Batman Arkham Knight: Joker’s Cremation, Pauli’s Diner

So it’s 2015, and I had played Arkham City and Arkham Asylum so I knew that the Joker was dead (spoilers, by the way), but when I sat in the room with my ex-wife, her brother and sister, and her sister’s child-hood friend, I had not expected the character to great me one more time as we booted up Arkham Knight on the brand new PS4.  

The lights were off leaving the only source of light the dimly colored television screen.  The Joker rested on his back smiling serenely and as I waited, holding the controller in my hands, I braced myself for a cheap jump-scare.  But it didn’t come.  Frank Sinatra was singing “Under my Skin” in the background, a music selection choice that turned out to be a perfect example of how music can and should be employed narratively in games.  At some point we all began to wonder if the game was glitching, a reasonable assumption since it was just released.  The weight of the PS4 controller rested in my hands and at some point I thought, “screw it,” and pressed one of the buttons. 

The chemical noise of air sucking up into combustion was heard, and fire began to appear beneath Joker.  I did this a few more times, testing this ignition process, and watching Joker’s skin go from his pale white to a pungent pink.  Finally, realizing what was actually happening, and that the opening of this game required me to set Joker’s corpse on fire, I held the action button down and watched as fire filled the screen.

This is the very first playable section of the game Arkham Knight, and what follows is just as surreal.

On a side note, I forgot to check whether the flower in the lapel burns.  You’d think after igniting The Joker on fire well over twenty times I’d have noticed that by now.

I’m given a minute or two of commentary by Commissioner Gordon, the eternally aging yet always middle-aged Commissioner of Gotham voiced perfectly by Jonathan Banks.  I’m told that Joker is dead, crime rates in the City of Gotham fall, and that everyone was waiting for the next big event.

It happens on Halloween.

I’m given first-hand control of a GCPD officer by the name of Owens who visits Pauli’s Diner.  He orders pancakes with bacon, asks the waitress not to tell his wife, and has a moment to himself before a customer walks over to ask him if he could speak with one of the patron’s who’s smoking in the corner booth.  Once again I’m given control of the officer and am given limited mobility to explore the diner and overhear some conversations taking place.  Most of these are innocuous and forgettable so I head to the booth.  

I hear a patron cough before it all happens. 

The first ten times I played the game I missed that cough.

I don’t know how I did but I did. 

I approach the hooded figure who’s staring at their phone absentmindedly.  A red backpack sits on the table, a faint orange miasma floats up from the bag.  Officer Owens tells the man the restaurant is non-smoking.

A demon with empty black orbs for eyes, and festering sharp teeth spins around.  

Somewhere a loud drum strikes.  

Officer Owens is thrown into the wall as the world turns orange and the tiles of the restaurant begin to peel away.

When I’m given control of officer Owens again, the world has turned into hell, and the customers of Pauli’s Diner are all demons punching and biting each other or slamming their heads into the floor.  One of these demons spots me, and moves to attack.

It’s here that I’m given a choice: I can either shoot the demon and defend myself, or I can let it take me.  Either choice is only delaying the inevitable moment when I’m finally  knocked unconscious.

Another cut-scene plays setting up the rest of the story:  Scarecrow’s back, he has a new toxin, Gotham is evacuated, Two-face and Penguin shoot a police officer, and Gordon lets us know that there’s only one person who can save us: Zendaya.

Batman, sorry, I meant Batman.

From this point on the player will play exclusively as Batman (at least during the main game if you don’t include the Batmobile and a few moments where you control Robin, Nightwing, or Catwoman), and while there is a wealth of material to critically unpack and discuss about Arkham Knight I thought, while I was writing my review of E1M1 of DOOM, that this opening is interesting from a narrative and technical perspective.

Both of the previous Arkham games began and concluded with controlling Batman either through basic aspects of walking, or low-level fighting mechanics.  Apart from being great action games in and of themselves, the Arkham series has consistently scored well with critics and players who love the fighting system.  Since the beginning of the franchise, The Arkham games have been about moving Batman’s body in fantastic ways: You can glide around gotham, you can crawl between vents, you can walk across tight-ropes, you can flip through the air to punch criminals, sometimes even throwing them in slow-motion thus completing an obligatory Zack Snyder reference.

