Chapter 609:

On the big screen, the gang boss's men were frozen in silence.

Outside the screen, the theater audience was just as still.

By this point in the film, everyone was captivated by the Joker's sheer lawlessness—he opposed the good, he opposed the bad. It didn't matter who you were—he would fight you all the same.

He wasn't just evil anymore. He had become a defender of a twisted kind of justice, one that obeyed only the chaotic laws of his own making.

He was an agent of chaos. Perhaps this was the ultimate form of evil.

The Joker's complexity as a character—his humanity—was on full display: so unique, so terrifying, yet so utterly captivating.

When such a character with such haunting charisma appears on screen, how could the audience not be deeply moved?

"Why so serious?"

The Joker turned and grinned at the gang boss's men.

They recoiled in horror, unable to meet his eyes.

Then, the Joker's knife sliced across the gang boss's mouth. Blood gushed out in a crimson torrent.

Inside the Grand Theater, the audience sat transfixed. No one was eating. No one was whispering. No one got up to use the restroom.

In the third row, Will Smith stared wide-eyed at the screen and muttered under his breath, "SHIT... this villain is so damn charming. Shame the Joker ain't Black, or I'd want to play him myself!"

Up front, Steven Spielberg was chatting quietly with his old friend George Lucas. They had already seen the film during an earlier preview, which allowed them to disengage slightly from the plot and reflect.

"This film is, at its core, an exploration of human nature," Spielberg said, impressed. "But it's wrapped in a commercial package. Martin's script and performance are fantastic, and Nolan's direction is masterful."

"The characters—Joker, Batman, Commissioner Gordon, Prosecutor Harvey—each have their own ideals and convictions. The fact that the film expresses all these perspectives without losing its blockbuster appeal? That's genius," George Lucas added.

Their reactions were mixed with admiration and a touch of envy.

Spielberg felt like an aging filmmaker watching the younger generation surpass him.

Lucas, who had long stepped away from directing, appeared more often in credits as a producer or investor. He watched with calm appreciation.

But the one with the most complicated feelings was Jack Nicholson.

He had long suspected that Martin's Joker might surpass his own—and now that he'd seen the final cut, that suspicion had become reality.

He was awash in emotions: disappointment, relief, bitterness, admiration...

Compared to his own interpretation, Martin's Joker was just as insane—but far more terrifying, and strangely alluring. He couldn't even put it into words.

All he knew was that it was great.

"This is totally a Joker movie," Nicholson thought to himself.

Spielberg, Lucas, Cameron, Nolan, Jonathan Nolan, David Denby—all shared that same thought.

To the professionals watching The Dark Knight, it was clear: the Joker's brilliance overshadowed Batman.

By this point, among the general audience, the children and die-hard Batman fans were the only ones still loyal to the Caped Crusader. The adults were mesmerized by the Joker. His presence lingered long after each scene, making Batman—the supposed protagonist—feel like a supporting character.

And the audience didn't care about the deeper implications or narrative politics.

All they knew was that this film had seared itself into their memory.

More precisely—it was the Joker who had.

His evil was intoxicating.

His motives were chaotic.

And yet, his purpose felt... pure.

The result was a villain unlike anything anyone had seen before.

"Is this still a superhero movie, marketed with action and special effects?" someone whispered.

Harvey, sitting in a movie theater in New York, had just finalized his divorce.

His expression was conflicted.

Friend or foe, Harvey had watched Martin's career unfold from the very beginning.

He'd seen Martin's acting in live performances, on screen—brilliant in every role—but this… this Joker was something else entirely.

This film may have been a commercial blockbuster on the surface, but to Harvey, it deserved to be called great.

Every time the Joker appeared, that wild, unrestrained madness sparked something new in the audience.

In his notebook, David Denby wrote:

"This transcends traditional acting. Martin has poured his soul and life into this performance. His Joker has elevated The Dark Knight."

"If only Martin hadn't taken Spider-Man!" Avi Arad sighed softly.

Stan Lee understood what he meant. Had Martin not been cast as Spider-Man, he could've been Iron Man. After all, Spider-Man was the property they had licensed out; Iron Man was Marvel Studios' beloved child.

…

In the darkness of the theater, Heath Ledger shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

He recognized the signs of withdrawal.

His body was on edge, but he forced himself to stay still and watch.

On screen, Martin's Joker was addressing Gotham City through a hijacked TV broadcast:

"Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. For every day that he doesn't, people will die! Starting today, I mean what I say—hahahahahaha…"

Even through a grainy television feed, Martin's performance was electric. His emotions never slipped—he remained maniacally euphoric, yet his eyes stayed cold and lucid.

As if…

He didn't believe he was committing evil—but enforcing a different kind of justice.

The Joker's justice.

"What a performance…" Heath murmured, momentarily forgetting his own discomfort.

Every time he watched Martin, he forgot the pain.

Then came the most emotionally charged part of the film.

Through manipulation and mind games, the Joker dragged Gotham into madness. Chaos consumed the city. Crime erupted. Batman was left helpless.

The people of Gotham, worn down by despair, began to turn—not on the Joker, but on Batman.

They started thinking: If Batman had surrendered earlier, none of this would have happened.

It didn't matter whether that was true. That's what they believed.

The unrelenting violence, the mounting deaths—it pushed the city to the brink.

And in their panic, they turned on their protector.

"Oh no—you can't do this!"

"You bastards! Have you forgotten all he's done for you?!"

"You ungrateful scum. Batman should've let you all rot."

A strange thing happened.

In the first half of the film, Batman's presence had been muted. But now, because of the Joker's destruction, his importance—his heroism—was being reaffirmed in the audience's eyes.