The Joker is a pycho who finds humor in everything, but especially in killing people. ("I am the world's first fully functioning homicidal artist," he tells Vale.) For the Joker, killing is a release of the pain and boredom of his pretoxic-waste life as a big-time gangster. In his own way, he is as driven as Batman.

THERE isn't really much of a story to Batman. In the grand comic book tradition, the movie simply focuses on a series of confrontations between Batman and the Joker. None of the other characters have any depth, particularly Vale, who seems to exist only to be terrorized by the Joker and rescued by Batman.

It isn't Basinger's fault that her character is so dull. Sam Haam and Warren Skaaren, who wrote the screenplay, don't seem to have much interest in elevating women beyond the level of comic-book bimbos.

And the psychological angle is none too subtle. It only takes about 20 minutes to realize that Batman is the flip side of the Joker, equally brilliant, equally dangerous, equally deranged. Batman/Wayne has simply channelled his obsession in a different direction.

This is comic-book psychology in its highest form, and it seems pretty silly in a two-hour-plus movie. The idea of a twisted, tortured superhero who feels driven by his own past to fight crime is perfectly fine. And the idea of a deranged psychotic trickster who mirrors the the hero's split personality is equally intriguing.

But Batman doesn't really do anything with the idea. There is no moment of revelation; Batman's external battle with the Joker does not seem to have a parallel within himself. He doesn't learn anything or gain any control over himself. He simply defeats this film's embodiment of evil. So what if Batman and the Joker are complementary psychotics? Why the Joker, and not Darth Vader or Lex Luthor? In the end, Batman is nothing more than a clever comic-book idea that just doesn't go anywhere.