While I was looking at some of the reviews for Arkham Knight I found a great summary of how the fighting mechanic feels as a player.  Writing for gamespot.com, Kevin VanOrd notes of the game:

It might be hard to believe Batman isn't sending men to the morgue during Arkham Knight's melee battles, but the series' rhythmic hand-to-hand combat continues to set the bar high. Batman is a frightening, almost otherworldly creature as he tumbles and slides from one target to another, and his fists exhibit the raw power of any hammer or club. 

Playing Arkham Knight is about simulating another body.  I’m experiencing a body that is trained, limber, and strong, everything that my actual 34 year-old body is not.  There’s almost certainly an escapist fantasy whenever I play the game, but of course there’s the fact that it's also a game.  

Fights come with individual elements depending on whether it’s composed of just low-level grunts, beefy tanks, criminals carrying knives or swords, and whether enemies are holding guns or stun sticks.  Strategy alone isn’t what’s fun about playing Batman’s body though.  Punching an enemy begins a “streak-count” in which continual movement and attack will increase the “power” of each strike.  Fights, depending on player skill can reach up into the 40s and 50s ensuring that Batman can quickly dispatch foes unless he breaks the rhythm by breaking an enemies arm or leg or if he’s struck by one of those opponents.  Watching that number rise, listening to the crushing and cracking sound effects of punches, and then seeing the screen become fuzzy as we get an actual visualization of Batman’s adrenaline levels as he’s reaching higher and higher flows of combat is invigorating.

And then the fight’s over.

The numbers drop.

Reality resumes.

I move onto the next mission.

Arkham Knight’s narrative explores the end of a trilogy, as well as the end of the life of Batman.  The game isn’t even subtle about this as Gordon notes after the cremation of Joker that, “this is how the Batman died.”  Just about every arc in the story seems to revolve back to the idea that Batman’s time is coming to an end, and that after the events of Arkham Knight are finished he will either be destroyed, killed, or simply have to end his mission.

I know in reality Batman will never be truly dead because, well, comics dude.  But this was the last game that Kevin Conroy voiced before his actual death so there is a kind of finality to it.

After writing that paragraph I found out Conroy actually did some voice-over lines for Rocksteady’s next game Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, but the emotional sentiment of the original argument still stands.

I don’t honestly like the character of Batman that much for a host of reasons, but I love Arkham Knight as a game because of its fighting mechanic.  Which brings me back to the beginning.  Starting a game which has been pre-established as a well-regarded, if not one of the best fighting games with two scenes where the player is denied the opportunity to play as Batman isn’t just a good choice, it’s a great design and a great rhetorical tactic.  The cremation and the attack on the diner are both scenes which demonstrate the frailty of the body and ultimately how ephemeral it is.  They are a well-crafted memento mori.  No matter how strong or fit or capable something is, eventually it will break down and die.

The fight, at some point, will stop.

Games about fighting rarely involve such a narrative structure because their design system isn’t conducive to this.  Ryu and E. Honda aren’t going to stop a fight to wax philosophic about the inevitability of death in Street Fighter II.  Likewise, when I’m fighting 20 dudes who are holding a fire-fighter hostage, I’m not thinking about the fact that Batman is going to die one day.  I’m not even thinking about my own death.  I’m just watching the numbers go up, enjoying the music, and just trying to exist in the moment.

Arkham Knight is not a perfect game, but these opening sections are wonderful examples of how denying the player their expectation, even temporarily, can create a subtle impression that lingers.  Burning Joker’s body, and shooting patrons in a diner aren’t anywhere near as fun as reaching a 50x critical hit points combo in a fight involving at least three heavy brawlers; they aren’t even fun. 

And that’s the point.

Arkham Knight is a game that begins with death, ends with death, and fills the gap between with color, energy, and life. Arkham Knight mirrors the frailty and beauty of existence, even in its most horrific moments as we remember that ultimately all of this is going to end.

Joshua “Jammer” Smith

9.9.2023

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***UPDATE***

I’ve uploaded a video on YouTube of myself reading this essay. You can listen to me read it by following the link below:

Batman Arkham Knight: Jokes Death, Pauli's Diner (youtube.com)