Part of the charm of the comic book and earlier film versions of Batman was a tongue-in-cheek, even dare we say it in an Anglican magazine, slightly camp quality.

Don’t expect any of that in this latest version. Batman has no room for Robin now, only The Joker played with torrid intensity by Heath Ledger in his final role, sucking up all the emotional energy of the big screen. It would be hard to live a normal life after such a performance.

It’s the axis of evil and good, swaying between these two mythic characters, that shapes this Hollywood epic. Already a box office hit, it provides a huge audience with the nearest thing to Theology 101 that they’re likely to see this year.

Some will celebrate that opportunity, but it’s well-muddled theology being served up here. A Manichean version with the forces of evil always tipping the balance. Unlike John Milton’s Paradise Lost, or John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the devil doesn’t know he’s beaten before he starts in this movie. As The Joker says to Batman, “we complete each other,”

In this moral universe, the future is determined by the flip of a double-headed coin, chaos is normal, and even your Caped Crusader hero kicks heads with the impunity of a Springbok front-row forward on speed.

And the movie doesn’t end with much promise of redemption. It didn’t send the teenagers that filled the theatre I sat in with much hope to take away, which is perhaps why they left so much popcorn behind on their seats. Even the technology fails as the final scenes seem to be setting us up for an even darker sequel.

And dark it is. Violent and graphic enough to make me close my eyes frequently. The Joker is a scarred and tortured figure, but even more so is the handsome good guy avenger District Attorney who ends up losing half his face. At least I think he did as I peeped through my fingers.

So what is all this brooding, bloody disfigurement doing in a comic book hero movie that we watch for fun and laughter?
Personally, I think it’s a movie by Americans about America and that nation’s doomed oil-drilling adventure in Iraq. (On that level, you have to admire the devastating self-criticism.)

The Joker is frequently made to look like a suicide bomber, right down to the dynamite sticks in the lining of his long coat. The constant explosions on crowded streets of Gotham City, even in its hospitals, the casual carnage of innocent people all remind you of the latest report from Baghdad on the 6pm News.

Even the Batmobile looks more than ever like an US Army tank, until its wrecked frame releases the Batbike with engine and tyres five times the size of the biggest Harley Davidson.

This is not the cinema of unease that Kiwi film makers are accused of producing. This is all about disease.

What do decent people do when they’re caught in such bloody situations of indecency? That question is asked often in this movie (as it is constantly by those Americans trying to find a way out of their war) and never answered, except to ask for our sympathy and understanding. Just as Condeelezza Rice did in Auckland on the weekend the film opened.

This Dark Knight has no white horse but it is a clever piece of film making. It’s a mass-market movie with huge metaphysical and theological pretensions. There is raw material for a dozen study groups.

It offers a lively night out, without the children, but not a comfortable one. The moral ambiguity of the story is endless, and its power as a political parable is very disturbing.

John Bluck retires as Bishop of Waiapu midway through August.