Trade Center. Only its not a President rallying the nation from a pile of rubble, it’s a tortured superhero silhouetted by construction lights dealing with the emotional cost of being the hero Gotham needs instead of the one they want. Massive, intrusive surveillance may offend some’s sensibilities, but is it worth the lives saved? And then there’s Michael Caine’s Alfred stating outright that Batman will not give in to the whim of a terrorist and reminding that choosing not to be the hero is sometimes the most heroic choice.

As each one of the film’s 150 minutes tick by the themes deepen, increasing your emotional investment into the Batman character until the very end arrives and his final choice moves beyond expression. In an age when too many are ready to go over to the Joker’s side enabling evil dictators for the stability they promise and appeasing just a little terrorism for a little peace, co-writer/director Christopher Nolan’s rumination on what it takes to be a hero today is as relevant as it is fresh.

Heath Ledger’s Joker will have us all asking, Jack Nicholson who…? Behind those eyes, horrific make-up and flicking tongue is something so dark and unreachable that his every moment evokes the final shot in Alfred Hichcock’s Psycho: Anthony Perkins, forever “Mother”, eyes dark as coal, wondering about the fly. Bale’s Batman is intense, tortured, and determined, and Aaron Eckhart’s square-jawed Harvey Dent a walking enigma when it comes to figuring out which side he’s on.

As was the case in Batman Begins, Gary Oldman as the buttoned down Jim Gordon is a brilliant bit of casting. All the madman baggage that comes with an actor like Oldman enriches the bespectacled milquetoast with an undercurrent of possibilities. And while neither Morgan Freeman nor Michael Caine gets enough to do (when do they?), leaving you wanting more is part of their respective gifts.

The only weak link is once again the Rachel Dawes character, this time played by Maggie Gyllenhaal stepping in for Katie Holmes. For such a dark film, Rachel has a few too many Tess Trueheart moments and Gyllenhaal doesn’t do sincere much better than Holmes did adult-professional.

Director Nolan makes the best use of the great city of Chicago of any filmmaker since directer Andrew Davis’ salad days with The Fugitive (1993). (Nolan even cast Davis regular Ron Dean in a small but pivotal role as a Gotham cop). While the setting for Batman Begins felt more real than the hyper-real locations directors’ Tim Burton and Joel Schumacher set their Batman’s in, The Dark Knight is downright organic; filmed on so many practical locations you forget its a comic book story. Batman truly feels like a real character in a real city.

And in many ways he is a real character in a real city, choosing to be the hero we need instead of the one we want. The one battered, beaten, scorned and derided for making the hard choices which keep us safe. There is him, there is the other side, but it is those of in between who will determine our own fates. Christopher Nolan’s taken his side and is communicating it using the art of film as rich allegory. The Dark Knight is a masterwork, one that will only get better with repeated viewings.

Filed in

From National Review Online:
"God doesn't promise tomorrow,
he does promise eternity."
posted by Kathryn Jean Lopez

The president this morning:

Archbishop Wuerl, Father O'Connell, Mr. Vice President, members of the Cabinet and my administration, members of Congress, distinguished guests; most importantly, the Snow family, Jill, Robbie, Kendall, Kristi and Jim, and other family members; former colleagues of Tony. Laura and I are privileged to join you today to pay our final respects to a cherished friend.

Tony Snow was a man of uncommon decency and compassion. He was a devoted husband, a proud and loving father, an adoring son, a beloved colleague, and a wonderful role model and friend.

In a life that was far too brief, he amassed a rare record of accomplishment. He applied his gifted mind to many fields: as a columnist, newspaper editor, TV anchor, radio host, and musician. He had the sometimes challenging distinction of working for two Presidents named Bush. As a speechwriter in my Dad's administration, Tony tried to translate the President's policies into English. (Laughter.) As a spokesman in my administration, Tony tried to translate my English into English. (Laughter.)

Tony always gave me good and candid advice. He was a man of profound substance who loved ideas, held strong beliefs, and reveled in defending them. He took very seriously his duty to inform the public about what its government was doing during historic times for our nation.

In the White House briefing room, Tony worked to build a relationship of candor and trust with the press corps. On his first day at the podium, he told the gathered reporters this: "One of the reasons I took this job is not only because I believe in the President, but because, believe it or not, I want to work with you." Tony was the first working journalist to serve as the White House Press Secretary for nearly 30 years. He knew the job of a reporter was rigorous. He admired the profession — and always treated it with respect. And the presence of so many members of the Fourth Estate here today attests to the admiration and respect that he earned.

Of course, Tony's adjustment from commentator to spokesman was not seamless. Ann Compton of ABC recently recalled that when you asked Tony a question, he would sometimes get going, and she would have to stop him and say: "Tony, wait, I asked what the President thought." (Laughter.)

Tony brought a fierce and challenging intellect to his duties. And he displayed an engaging wit. When a reporter asked a rather labored question about Congress, Tony did not answer it. The persistent reporter pressed him: "Are you going to just evade that question?" With a smile, Tony quipped: "No, I'm going to laugh at it." (Laughter.)

