TV Database The New Batman Adventures (1997)

Two years after the end of Batman: The Animated Series, Warner Bros. revived their biggest brand (possibly because the tamer Superman: TAS was not receiving the kind of ratings they'd like). The revival comes with a revamp in the character designs, however, much to the fans' chagrin.

Personally, I can see why fans would be annoyed. Some of the details here are shaved away into more simplistic designs, whether for budget reasons or as an artistic choice. It results in a Bruce that lost his fringed haircut and instead got a shorter, sleeker hairdo; I much prefer the former as the latter looks like boring and bland, which might be the reason why they used it in the first place as it's easier to draw. It also results in The Joker looking like a more murderous Freakazoid, albeit making his eyes look far more sinister and demonic than the TAS iteration. There's also the Batgirl change: I think it's a good look for her, a sleeker design that accentuates a more gothic and self-confident appearance due to the black lipstick; the TAS design for her made her look too homely. Finally, the Batman suit redesign that gave Bruce the iconic black and grey outfit we've come to known, ditching any blues or yellows. I suppose it was an inevitable modernized design to make Batman's costume more grounded and practical for stealth missions, but there's a reason why there's a big yellow target on Batman's chest - so they wouldn't aim for the mouth - but whatever.

For what it's worth, at least Warner Bros. had the good sense to restore the original TAS intro because that season 2 intro made Batman look like a family-friendly adventure.

This episode is a Christmas anthology episode that largely serves to introduce the new designs and the Bat family dynamic. It's not terribly impressive, having your typical Christmas villain hijinks, save the rather minor detail that The Joker has (implied to have) killed people with his poison this time. Harley and Ivy gets a shopping montage; Clayface gets to fight Batgirl, Santa Bullock and Montoya; and Joker gets to fight Batman and Red Robin (Tim Drake). The Clayface portion of the episode has a nice little moment where Bullock gets nervous about a little girl whose father he had sent to prison, but it's otherwise as average of a storyline as the other two. Seeing Tim Drake also reminds me of the future storyline in "Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker", where Bruce had officially ruined another kid's life with his grooming. Dick was right to have bailed.

The only real writing that appealed to me though was the nice little epilogue at the end of the episode where Commissioner Gordon and Batman sit down for a nice cup of coffee.

That is... until Bruce pulled a Batman-Vanish once again. Dick.

Wonder Woman: "I shouldn't be surprised since you indoctrinated Robin into crimefighting at the ripe old age of nine."
Batman: "Robin needed to help bring the men who murdered his family to justice."
Wonder Woman: "So he could turn out like you?"
Batman: "So that he wouldn't."

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As I mentioned in my review for the first episode of TNBA, I feel uncomfortable watching Tim Drake working with Batman because of "Return of the Joker", knowing what's to come. After watching this episode and doing a little research, I found out even more reasons to feel that way: he's an amalgam of Jason Todd and Tim Drake, sharing Todd's backstory and moral ambiguity as a thief. Tim... was doomed from the start.

Batman has a history of many problems in his character portrayal; taking in kids and making them his personal child soldiers is merely one of them. However, in the context of Gotham City, perhaps it's inevitable, and perhaps these kids would have ended up somewhere just as bad anyway without guidance, though that's the only crutch Bruce could stand on as a justification.

I read that Tim's been either overshadowed or just altogether forgotten for the most part throughout DC history, which is a shame because he's the one who brought Bruce to the light again in a pretty dark period of Batman (as I've read), reminding him why he's a hero in the first place. It just makes it more frustrating that we've skipped the darkness of Jason Todd's fate in the first place and do Tim's identity dirty. Just one of many annoyances of this new series (another one being the stripped art deco title cards that gave each episode's opening a unique feel).

I get the reasons why Batman and WB executives did the things they did... but it doesn't make the consequence any less frustrating. Somewhere down the line, a line has to be drawn to say that the fault lies with them instead of "Reason X."

Freeze: "I did not come here to steal bones, Dr. Madsen, I came to steal hope!"

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Ugh.

This was disappointing. Mr. Freeze was one of Batman's more compelling villains because his motivation was the least insane (even if it borders on obsession). The look of the new design is fine (though I much prefer the cool red shades, and Fries' true form this episode is also kinda goofy as it reminds me of Toy Story), but here in this episode, Fries is just sprouting campy lines like it's an Adam West Batman episode.

The comparison of him being isolated and Bruce's surrogate family is a decent parallel, tapping into how Batman's rogues' gallery serves as a reflection for his life once again, but it's definitely more tragic in hindsight if you know what happens to Tim and Bruce down the road (Barbara too, though I guess "Killing Joke" is not canon to DCAU). Bruce and Barbara's flirting would have been cute if not for the surrogacy of their relationship.

The ending of the episode is also a mixed bag as it breaks Batman's no-kill rule, but I guess that rule's always been kinda arbitrary anyway.

