Batman for a third time, to be more precise. Val Kilmer, even taking into account the overprocessed reproduction of his speaking voice, is an improvement over Michael Keaton in the title role. Or at least an improvement in the alter-ego role of Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist. Once he's inside the Batsuit -- a covering so complete that it conceals even the mole on Kilmer's jawline -- it hardly matters who plays the part. And Chris O'Donnell, with some not too disconcerting or desecrating biker-punker touches, adequately fills the void where the sidekick Robin, the Boy Wonder, belonged all along ("I could definitely get into the superhero gig"). The rules of revenge, however, ought to have dictated a more effective role for him in the vanquishing of the villain who had slaughtered his family. Especially when, as in the preceding sequel, there are two villains: enough to go around. Unlike the Penguin and the Catwoman of that earlier sequel, though, these two are not contrasting villains but duplicating ones: comparably and competitively strident, comparably and competitively strained, comparably and competitively monotonous. And, in another sense, they duplicate the solo villain of the 1989 Batman film as well: from the Joker, Harvey Two-Face gets his acid-scarred (or raspberry-frosted) countenance, and the Riddler gets his sense of -- so to call it -- humor ("Was that over the top? I can never tell"). Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carrey, respectively, can bring nothing to the roles but an absence of inhibition. That, and lung power. And the "creative vision" of the new director, Joel Schumacher, boils down to a messy hybrid of Burton's Batman and Beatty's Dick Tracy. Less gloomy than the one, less cheerful than the other, less clear than either. With Nicole Kidman. (1995) — Duncan Shepherd