I believe the reason Tony was so good at his job is that he looked at the world in a joyful way. He was a proud patriot who believed in America's goodness, and an optimist who knew America's possibilities. He believed strongly in the wisdom of the American people. And throughout his career, he took a special pride in being a vigorous and unapologetic defender of our men and women in uniform. He supported their missions, saw honor in their achievements, and found every possible opportunity to highlight their character and courage.

Tony Snow, the professional, is a hard act to follow. Tony Snow, the man, is simply irreplaceable. Everyone who worked with him quickly grew to love him. We will always remember his wry sense of humor and abundant goodness. We'll also remember he was just a lot of fun. After all, he played six different musical instruments and was a proud member of a band called Beats Working. He may be one of the few people in history to have jammed on the South Lawn of the White House and with Jethro Tull. (Laughter.)

We remember Tony's thoughtfulness. No matter how busy he was, this was a man who put others first. He would go out of his way to ask about people's families. He would check in with friends whenever he heard they were ill. He'd reach out to others, sometimes strangers, who were struggling with cancer. Even when he was going through difficult chemotherapy sessions, he sent inspirational e-mails to a friend whose son was suffering from a serious illness.

We remember Tony's resilient spirit. When he received a second diagnosis of cancer, he did not turn to despair. He saw it as another challenge to tackle. He found comfort in the prayers he received from millions of Americans. As he told the graduates here at Catholic University last year, "Never underestimate the power of other people's love and prayer. They have incredible power. It's as if I've been carried on the shoulders of an entire army. And they made me weightless."

Most of all, we remember Tony's love of his family. There was no doubt for Tony Snow that his family was first. When Jill reached a milestone birthday, Tony had a huge celebration. He later said that he and Jill danced that night as if they were teenagers. He said he was the most fortunate man in the world to have shared love like that. So, today, Jill, our hearts are with you, and we thank you for giving Tony such a special life.

For Robbie, Kendall, and Kristi, you are in our thoughts and prayers, as well. We thank you for sharing your dad with us. He talked about you all the time. He wanted nothing more than your happiness and success. You know, I used to call Tony on the weekends to get his advice. And invariably, I found him with you on the soccer field, or at a swim meet, or helping with your homework. He loved you a lot. Today I hope you know that we loved him a lot, too.

I know it's hard to make sense of today. It is impossible to fully comprehend why such a good and vital man was taken from us so soon. But these are the great mysteries of life — and Tony knew as well as anyone that they're not ours to unveil.

The day Tony was born was also the day that many of his fellow Catholics pay tribute to Saint Justin. Justin was also a gifted thinker and writer, and a powerful witness for the Christian faith. Because of his beliefs, he suffered many times of trial, and in the year 165 A.D. he was arrested. Before he received a sentence of death, he was asked: "If you are killed, do you suppose you will go to heaven?" Justin replied: "I do not suppose it, but I know and am fully persuaded of it."

Tony Snow knew that, as well. That brought him great peace. When talking about the struggle he waged so admirably, he said that no matter how bad times may sometimes seem, "God doesn't promise tomorrow, he does promise eternity."

And so today we send this man of faith and character and joy on his final journey. Tony Snow has left the City of Washington for the City of God. May he find eternal rest in the arms of his Savior. And may the Author of all creation watch over his family and all those who loved him, admired him, and will always cherish his memory.

The Associated Press/The New Yorker

From The New York Times:
Want Obama in a punch line? First, find a joke
By Bill Carter

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

What's so funny about Barack Obama? Apparently not very much, at least not yet.

On Monday, The New Yorker magazine tried dipping its toe into broad satire involving Senator Obama with a cover image depicting the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee and his wife, Michelle, as fist-bumping, flag-burning, bin Laden-loving terrorists in the Oval Office. The response from both Democrats and Republicans was explosive.

Comedy has been no easier for the phalanx of late-night television hosts who depend on skewering political leaders for a healthy quotient of their nightly monologues. Jay Leno, David Letterman, Conan O'Brien and others have delivered a nightly stream of jokes about the Republican running for president — each one a variant on the same theme: John McCain is old.

But there has been little humor about Obama: about his age, his speaking ability, his intelligence, his family, his physique. And within a late-night landscape dominated by white hosts, white writers, and overwhelmingly white audiences, there has been almost none about his race.

"We're doing jokes about people in his orbit, not really about him," said Mike Sweeney, the head writer for O'Brien on "Late Night." The jokes will come, representatives of the late-night shows said, when Obama does or says something that defines him — in comedy terms.

"We're carrion birds," said Jon Stewart, host of "The Daily Show" on the Comedy Central channel. "We're sitting up there saying 'Does he seem weak? Is he dehydrated yet? Let's attack.' "

But so far, no true punch lines have landed.

Why? The reason cited by most of those involved in the shows is that a fundamental factor is so far missing in Obama: There is no comedic "take" on him, nothing easy to turn to for an easy laugh, like allegations of Bill Clinton's womanizing, or President George W. Bush's goofy bumbling or Al Gore's robotic persona.

"The thing is, he's not buffoonish in any way," said Mike Barry, who started writing political jokes for Johnny Carson's monologues in the waning days of the Johnson administration and has lambasted every presidential candidate since, most recently for Letterman. "He's not a comical figure," Barry said.

