BATMAN (1989) dir. Tim Burton
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BATMAN (1989) dir. Tim Burton

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I love Harvey â89âs carnations. Between that and the cigars, they really gave Billy Dee Williamsâs Harvey Dent a distinct flair that sets him apart from any other version of the character.
Have you seen Batman (1989)?
Yes
No
Havenât even heard of this movie
this comic was brought to you by (1) my mom insisting we need to watch the 1989 tim burton batman and (2) me wondering why on god's green earth they got prince to do the music. and for the record i fucking love prince (and grew up listening to him), i just would not in a million years think to make that connection on my own. anyway please listen to Erotic City it's a good tune
When you hurt your neck in your sleep so you turn into Batman:

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<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION --> <div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta bat-file="89_rewatch_glitch"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="BLACKSITE_VHS_CORRUPTION_001:BATMAN_SAID_MF" EFFECT: Mandela Effect escalation, memory bleedthrough, cinematic delirium </script>
đŚ THAT TIME BATMAN CALLED THE JOKER A MOTHERF*CKER
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Let me take you back.
Itâs 1989. Youâve just popped that Blockbuster rental copy of Batman into the VCR. Tim Burton. Michael Keaton. Jack F*cking Nicholson. Youâre 7 years old, wide-eyed, unsupervised, and this isnât just a movie â itâs a holy document. A rite of passage. A VHS scroll of Gotham scripture.
Youâre deep into it. The museum scene just passed â Jokerâs dancing to Prince, defacing priceless art, and trying to woo Vicki Vale with homicidal paint fumes.
Batman busts through the skylight, grabs the girl, batarangs a couple of goons into trauma therapy, and disappears into the night like a cryptid with a grappling hook addiction.
Youâre hooked.
But nothing -- nothing -- prepares you for what happens next.
Bruce is in the Batcave.
Heâs running files. Pulling receipts. Zoom-enhancing like a 1989 hacker-savant on high-octane vengeance. And then -- he remembers it.
Remembers something Joker said as a homicidal bar off the dome.
> âYou ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?â
That line. That cursed little nursery rhyme Joker drops before he shoots people in the face with Looney Tunes handguns.
And Bruce pauses.
The air gets thick. He flashes back to that alley. The pearls. The scream. The muzzle flash that turned him from boy to bat.
That line -- itâs not just villain shtick. Itâs the password to his origin trauma.
Fast forward.
Final act. Cathedral. Jokerâs dragging Vicki Vale up what feels like 7,000 haunted stairs. Batmanâs in pursuit, pissed, bleeding, emotionally cooked.
The belfry showdown begins.
And here it is.
The moment.
You swear it happened.
Batman grabs Joker by the collar, throws him into a pile of gothic architecture, and rasps out in his Michael Keaton bat-growl:
> âIâm gonna kill you, motherfucker.â
Not âscum.â Not âjoker.â Not âyou killed my parents.â
Motherfucker.
You paused the tape.
You rewound it.
You called your cousin in from the hallway.
> âDid you hear that? He said motherfucker.â
Your cousin shrugs. Your mom yells at you for rewinding too much. Your siblingâs trying to fix the tracking on the VCR.
But deep in your soul?
You know what you heard.
ExceptâŚ
That line?
Doesnât exist.
Nowhere in the actual script. Not in deleted scenes. Not in directorâs commentary. Not even in the weird foreign dub where Joker laughs in French.
But you remember it.
You remember it.
Clear as day.
Thatâs how powerful Batman (1989) was.
It didnât just tell you a story. It installed a glitch in your cortex. A false memory so emotionally potent that it warped VHS playback and left you with cinematic PTSD.
And donât even get me started on the Jokerâs line about rhubarb.
> âNever rub another manâs rhubarb.â
What?
Why?
What does that mean?
We donât know. We didnât know then. We still donât.
But it was iconic. It felt important. It felt like⌠prophecy.
Letâs be real.
Michael Keaton was unhinged Batman before Bale made it method. Before Pattinson made it depressive. Before Clooney added nipples.
This Batman said âYou wanna get nuts? Letâs get nuts,â like a man who eats drywall and challenges demons to bare-knuckle therapy.
So yes.
You remember him saying âmotherfucker.â Because it felt earned.
Batman had been holding it in for 90 minutes. For 30 years. For his entire goddamn inner child.
And when he said it? You felt seen.
Mandela Effect?
Maybe.
Or maybe you just had the unrated cut that played only in your head.
And maybe thatâs the only cut that matters.
Sleep well.
And if you ever catch a rerun of Batman (1989), turn the volume up. Right at the belfry fight.
And listen closely.
> If you hear it⌠> If you hear that raspy growl say > âIâm gonna kill you, motherfuckerâŚâ
Youâre not crazy.
Youâre just remembering the Bat-F-bomb Timeline that VHS tried to erase.
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đŚ Reblog if you swear you heard Batman say âmotherf*cker.â
Reblog if your childhood memories came with static lines and tracking issues.
Reblog if Jokerâs rhubarb line lives rent-free in your frontal lobe.
Reblog if youâre 91% sure this happened⌠and 9% willing to fistfight over it.
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