It began way back in July of 1966 with the release of Leslie H. Martinson’s Batman the Movie. Following in the wake and campy spirit of Adam West’s successful television Batman (based himself on the then-campy comic), this first attempt portrayed the Caped Crusader as a blue-clad boy scout with his own honorary police badge. It was fun, kids loved it, but fans of Bob Kane’s original brooding creation avoided it, shaking their heads in shame.

Reduced to a dated joke, Batman was left to comic books for the next twenty years. Which proved to be his redemption. 1986 saw the publication of the now-legendary Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, the brainchild of comics whiz and life-long Bat-fan Frank Miller. In what is now considered by many to be the greatest graphic novel ever published, Batman exploded out of the mire as a brutal, aging vigilante, fighting law enforcement as much as he fought mutant criminals.

Miller followed Knight in 1989 with Batman: Year One, another critically acclaimed and popular sensation. One retroactively fitted a young Batman with the same sense of rage and disregard for the law that Miller had imbued into his aged Bruce Wayne in Knight. In three years Batman had been completely revived in the spirit of Bob Kane, and fans both ancient and in middle school approved enthusiastically, buying up anything with a bat-logo on it.

There would be no better time to bring the franchise back to the big screen, and Warner Bros. knew it. So enter Tim Burton’s first stab at franchise, the aptly named Batman, with its solitary bat-logo movie poster. 80s king Michael Keaton became the Dark Knight, now actually dark in his black rubber suit. His Bruce Wayne was emotionally secure and too smiley, but got the job done. Gotham was acceptably art-noir. Jack Nicholson freaked everyone out as the Joker. The kids, even if they were slightly older now, still loved it.

Burton and Keaton both returned for the obligatory sequel in 1992, the again aptly named Batman Returns. Returns held true to Burton’s original vision, and this time pitted the Bat against Michelle Pfeiffer’s deranged Catwoman, and Danny DeVito’s walking therapy convention Penguin. The production was excellent. The acting was above par. The story was true to the spirit of the comic. A sure formula for success.

Well, with the Bat-fans, yes. But for the first time, not so with the kids. Like Miller’s comic, Returns was a heavy psychological tragedy. What had seemed so standard in graphic form was suddenly scaring away legions of younger fans. Batman was supposed to be dark, but not this dark. Tim Burton had pushed it too far.

So what now? Studio execs were no doubt confused. Audiences wanted a dark Batman, but not too dark. A happy medium had to be found, to cater to the widest range of Bat-fans, young and old – a difficult task, which would require supreme talents and lots of creative elbow grease. Or conversely, the dark Batman had to be completely abandoned to appeal to the largest possible audience – a move that would push the character back towards Adam West and drive away the loyalists, but make the studio the greatest amount of money. In typical Hollywood fashion, Warner Bros. went for the money.

Thus began the reign of studio lapdog Joel Schumacher and the infamous nipple suit. Batman Forever, debuting in 1995, offered Val Kilmer as a hedonistic pretty-boy Bruce Wayne. Thanks to a complete lack of characterization, Kilmer’s Wayne seemingly donned the rubber bat-suit simply to show off its impressively sculpted chest.

Schumacher’s willful stylistic implication that the bat-chest was primarily intended to impress Chris O’Donnell’s similarly clad Robin didn’t help matters. Rumors began to circulate about what exactly was going on in the Bachelors’ Bat-Cave after the sun went down. Jim Carrey’s mincing Riddler only added fuel to a raging fire of Bat-fan dissatisfaction. Adam West’s campiness had been one thing. Burton’s typically weird dark tendencies another. But Schumacher’s blatant appeal to a certain group of fans took the cake. Claims that the flamboyancy and bright colors were meant to appeal primarily to children fell on deaf ears. Joel Schumacher had brought Batman out of the closet, and the fans, and Middle America, no longer wanted anything to do with him.

Schumacher was given a chance to redeem himself two years later with Batman & Robin. He failed spectacularly by actually exaggerating the most hated aspects of Forever, as well as further dispensing with such trivialities as plot and characterization. The mess that fell into theaters stared George Clooney as the Bruce/Batman puppet; flavor of the year Alicia Silverstone was a wholly unimpressive Batgirl; and in one of the worst casting decisions ever made, Arnold Schwarzenegger became supposed intellectual villain Mr. Freeze. Despite a shamelessly gratuitous advertising campaign – many McDonald’s restaurants still have Batman and Girl airbrushed on their respective restroom doors – the so-called film was panned by critics and snubbed by audiences. Batman had only been out of retirement for eleven years, but everyone was demanding he go back. And take his whiney boyfriend with him.

The next eight years found Batman exclusively in the world of graphics. It was a good place for him, and he did well. Though comic sales plummeted overall throughout the nineties, Batman remained one of the most popular. He was helped by Fox’s “Batman: the Animated Series”, a supposed kid’s show that somehow managed to present the perfectly balanced Batman. The DVD release of “Batman: the Animated Series”, as well as his permanent place on Cartoon Network’s “Justice League”, added to a resurgent interest in him following 9/11. The world had suddenly become a scarier place, a dark place, a place in many ways suddenly resembling Gotham City on a good day. And if the world was even the least bit like Gotham, it was sure to need a Batman to keep the peace.

Enter Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale with Batman Begins. Relying heavily on Miller’sYear One, Nolan has crafted a movie that not only does justice to the comic that inspired it but also transcends it. Never before have Bat-fans been able to completely trust a movie version of their hero. This is no longer the case.

Bale’s Bruce Wayne is antisocial and emotionally unstable. Since the murder of his parents he has been deeply tormented by a dark manifestation of his pain. It threatens to drive him off the deep end if he doesn’t put on a bullet-proof black leotard and repel along Gotham’s high-rises each night. It’s an embarrassing and tragic state of affairs, one which encourages Bruce to hide his identity as the Batman. Not to protect his love ones, like Superman (he has none); instead, it is to keep from further shaming his family’s illustrious name with his irrational nocturnal antics. Bale’s Wayne desperately needs therapy, and probably medication. But instead, he has learned to wield his inner darkness against those similar to the man who first unleashed it within him. He uses his pain to spare others from it. Who could claim a more righteous crusade, or righteous crusader? Bale’s Batman is indeed a dark knight.

At such a time as the present – when millions suffer openly from clinical depression, as well as anxiety about their daily safety and the safety of the world – Batman remains one of only a few traditional superheroes to remain relatable. America is more like Gotham City now than ever before, and Americans have never wanted a Batman, or to become Batmen, more.

No doubt the end-run receipts of Batman Begins will bear this out with gusto.