Jokes have been made about what Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton really thought about Obama during the primaries, and about the vulgar comments the Rev. Jesse Jackson made about him last week. But anything approaching a joke about Obama himself has fallen flat.

When Stewart on "The Daily Show" recently tried to joke about Obama changing his position on campaign financing, for instance, he met with such obvious resistance from the audience, he said, "You know, you're allowed to laugh at him." Stewart said in a telephone interview on Monday, "People have a tendency to react as far as their ideology allows them."

Despite audience resistance, Stewart contended, his show had been able to develop a distinctive angle on Obama.

Noting that the senator seems to emphasize the historic nature of his quest, Stewart said, "So far, our take is that he's positioning himself to be on a coin."

There is no doubt, several representatives of the late-night shows said, that so far their audiences (and at least some of the shows' writers) seem to be favorably disposed toward Obama, to a degree that perhaps leaves them more resistant to jokes about him than those about most previous candidates.

"A lot of people are excited about his candidacy," Sweeney said. "It's almost like: 'Hey, don't go after this guy. He's a fresh face; cut him some slack.' "

Justin Stangel, who is a head writer for "Late Show With David Letterman," disputed that, saying, "We always have to make jokes about everybody. We're not trying to lay off the new guy."

But Barry said, "I think some of us were maybe too quick to caricature Al Gore and John Kerry and there's maybe some reluctance to do the same thing to him."

Of course, the question of race is also mentioned as one reason Obama has proved to be so elusive a target for satire.

"Anything that has even a whiff of being racist, no one is going to laugh," said Rob Burnett, an executive producer for Letterman. "The audience is not going to allow anyone to do that."

The New Yorker faced a different kind of hostility with its cover this week, which the Obama campaign criticized harshly. A campaign spokesman, Bill Burton, said in a statement that "most readers will see it as tasteless and offensive — and we agree."

Asked about the cover at a news conference Monday, McCain said he thought it was "totally inappropriate, and frankly I understand if Senator Obama and his supporters would find it offensive."

The cover was drawn by Barry Blitt, who also contributes illustrations to The New York Times's Op-Ed page. David Remnick, the editor of The New Yorker, said in an e-mail message, "The cover takes a lot of distortions, lies, and misconceptions about the Obamas and puts a mirror up to them to show them for what they are.

"It's a lot like the spirit of what Stephen Colbert does — by exaggerating and mocking something, he shows its absurdity, and that is what satire is all about," Remnick continued.

Colbert said in a telephone interview that a running joke on his show has been that Obama is a "secret Muslim"; the New Yorker cover, he said, was consistent with that. "It's a completely valid satirical point to make — and it's perfectly valid for Obama not to like it," he said.

Colbert said he had been freer to poke fun at Obama than other late-night hosts because "my character on the show doesn't like him. I'm expected to be hostile to him."

Stewart, who is also an executive producer of "The Colbert Report," said the Obama campaign's reaction to the New Yorker cover seemed part of what is now almost a pro forma cycle in political campaigns. "Nothing can occur without the candidate responding," he said.

Bill Maher, who is host of a politically oriented late-night show on HBO, said, "If you can't do irony on the cover of The New Yorker, where can you do it?"

One issue that clearly has some impact on writing jokes about Obama is a consistency among the big late-night shows. Not only are all the hosts white, the vast majority of their audiences are white. "I think white audiences get a little self-conscious if race comes up," Sweeney of O'Brien's show said.

Things might be somewhat different if even one late-night host was black. Black comics are not having any trouble joking about Obama, said David Alan Grier, a comedian who, starting in October, will have a satirical news magazine show on Comedy Central, "Chocolate News."

"I tell jokes on stage about him," Grier said, reciting a few that would not ever get onto a network late-night show (nor into this newspaper).

But he said of the late-night hosts, "Those guys really can't go there. It's just like the gay comic can do gay material. It comes with the territory." Still, he said, he has no sympathy for the hosts. "No way. They've had 200 years of presidential jokes. It's our time."

Jimmy Kimmel, the host of the ABC late-night talk show "Jimmy Kimmel Live," said of Obama, "There's a weird reverse racism going on. You can't joke about him because he's half-white. It's silly. I think it's more a problem because he's so polished, he doesn't seem to have any flaws."

Maher said that being sensitive to Obama was in no way interfering with his commentary, though on HBO he has more freedom about content than other comedians. "There's been this question about whether he's black enough," Maher said. "I have this joke: What does he have to do? Dunk? He bowled a 37 — to me, that's black enough."

Kimmel said, "His ears should be the focus of the jokes."

Mostly the late-night shows seem to be in a similar position.

Burnett of the Letterman show said, "We can't manufacture a perception. If the perception isn't true, no one will laugh at it."

Sweeney said, "We're hoping he picks an idiot as vice president.

From FoxNews.com:
Tony Snow Was a Gem
By Susan Estrich

Tony Snow was a gem.

