Gotham Was Fascinatingly Weird—And Sometimes That’s Just What a Batman Story Needs
Photo Courtesy of FOX
When Gotham premiered on FOX in September 2014, the general consensus was that it would be Batman’s answer to Smallville: an origin series that took Bruce Wayne from young orphan to Caped Crusader. The Superman prequel had been born amidst a sea of teen dramas like Felicity and Dawson’s Creek, over a decade before something like The CW’s Arrowverse would redefine how we approached live action superheroes on TV. A kind of slow-burning series filled with adolescent angst and filled with nods towards the fantastical aspect of Batman’s wider world seemed not just natural but inevitable.
But Gotham didn’t do that. Not even a little bit.
Gotham was a weird show. And considering that we’re in line for more series based on Batman characters (two spinoffs of The Batman film, one based around Colin Farrell’s Penguin and the other dealing with Gotham’s Police Department, are planned for HBO Max), it’s ripe for revisiting. Because while Smallville was a constant balancing act between its comic book expectations and teen drama reality, expanding its landscapes at a rate that was comforting to newcomers of the universe, Gotham had a habit of throwing all of its chips down with every new hand. Go Gotham or go home.
The pilot is a perfect example of its chaotic ethos: It not only manages to introduce Thomas, Martha and Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle, Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Carmine Falcone, Renee Montoya, Crispus Allen, Edward Nygma, Ivy Pepper, Sarah Essen, Barbara Kean, and Oswald Cobblepot, but it also makes a major villain out of Fish Mooney, an original character played by Jada Pinkett Smith in a performance that threatens to devour everything around her. It’s both an exercise in rampant world-building and an attempt to give its (hopefully) Batman-literate audience their money’s worth. Every other scene is crafted to elicit the reaction of “Ooooh, I know THAT guy.”
When it comes to live-action Batman efforts, there is a pretty singular approach. Most of them are limited by the fact that they are movies with a planned start and finish. Whatever plotline and villain scheme that’s born at the beginning has to be wrapped up by the end. It’s why Batman films tend to cycle through a villain or two in each movie, wiping out the old set by the time the credits roll. Crafting a universe that feels like the comics requires copious multi-film contracts, promises of sequels, and an extensively planned narrative. Even Christopher Nolan, who directed arguably the most fan-friendly Batman adaptations thus far, was content to work on each film as if it would be the last one.
With over 20 episodes per season for most of its run (its last was an abridged 12), Gotham had room to play around and make a total mess, throwing the city’s residents at you like it was working through a checklist on Wikipedia. Whatever gritty tone was planned at the beginning was quickly tossed out the window. Episode 2’s villains were child traffickers. By Episode 3, the bad guy was a man who tied people to balloons and just kinda watched them fly away. The heavy focus on relatively down-to-earth mob antics in the first season was quickly abandoned. Gotham was on an unstoppable path to becoming a bizarre collage of assorted pieces of Batman history.