It shares with WATCHMEN a devious intricacy of structure, a hyper-machine-like sense of super-organized ideas whizzing around in perfect formation like the Red Arrows. As the whole immense engine clicks into place, and suddenly you understand WHY the title, the moment is accompanied by that peculiar sense of completion and accomplishment that, to me, is one hallmark of creative brilliance in the popular arts.

Christian Bale, best Batman ever, adds all kinds of new shadings to an already iconic take. His Batman is required to transform from man to myth as we watch and he never lets us down, capturing every nuance of Bruce Wayne’s loss, his determination and his own personal madness.

As advance reviews may have led an unsuspecting world to believe Heath Ledger does indeed dynamite the screen, dance through it and have murderous sex with your dad’s Chihuahua, in that way he would if I were a writer for a ’cult media’ magazine, drowning in the sound of my own ghastly hyperbole.

In his first appearance as the Joker, the IMAX wall seems to vibrate with Ledger’s presence and intent. He owns the room, as they say, and though you’ll weep bitter tears that he’s gone, you’ll surely stand in awe of this tour de force of sheer fucking act-yer-tits-off-son bravado. It’s the Joker incarnate.

Michael Caine does the definitive Alfred. Gary Oldman brings the movie’s beating human soul to a rumpled Jim Gordon. Maggie Gyllenhaal nails her role and adds the frazzled edge to Rachel Dawes that Katie Holmes left out. Morgan Freeman wears gravitas like a hat. It’s almost ridiculous how well every single moving part in this movie acquits itself to scrutiny.