We usually disagreed - hell, we were paid to disagree for years, starting out nearly 20 years ago, when he was "Monday" at USA Today and I was "Thursday" and every week or so we did what was then considered a "novel" on-line back-and-forth for AOL called "The Great Debate."

Tony and I would disagree about the issues of the day in front of an "audience" (in those days, people signed in to enter the "hall") and then we would have a side conversation at the bottom of the screen, that no one else could see, about our lives, our careers and our families. Especially family. Robert Novak was the other conservative, and when he was debating me he was actually dictating so my side conversation was with his editor. With Tony, it was between us. Personal. That's the way Tony was. He always knew what mattered most. He loved his family, his country, and his life.

He drove some of my liberal friends somewhat crazy, to say the least, as President Bush's press secretary, not because he was in any way more dishonest than his predecessors (hello, Scott McLellan) but because he was so much better at it, more appealing, so much more likable, that he could almost make die-hards sympathize with positions they didn't take. He was great at the job, and he loved it. It was a gift, and he knew it.

Tony learned early about loss. His mother died when he was a kid, and she was only 37. He took good care of himself, but he understood that cancer could be lurking, as it was, and when it hit him, hard, he was as aggressive as you could be in fighting back. He wanted to live.

And live he did.

He loved being on television and radio, but he loved his job as press secretary even more. It was, he always said, the greatest job in the world. Unlike so many people who hold such jobs, and spend more time whining about the pay and the hours and the beatings they take from the media and the other side, Tony saw himself as lucky, blessed and grateful to be where he was. He had stared death down, and lived to travel the world with the President of the United States. How could he complain? He wore his yellow bracelet. He apologized when he was wrong. He tried to live as an example to other cancer patients, to show them that life doesn't end with a bad diagnosis, that illness can be a source of growth as much as font of pain.

If there were any justice, any fairness, any sense, I wouldn't be writing this right now.

The opening line of the news story this morning was that Tony "lost his fight with cancer." But that's all wrong. If cancer were a fair fight, Tony would have won. Losing implies that you could have won, might have won, had you done something more or different, had you been stronger or better. That's not how it works. Cancer is. Jerks sometimes survive it. Decent and honorable people sometimes are felled by it. It's not a fight; it's a plague.

Tony had a sweetness about him, a sweetness that, in the mean world that Washington and the media can be, sometimes led him to believe that everyone operated from the same place he did. We hung out together in New Hampshire four years ago, during the primary; I had rented a car, and he hadn't, and it was a measure of his courage, or foolhardiness that he would drive back and forth with me every day between the hotel in downtown Manchester and the FOX Box that was 20 minutes of winding roads away. I would regale him with gossip about who was doing what to whom, who was after whom, who was up and who was down, and he would gobble it up, wide-eyed. He was so earnest, so dear, he liked everyone and assumed the same about everyone else; he was honorable and honest, and assumed it about others. You are so naive, I used to say to him. He would shake his head.

But he wasn't really naive. He just knew what mattered and what didn't, what was worth caring about and what wasn't. He loved his Sunday show, but when he lost it, he didn't complain, he just turned his energy to radio. He loved being handsome and strong, but when cancer struck, and took that away, at least for a time, he didn't complain, he just fought it. He thought he had beaten cancer, but when he learned that he hadn't, that he wouldn't, he vowed to live with it, to be an example.

Our friend, our boss, Roger Ailes called him a "renaissance man." He was. Articulate, educated, informed, he was all those things. But for me, what defined him was not what was in his head but what was in his heart. He was a mensch. A good man died yesterday.

From northjersey.com:
Death of a hero
BY IAN O'CONNOR

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Death brought out the best in the ballplayer and the man. His teammate, Thurman Munson, died in a plane crash and Bobby Murcer offered up a eulogy straight from his broken heart.

"The life of a soul on earth lasts longer than his departure," Murcer read from the works of an educator named Angelo Patri. "He lives on in your life and the life of all others who knew him."

In the Bronx that night, the summer of '79, just weeks after he made it back home after his time with the Giants and Cubs, Murcer was finally bigger than the Yankee he was supposed to be, Mickey Mantle.

Murcer was the most genuine Yankee hero since the day Lou Gehrig declared himself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

Billy Martin didn't want to put him out there, didn't want him playing a game right after he buried his dear friend. Murcer insisted. He hit a three-run homer in the seventh and a two-run single in the ninth to beat the first-place Orioles and prove that there were indeed angels in the outfield, unseen forces conspiring to give Murcer his greatest game at his worst hour.

I'll never forget watching it on TV, nor will any member of a generation of boys who grew up imitating Murcer's stance and hoping against hope he could somehow rise to those comparisons to the Mick.

Murcer came out of Mantle's state, Oklahoma, and was signed by Mantle's scout, Tom Greenwade, and eventually landed in Mantle's position, center field.

He didn't have Mantle's career, and he didn't need to have that kind of career to go down among the most dignified figures in the history of America's most famous team.

"Bobby had such a pleasant way about him," Roy White said Saturday, "that he made it so easy to like him. We did a lot of talking about hitting. I was like his personal hitting coach back then. He'd say, ‘Hey Roy, watch me. What am I doing wrong?' But Bobby didn't do too much wrong."