A rare case of a Batman villain getting the rehabilitation he needs and making it stick. People have always criticized Batman for not using his immense amount of resources to help Gotham and the villain that he beats up nightly, but this episode disproves such notions, as the Dark Knight uses both his civilian and superhero personas to help Arnold Wesker settle down into an ordinary non-puppet life, whether it's giving him a job, a home, or just beating up bad influences.

Aside from being an effective psychological study of a former villain's attempt to live a crime-free life, the episode also has a very interesting Hitchcockian vibe as it plays on Wesker's paranoia in regards to Scarface's supposed return. As a narrative, "Double Talk" feels like it's the first time it hits the peaks of the original "Batman: The Animated Series", especially with its focus on the psychological battles over the physical ones.

Not a bad episode to move things along between Batman and Dick's new persona, Nightwing. We also get a Catwoman redesign that's a mixed bag for me; I dig her civilian shorter hair that makes her sexier and more confident, but in-costume, her white chin and leather black's somehow boring and tonally dissonant at the same time (not to mention making her mouth an obvious target anyway).

We haven't gotten to the reason for Dick's conflict with Bruce yet, but it's always nice to have interactions between Barb and him.

After watching Superman punching out two giant monsters and then pivoting to this episode's psychological storyline, I don't know if I could go back to watching Superman: TAS again with how little effort Timm had put into the writing compared to his take on Batman.

Take the theme of this episode, for example: what is Batman's greatest fear? One could say it's losing people closest to him like Alfred and Barbara, but I believe it's topped by an even greater fear: crossing the line and become the monster that took his parents. The idea of taking away Batman's fears seems like a no-brainer on paper; without fear, Batman would be able to take down any sadistic villains willing to use his own fears and anxiety against him. Unfortunately, that would strip him of his humanity and make him no better than the fascist many anti-Batman fans love to accuse him of being. It's that thin line of compromise that Bruce is unwilling to cross that makes him such a compelling character as opposed to being a boring godlike being who beats up villains every week (see Timm's Superman).

And you can see how this episode focuses on this fascinating concept through a kinda clever gimmick, subverting the Scarecrow's usual tactic of spreading fear by taking away fear this time. But the key thing is that the gimmick is never the focus on the episode; it's character-driven, not plot-driven. The same could not be said of Superman: TAS, where many episodes revolve around "clever gimmicks" that Superman had to outthink. Oh no, an electric villain! Oh no, someone who uses light to become invisible! Oh no, giant chimpanzee! Oh no, a heat-eating kaiju!

I also like how Tim Drake is at his most Tim Drakest here, in that he stopped feeling like an amalgam of Jason Todd, as he's here 1) trying to stop Bruce from crossing the line, something Jason would have no qualms with, and 2) showing his smarts by not being fooled by Bruce's ruse. Of course, as always, "Return of the Joker" sours everything (and yes, I won't stop saying that every review because it does sour everything), but at least we can have our small victories here.

The Scarecrow redesign's pretty cool. I like how much more inhumane and demonic it looks. Even Paul Dini went, "we weren't even sure if there was an actual guy in the suit anymore." Creepy.

Joker: I'm crazy enough to take on Batman, but the I.R.S.? Nooooo, thank you!

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I like it when franchises inject logistical reality into their universe, even if said attempt is flawed (the IRS would have figured out the plot twist behind Joker's inherited money, for example). It keeps the stories grounded enough for us to relate to these worlds and better immerse ourselves in the values and philosophies expressed in the story. One of those clever plots that similarly utilized the IRS as part of the story was The Twilight Zone, where in "The Man in the Bottle", a genie's granted fortune is ultimately rendered worthless once the American tax deductions are paid. There's also "Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol" where Brad Bird's witty sense of humor had Ethan Hunt and the IMF's gadgets break down like normal tech gadgets tend to sometimes.

Here, "Joker's Millions" utilized a bit of both gags, with Joker's tools either malfunctioning or simply running out of ammunition due to a lack of funding, but when he inherited King Barlowe's fortune later, thinking it's easy street from here on out, the IRS is breathing down his neck. As a Singaporean, I'm thankful I get to keep my money and merely have to pay GST when purchasing things in this country.

As of this episode's release date, the Joker in the media landscape outside the comics hadn't quite gotten into the darker territory of being a nihilistic anarchist quite yet, so he's still a mostly comical clown that kills with goofy setups and cartoonish pranks. This doesn't affect the episode much as the main appeal here is the Joker's amusing and realistic economic problems, but when I see how compelling the Joker can be as a character, it does make his more mundane episodes pale in comparison (especially in "World's Finest"). This would, of course, be rectified down the road when we get to "Return of the Joker", but as it is now, we have a great if not amazing episode of Joker as a tax-paying citizen of Gotham.

Officer: “We’ll book him on the robberies and B&E. Anything else?”
Robin: “Yeah. Murder.”

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Welcome to the most emotionally brutal twenty minutes of The New Batman Adventures, where Gotham’s grime isn't just in the alleyways—it’s buried deep in the psyche of every character onscreen. Growing Pains doesn’t just go dark; it takes a headfirst dive into a pit of existential dread and daddy issues.

