The Dark Knight Rises was a flawed but perfectly apt capper on Christopher Nolan’s Batman miniseries, a true trilogy in the sense that it’s an integral continuation of developments and themes from the first two films and wraps up loose ends we didn’t even realize were unraveled. Its marathon length was no deterrent to me, but some of its minutes could have been used to better effect.

The parts that rose above:

Joseph Gordon-Levitt. John Blake is a police officer who’s far from ordinary. Unlike some of his coworkers, he’s brave, intelligent, detail-oriented, forthright, beholden to an even higher moral standard than some of our returning characters, and eminently promotable. Blake is a solid example of heroism without a mask, exemplifying one of the film’s crucial themes in a fashion that begs for a spinoff. Too bad it won’t happen and the inevitable franchise reboot will hew more closely to DC’s New 52 instead. Alas. Extra-alas, even.

Anne Hathaway. I’ve never been a fan of Catwoman in any medium. Old folks swoon at Julie Newmar’s version, but to me she always came off as a bored upper-class socialite, none of which elicits sympathy or interest from me. Hathaway’s version is resourceful but not infallible, feminist but not man-hating, morally conflicted but not arbitrary, strong but occasionally vulnerable, and ultimately more complex than the antihero sexpot drawn as a boy-toy in the kind of comics I tend to avoid. I could get used to this version, but I doubt I’ll ever be given the chance for a satisfying encore.

Matthew Modine is alive! Granted, his high-ranking police character is the standard irritating meddler whose mislaid priorities are great for ruining everything, but it’s nice to know he’s still in the business. I can’t remember the last time I saw his name in new credits.

Echoes of The Wire. Some reviews complained that the first hour takes its time in revving its engines and overflows with too many characters and subplots for their meager mental scorecards to track. I’ve experienced this storytelling mode before and had no problem following along or staying engaged. Added bonus for those who were similarly reminded: single-scene parts for two veterans of The Wire — Aidan Gillen as a blustery CIA man, and Robert Wisden obscured under helmet and mustache as a military guard.

More Bruce Wayne, less Batman. When I was a kid, I used to throw a fit whenever an episode of a super-hero TV show (e.g., The Incredible Hulk) only had the main man in full hero gear for ninety seconds an episode. In Nolan’s playground, I’m fine with this. Bale’s complicated Wayne has always fascinated me more than his in-costume throaty whisper-snarling.

The surprises were genuinely surprising. I stayed 95% spoiler-free and found myself successfully blindsided at one character’s jaw-dropping revelation. I could’ve seen it coming if I’d thought harder about certain aspects of the trilogy, but didn’t. Well played. Also, cameos from returning players were all fun to varying degrees.

Most of my other thoughts and complaints occur in the second half of the film and require a courtesy spoiler alert. If you’re waiting for the Blu-ray release, or were busy all weekend, now’s a good time to bail out. If you’d like, you can pretend the entry ends here and I had nothing but nice things to say about the movie. Please allow this Bat-bouncer to escort you to the less magical side of the velvet rope, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

The parts that floated around in the middle:

A red digital readout! I couldn’t help thinking of Roger Ebert’s lifelong complaints about ths recurring movie motif. I can’t believe his review didn’t mention its presence here.

Batwing/Batplane/”The Bat”/whatever explodes, of course. It almost never fails: anytime Batman travels in a Bat-aircraft in any medium, it’s inevitably doomed to a fiery crash. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed. Its use was more thrilling than the trailers let on, but it was no less destructible. Batman just can’t have nice flying things.

Nagging plot question answered just in time.  During the chaos at City Hall, I wondered why Bane’s goons bothered keeping Marion Cotillard’s Samantha Tate alive. By that point they had what they needed from her and from Wayne Enterprises. Why didn’t they just end her? Did they forget about here? A few minutes later, I had my answer, couldn’t believe the answer, and wanted to pound my forehead against the seat in front of me.

The scene after the Dark Knight Rises credits. There isn’t one — just a second DKR title card and the WB logo. But someone out there in Internetland will ask.

The parts that sank:

Detrimental event acceleration. Despite a running time of 164 minutes without ads, every subplot begs for more space to unfold, resulting in character developments that progress through time without benefit of proper emotional build. After a handful of initial scenes, Ms. Tate is promoted from pesky environmentalist to Wayne CEO to Bruce Wayne’s bed-buddy in no time flat. Catwoman graduates from wanted thief to ally in record time, well before her allegiance becomes a recurring issue. I have no idea if any scenes were deleted, but such developed could have unfolded more naturally if a luxurious Lord of the Rings run-time had been permitted, as if the final cut weren’t already a stiff test of audience patience.

Bruce Wayne, medical marvel. When the film begins Eight Years Later, Bruce Wayne has had entire bones atrophy into so much cartilage, has a litany of other chronic injuries recited to him, has to walk with a cane, and later requires a leg brace to regain a fraction of normal mobility. After four months of captivity in a primitive prison, his old injuries are easily ignored, his leg bone is apparently regrown, and his massive spinal trauma is cured with Eastern single-punch surgery. That’s life for a billionaire with the best health insurance, I guess.

Arts not nearly martial enough. Tom Hardy shows off some leftover style from Warrior, but Batman continues his track record of displaying an unexciting repertoire of fight moves. In Batman Begins his acuity was simulated by the kind of split-second fight-editing that can turn any ordinary body movement (punching, kicking, answering the phone, wiping dust off a shoe) into a spry jolt of super ninja lightning. The Dark Knight sidestepped the issue by providing two opponents who weren’t quite Olympic athletes and therefore required no intricate fight skills. Here, we’re reminded that Batman is supposed to possess League of Shadows elite training, but he felt more like an actor in a suit performing everyday fight-scene choreography as quickly as humanly possible in fifty-pound restraints. I wanted Bruce Lee (or at least Jason Scott Lee), but what I got was a step above the Burton/Schumacher Batman, who was more of a tech geek than a skilled melee combatant.

Dialogue denied for the hearing impaired. I’m not deaf, but my hearing is not great. Sometimes I have a hard time catching dialogue run through filters. Sometimes it can also take me a while to get used to new accents, even at theatrical volume. Bane combined both of these and added unpredictable word choices from a prodigious vocabulary several castes above his prison upbringing. Thankfully the other theater patrons kept their mouths shut and their snacks un-crinkled so I could concentrate. Even so, I still missed out on several of Bane’s pretentious lines. This especially aggravated me because the pretentious lines I could understand made me yearn for more. Intelligibility worsened when Bane’s he-man Auto-Tune faced off against Bale’s growly Bat-bark, which also struggled for articulation in some of his louder, angrier line readings. Some of their fight banter sounded to me like two macho guys arguing through dueling twenty-year-old drive-thru speakers. Once I own the movie on home video, I hope the subtitles come with a Permanent On setting.

Bane’s demotion and defeat. Batman and Bane endure two complete fights, and begin to set up for what I thought would be knock-down drag-out grand finale. Then we find out Bane isn’t the genius behind the scenes, just a thuggish lapdog following orders from the real mastermind. So much for all his dramatic buildup. And then, moments before entering the ring for the final time, someone not even in the fight enters the ring, fires a single weapon, and ends the bout before the round even began. I had a brief hope of him rubbing some dirt on his chest, shrugging it off, and standing up for one last throwdown. Never happened. Such an ignominous end for a villain who deserved an honorable defeat at Batman’s own hand, not his sidekick paying homage to Indiana Jones and the swordsman.

John Blake’s real first name. Oh, come ON.