Murcer came up a shortstop, White a second baseman. They both ended up in the outfield on Yankee teams that failed to honor the franchise's fabled past.

A wretched year at Shea Stadium, during the Bronx renovation, dramatically altered Murcer's career. He would be traded to the Giants for Bobby Bonds.

"If [Murcer] stayed in Yankee Stadium," White said, "with that perfect Yankee Stadium stroke, his stature as a player would be much greater today."

White hung on long enough to be part of the '77 and '78 championship teams, and was nearly named MVP of the '78 World Series. By the time Murcer made it back to the Bronx, the Yankees were done winning titles. He went hitless in the only three World Series at bats of his career in '81, when the Dodgers won in six.

But Murcer died Saturday a forever Yankee, anyway. "A born Yankee," George Steinbrenner called him.

Murcer was a five-time All-Star, a Gold Glove outfielder, and later a gentleman of the management suites and the broadcast booth.

He was also the maker of a Yankee Stadium moment that will survive the wrecking ball to come. On Aug. 6, 1979, "Bobby won a game all by himself," White said.

Murcer gave his bat to Munson's widow, Diana. Some 29 years later, gone at 62, Murcer leaves a legacy defined by his generosity of spirit and the courage he showed in living with brain cancer.

He didn't need to be Mickey Mantle to touch them all.

From The New York Post:
BOBBY WAS PINSTRIPED ICON, THEN & NOW
By MIKE VACCARO

July 13, 2008 --

COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. - This is one way to understand what the Yankees mean to the people, and to the sport, by coming to the Hall of Fame, by walking its corridors, by absorbing its displays and reading the plaques and shopping in the neighboring stores, where every other item is decorated by pinstripes and interlocking "NY."

For the last four decades, this was another way you could do that: You could spend a couple of minutes in the company of Bobby Murcer as he walked among the fans at Yankee Stadium, as he drank in every second of his time there, as he tried to prove, with every step he took, just how many people a single life can touch.

That life came to a quiet end yesterday, Bobby Murcer passing at age 62, ending a dignified battle that began when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor two winters ago.

Murcer will never earn a plaque here, and none of the Yankees teams he played on from 1966-74 or from 1979-82 will ever be celebrated with a display here. If Don Mattingly is the Yankee for whom most of the fans' empathy is reserved, then Murcer is a close second, since he did get a peek at the 1981 Series, even if he was far closer to the end of his career by then than the beginning.

But Murcer was every bit the Yankee that any of the Yankees crystallized in Cooperstown were. Because Murcer was forced to do what no other Yankee had ever been forced to do: He was the singular reason why a lot of Yankees fans bothered to come to The Bronx in the dark, desultory days of the last 1960s and early 1970s. Before him, Yankees had always danced on stardust. He was forced to trudge through the ashes of a fallen dynasty.

When the Yankees' kingdom collapsed, there was Murcer, and there was little else. There was Murcer, who'd come out of Oklahoma just like Mickey Mantle, who'd come up as a shortstop just like The Mick, then shifted to center field. He wore uniform No. 1, and he was the No. 1 attraction for some awful Yankees teams, playing a terrific center field, conforming his stroke to the Stadium's short porch.

A little piece of Murcer's soul was stolen forever when Gabe Paul shipped him west in exchange for Bobby Bonds. A few spring trainings ago, when Barry Bonds was doing something or other to aggravate or agitate, Murcer smiled and said: "I may be the only guy in the country who has a bigger problem with the father than the son. He's the guy who helped send me into exile."

It was an exile that ended on June 26, 1979, when the Cubs sent him back to The Bronx, and because baseball is a cruel game, that meant he missed out on a pair of Yankees championships. But it did allow him to spend a few more weeks around his closest baseball friend, Thurman Munson, a gift that became painfully poignant when Munson died in a plane crash in August.

It allowed Murcer his grandest moment as a Yankee, a bittersweet juxtaposition for which he will forever be remembered. The Monday following the accident he delivered a eulogy for his friend in Canton, Ohio, in the morning, and that night, after convincing Billy Martin (who, by then, had reclaimed No. 1, forcing Murcer to wear 2) to play him, he hit a home run and then drilled the game-winning RBI in the ninth inning to beat the first-place Orioles.

It was easy to forget that Murcer did have a fine career as a Yankee, highlighted by a 1971 season in which he hit .331 with 25 homers and 94 RBIs and an otherworldly on-base percentage of .427. He was a five-time All-Star. And he did get those innings in the 1981 Series.

He was admired for that. He became beloved later on, as an announcer, as an ambassador, as a humble messenger of all that's supposed to be right about baseball, and about human beings. We lose a terrific Yankee. But more important, we lose a tremendous person.

From The Daily News:
Bobby Murcer was prince of our city
By Mike Lupica

Saturday, July 12th 2008, 10:30 PM

This was April of 2007 at Yankee Stadium and Bobby Murcer had made it back to Yankee Stadium after being diagnosed with brain cancer the previous Christmas. I walked over to the YES broadcast booth and there he was, with less hair than he had when he had last left the place, but wearing the biggest smile in the place that day, because he was the happiest guy in the place. He was back. He was a Yankee again in Yankee Stadium.

"You don't make long-range plans anymore," he said. "Maybe nobody should ever do that. But you still set goals for yourself. And one of my goals was to make it back here."

Then we were talking about the first time he was ever inside Yankee Stadium, the old one. Bobby Murcer, Yankee, was telling about September of 1965, when he was a couple of years out of high school in Oklahoma and had hit the ball around pretty good in Greensboro that year and somehow it was enough to get him a September call-up with the big club.

He was the hot kid in those days, out of Oklahoma, so there was all the Mickey Mantle stuff from the start. And even then he knew you weren't a real Yankee until you were a Yankee in Yankee Stadium. But first, Bobby Murcer said, you had to get inside.

"I got lost the first day," he said.

I said, "On your way from the city?"

"On my way from 161st St.," he said. "I was staying at the old Concourse Plaza on the Grand Concourse, and I got to the ballpark all right. But once I did, I didn't know where I was supposed to go in."

He finally found the right entrance, and when he did, he went straight to the field, and wasn't the first to ever say "it was about the biggest place I'd ever seen in my life." The entrance he finally found was the entrance to the rest of his life, a life that saw him become as popular as any living Yankee, a life that finally ended much too soon because of cancer Saturday, Bobby Murcer, Yankee, dead at the age of 62.

You can look up some of his numbers, because they are better than you think, because he was an All-Star in both leagues and hit .331 once. They traded him away for Bobby Bonds and then he ended up with the Cubs, and then finally the Yankees did the right thing and brought him home, in 1979. Once he was home, he never really left.

Murcer played out his career as a Yankee, even made it to the World Series finally in 1981. Then he went to the broadcast booth, brought all he knew about the game and all he knew about his team along with him, brought that Oklahoma voice and charm and decency most of all. If you knew him, and I was lucky enough to know him for 30 years, first as a player and then as a broadcaster, you knew what a gent he was.

There was a reason why Murcer's teammates loved him the way they did and why Yankee fans loved him the way they did. He was as good a man as you think he was, never better than he was these last years facing a certain death from a cancer that nobody comes back from.

"Don't you feel sorry for me," he said that day last season, what really was his last full season as a Yankee in Yankee Stadium. He pointed to my notebook and said, "Don't write any sad stories about me. I've had a wonderful life. And every day I ever spent here" - he pointed out at the most famous green grass in this world - "was a good day."

I kept that notebook knowing I would need it someday, hoping it wouldn't be nearly this soon.

That day last April Bobby Murcer talked about the most famous day he ever spent at the new Yankee Stadium, in 1979. It was the night he and his teammates flew right back from the funeral of his dear friend Thurman Munson because there was a game to be played that night, against the Orioles.

All Yankee fans know what happened, of course. Know that Murcer, who had given one of the eulogies in Ohio, grieving as much as anybody in the ballpark that night, hit a three-run home run and then a two-run single in the bottom of the ninth to win the game, 5-4, for the Yankees. It was the night when Murcer showed everybody just how much of a Yankee he was.

"Yankee for Life" was the title of his wonderful autobiography, written with Glen Waggoner and published not long ago. He had to cut short his book tour, then he was back in the hospital, then you knew there would be no more good news about him. Just the news that finally came Saturday.

There will be a moment of silence for him Tuesday night, at the All-Star Game. Then one last time they will cheer Bobby Murcer big at Yankee Stadium, the biggest place the kid from Oklahoma ever saw, this time to the heavens.

From Newsday.com:
How Bobby Murcer was a big deal to me
Ken Davidoff

July 13, 2008

My specific age, and my timeline of baseball consciousness, gave me a unique introduction to Bobby Murcer. When the Yankees reacquired him in a June 26, 1979 trade with the Cubs, I didn't even know he had played for the Yankees previously.

The hoopla over his return perplexed me. It's not as if his 1978 and 1979 baseball cards had "All-Star" on them.

"What's the big deal about this guy?" I wondered.

But when Bobby Ray Murcer left us yesterday, way too soon at age 62, it was a very big deal to me.

Baseball is losing one of its bona fide gentlemen, and really, that only touches the surface concerning this man. He was a beautiful human being, someone who always had a smile at the ready and possessed a gift for making everyone feel important, no matter where he or she stood on society's totem pole.

I knew Bobby only as a broadcaster, and even among that subset, I can't profess to having been extraordinarily close with him. But to merely spend time around Bobby for about a 13-year period, to simply know each other on a first-name basis, was close enough to know what kind of man he was.

There's forever a cultural divide between the athletes and the people who cover them, and that's totally understandable. Yet Bobby gracefully straddled that tightrope, treating those like myself with complete respect while never losing that sense of camaraderie among the current Yankees players.

My personal memories are not of his playing or his broadcasting, but of personal greetings and conversations. I remember introducing him to my wife at the Yankees' hotel in Seattle, as we headed out for a Saturday morning walk, and how Bobby couldn't have been friendlier.

I recall that he returned my call the night Catfish Hunter died in 1999, channeling his grief in a way that both honored Catfish's memory and helped me do my job.

I can picture speaking with him on the artificial turf of what then was known as SkyDome in Toronto, the day before the Yankees' season opener in 2003, discussing the team's chances for that year, evaluating decisions the front office had made the previous offseason. I was struck by how engaged in our conversation he seemed, throwing all sorts of questions at me.

And I'll never forget seeing him for the last time, earlier this year at Yankee Stadium. It was one of the few games he broadcast this season before his declining health forced him to leave the booth.

He was the most popular man in the clubhouse that day, so I got in a handshake, a shoulder tap and a "Great to see you" and let him get on his way. But I watched him receive a non-stop procession of well- wishers, that glowing smile never leaving his face, and I remember feeling such warmth just from being in his presence.

During the last few weeks, as coincidence had it, I had been reading Bobby's book, "Yankee For Life," on my subway commutes to and from work. It's an extraordinary book; to group it with "jock lit" doesn't begin to do it justice.

Co-author Glen Waggoner did a brilliant job of capturing Bobby's voice and his personality. You see his unconditional love for his wife, Kay, to whom he yields several passages. You see his self-deprecating humor.

And at the beginning and end, you read how he took this de facto death sentence, the brain cancer that took him away from us, and how he vowed to make the most of what he had left. To cherish every moment he had with his family, and his Yankees family, and his gigantic circle of admirers.

I finished the book Wednesday morning, on my way to the Stadium, and I got choked up, just from the power of his words and message.

If you never met Bobby Murcer, you missed out. If you read his book, you'll get a pretty good feel for the man he was.

And you'll understand, I hope, why everyone who had the honor of knowing him is in mourning today.

From Newsday.com:
Murcer a good guy bigger than his baseball skills
Shaun Powell

July 13, 200

He was a nice man, seemed like a loyal and devoted husband, father and friend. If you left out the other part, about how he was a very good baseball player in his day, Bobby Murcer probably wouldn't have minded much.

By omitting the baseball segment of his life, it would suggest that his character was far superior to anything he ever did in the game, which was substantial. He'd appreciate that, because above all, whether you knew him as an All-Star Yankees outfielder or a honey-voiced Yankees broadcaster, Murcer was one of the good guys. He came as advertised. What you saw on the field and heard over the air was exactly what he was all about.

He loved baseball. He loved people even more.

Maybe that's why a good many hankies are moist right now, the day after he lost a tough battle with brain cancer, because lots of people loved Murcer back.

Murcer was the most popular Yankee in the 1970s before they started winning championships again. Consider that for a moment. The Yankees during that time were nothing special, a once-proud franchise that had lost plenty of championship luster and mystique. The team was in transition from the Mickey Mantle years, which raises another point: Murcer, because of who he was and what he stood for, did not suffer for acceptance when he essentially replaced Mantle on the field and in the hearts of Yankees fans.

You think just anyone could've pulled that off?

No, not really. It took a special person to ace that assignment, which Murcer did, all because he was a superb player and an even better human being.

Above all, more than being a baseball player, Murcer had a moral compass and a good soul. He married his high school sweetheart, Kay. He devoted two years of his youth to fulfill his military obligation, and he did so without complaining, even though a promising baseball career was placed on hold. He demonstrated great respect for Mantle, who like Murcer was an Oklahoma boy, and the history of the Yankees.

And he respected the game. That showed whenever he put on a uniform.

Right away, Murcer carved himself a place in Yankees history. He was a borderline American League MVP for much of the early '70s. He hit for power and average and played a decent enough outfield. He hit .331 one year, led his club in home runs six times and was a five-time All-Star. From a production standpoint, you could count on Murcer to smack 25 or so homers and a bunch of big hits every season. He successfully bridged the gap between Mantle and Reggie Jackson. You could say he was the face of a mostly faceless Yankees era.

People loved him. Murcer made $100,000 a year back when $100,000 was a lot of money, and nobody begrudged him that salary or made a huge stink about it.

Remember, this was a time when a disconnect began to wedge between ballplayers and Joe Fan; big salaries in sports were on the rise and the average guy couldn't relate to the Joe Namaths and others. Somehow, though, they continued to relate to Murcer.

The Murcer they knew was the guy who sniffled his way through a eulogy for Thurman Munson, then hit a three-run homer and a walk-off two-run single against the Orioles that night as a tribute to his teammate. They also knew him as a pallbearer at Mantle's funeral and a player who was liked by everyone: teammates, fans, media.

It was no surprise that Murcer, after retiring, turned to broadcasting. It allowed him to be welcomed into everyone's living room. On the air, he was never brash or abrasive or talked down to the audience. He was Bobby, a regular guy who knew a thing or two about the game and made you smarter just by listening to him.

He complained of headaches around the holidays in 2006 and was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was discovered to be malignant a few weeks later. Amazingly, through it all, through the surgery and the treatment, he remained the same old Bobby, never feeling sorry for himself, always valuing another day of life, always working hard to return to doing what he loved: talking baseball and coming into your living room.

As we prepare for the All-Star Game and an onslaught of egos invading a city full of them, this is the right time to step back and appreciate a person who perfectly fit the definition of an All-Star.

Oh, and as a player, he wasn't too shabby, either.

From chicagotribune.com:
Bobby Murcer 1946 ~ 2008
Cubs' Piniella shaken by Murcer's death
Death of his friend,
former teammate has Piniella shaken
By Paul Sullivan

Chicago Tribune reporter

July 13, 2008

Cubs manager Lou Piniella was visibly shaken when he heard the news of Bobby Murcer's death after Saturday's 8-7 victory over San Francisco.

The two had been longtime friends since their days playing together with the New York Yankees.

Murcer, a five-time All-Star outfielder who spent nearly four decades with the Yankees as a player, executive and announcer, died Saturday at 62 in his hometown of Oklahoma City due to complications from brain cancer.

"It's a sad day," Piniella said. "Just a wonderful person and a great teammate and a heck of a baseball player. It's just terrible. …

"I knew he was struggling, but you just don't think these sort of things happen, but they do. But my thoughts and [my wife] Anita's thoughts are with Kay [Murcer] and his kids. A terrible, terrible day."

Piniella plans on attending the services for Murcer, which will be held in the next few days in Oklahoma over the All-Star break.

Piniella recalled one of Murcer's greatest moments, on Aug. 6, 1979, when after delivering the eulogy at the funeral of their close friend, Yankees catcher Thurman Munson, Murcer hit a three-run homer and a game-winning two-run single in a 5-4 victory over Baltimore.

Piniella pointed to Murcer's book, "Yankee for Life: My 40-Year Journey in Pinstripes," which was on his office desk. "What can I say? We're thinking about him," he said.

Murcer also played for the Cubs from 1977-79 after arriving from San Francisco in a controversial trade for Bill Madlock. Murcer had made his major-league debut as a 19-year-old in 1965. After serving in the Army during the 1967-68 seasons, Murcer homered on Opening Day in front of President Richard Nixon in 1969 at Washington to launch a career as a full-time player.

"Bobby Murcer was a born Yankee, a great guy, very well-liked and a true friend of mine," Yankees owner George Steinbrenner said.

"I will really miss the guy."

The only person to play with both Mickey Mantle and Don Mattingly, the popular Murcer hit .277 with 252 home runs and 1,043 RBIs in 17 seasons with the Yankees, Giants and Cubs.

From Newsday.com:
Bobby Murcer's finest moment

July 13, 2008

Bobby Murcer was a clutch hitter and a dependable outfielder, a mainstay in two different tenures with the Yankees.

Although he never led the Yankees to a world championship - he came up in 1965 and was one of their few stars during the post-dynasty years, then returned in 1979 during another drought - he did lead them to an extraordinarily emotional victory over the Baltimore Orioles on Aug. 6, 1979.

During the day, the Yankees attended the funeral of catcher Thurman Munson, who had died in a plane crash four days earlier. Murcer delivered one of the eulogies for his best friend, quoting philosopher Angelo Patri: "The life of a soul on Earth lasts longer than his departure. He lives on in your life and the life of all others who knew him."

The funeral was held in Canton, Ohio, and the Yankees flew back to New York for a game that night against Baltimore. Manager Billy Martin wanted to give Murcer the night off, but Murcer insisted on playing.

The Yankees trailed 4-0 in the seventh when Murcer hit a three-run homer to rightfield off Dennis Martinez. In the ninth, he lined a two-run single down the leftfield line off Tippy Martinez to win the game.

Murcer collapsed into the arms of teammate Lou Piniella after the game.

"There is no way to explain what happened," Murcer said. "We used every ounce of strength to go out and play that game. We won it for Thurman."

From Newsday.com:
The other broadcasters loved him, too

July 13, 2008

TIM McCARVER

"I worked with Bobby for three years with the Yankees and my heart goes out to Kay and Bobby's family. They're terrific people.

"I think by me talking about that further, about what kind of man Bobby was, is simply someone emphasizing the obvious. He was such a beloved figure with the New York Yankees and more than anything - before I compose myself ... [McCarver choked up at this point] ... It's very difficult to talk about - he was a terrific player, but more than anything, a terrific guy.

"You hear that often immediately when people pass away, but I can't mean it in any more of a heartfelt way."



McCARVER'S MEMORIES OF MURCER

"David Cone's perfect game in 1999 comes to mind initially. But more things like having dinner on the road, being with him all the time. It was very, very difficult to get through the broadcast today."



HOWIE ROSE

"I like to think we can see through people pretty effectively in New York. There was not an ounce of pretense in him whatsoever. He was self-deprecating, he was warm, he was a great storyteller. He just exuded baseball with every ounce of his being.

"He was just one of those guys you just felt so comfortable being around. We didn't have anything in common in terms of the teams we worked for, or much else for that matter.

"This just stinks. It hit me like a ton of bricks on the air because we didn't expect it to happen so soon.

"We used to argue in high school, position by position. We used to have some good ones with Tommie Agee and Bobby Murcer. I just felt badly for Bobby when the Yankees turned around in '76, '77 and '78 that he wasn't part of it. And for that reason, anybody who knew him at all was happy that he was part of the '81 team that won the pennant. Guys like him and Roy White deserved to be a part of it."