Let’s start with my cultural baggage, shall we? Asian parenting. The ultimate DLC for guilt, control, and passive-aggressive declarations of love. If you’ve ever been told you “owe” someone for the privilege of being born, this episode will feel uncomfortably familiar. It captures that twisted dynamic with surgical precision—the manipulative “parent” figure gaslighting their creation into obedience, just because they made them. I didn’t think a Saturday morning cartoon would drag me back into therapy, but here we are.

And Bruce? Still treating Tim like he’s got training wheels welded to his soul. That whole “one slip is too many” line hits different when you know what's coming. Tim’s barely out of puberty and already getting that grizzled "soldier of the night" mentorship program. This episode gives you a crystal-clear snapshot of why Tim Drake’s moral compass is constantly being smacked around like a speed bag.

The plot itself? Bleak. Haunting. Gorgeous. It tackles abandonment, identity, and guilt with a subtlety that makes the heavier punches land even harder. The antagonist’s design is just the right level of grotesque—no spoilers, but the slime practically drips with thematic resonance. And the use of a lighthouse as symbolism? Chef’s kiss. It's Bioshock Infinite-level poetry: “There’s always a lighthouse, always a man, always a city”… and always a reason to emotionally shatter a teenager, apparently.

Now, let’s talk about that opening.

I don’t know what fever dream the writers were in when they conjured up a cartoon biker gang straight out of Mad Max cosplay hell, but it feels like they accidentally aired a rejected Creepshow segment. If you’re looking for subtle menace, look elsewhere—this was all "HEY CUTIE, WHEEEE" while circling a child like they're auditioning for Gotham’s Dumbest Predators. I couldn’t take it seriously, and I’m not sure I was supposed to.

But once the episode finds its footing (read: abandons the cartoonish creep squad and settles into the emotional trauma), it slaps. The relationship between Tim and Annie is simple, sweet, and exactly what it needs to be to make the final moments twist the knife just right. No melodrama, just melancholy.

And yeah—if you’re getting Jason Todd vibes from Tim here, you’re not wrong. Between his righteous rage and willingness to push that "no killing" line, it’s clear the writers were at least flirting with the red-hooded road not taken. It works, though. This version of Tim feels real—raw, impulsive, and already cracking under the pressure.

Final verdict? Growing Pains is arguably the show’s most tragic episode, cleverly disguised behind a thin veil of superhero capes and Saturday morning branding. It's emotionally intelligent, symbolically rich, and just disturbing enough to stick with you—minus a few rough edges (lookin’ at you, Hell’s Biker Rejects).

Baby-Doll: "Why don't they ever understand? I'm not a baby. I'm not a child! I'm just... different!"

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Few villains in Batman: The Animated Series evoke as much quiet devastation as Baby-Doll. Unlike someone like the Ventriloquist, who can blend into society when he isn’t talking to wood, or the socially mobile Penguin, Mary Louise Dahl is physically—and emotionally—trapped. She doesn't just look like a child, she acts like one, her psyche stunted by a lifetime of infantilization, exploitation, and rejection. This episode makes it clear: Baby-Doll’s villainy isn’t rooted solely in how others treat her—it’s also in how she processes the world through entitlement, delusion, and desperation.

That complexity is what makes it so darkly amusing watching her force her 1950s sitcom fantasy onto Killer Croc, who brings his own brand of stunted emotional development to the table. Croc isn’t just a violent thug—he’s someone who’s only ever known brutality, rejection, and toxic masculinity as survival traits. Compared to the more introspective, almost sympathetic version we saw in Sideshow, here Croc is reduced to a brute, a user, a man chasing highs—whether it's stacks of cash or a parade of girlfriends.

That may sound like a downgrade, but narratively, it works. Croc is no longer the story—he’s the mirror. His disinterest and eventual betrayal are the sparks that ignite Baby-Doll’s spiral. And while it’s disappointing to see his character stripped of nuance, it underscores the central tragedy: these two broken souls were never going to fix each other. Their union wasn’t a path to healing—it was a slow-motion emotional car crash.

What the episode does best is explore how trauma feeds delusion. Baby-Doll isn’t just trying to find love—she’s trying to recreate a world where she’s accepted, even if it’s a lie. Croc, meanwhile, is just looking for comfort until something better comes along. It's a cruel, honest depiction of two people using each other for the wrong reasons, and Gotham is always where those stories end in fire.

This isn't the strongest episode in the TNBA lineup, but it’s a haunting one, loaded with emotional weight beneath the absurd pairing. In the end, it's not really about love at all. It’s about what happens when the unloved try to write their own fairytale... and no one else reads from the script.

Batman’s rogues gallery is a psychological kaleidoscope—narcissists, split personalities, delusional sadists—each given the dramatic gravitas they deserve in this iconic series. So when “Torch Song” decides to spotlight the all-too-familiar pathology of toxic male possessiveness, it feels like a no-brainer. Unfortunately, the execution barely flickers.

Enter Garfield Lynns, aka Firefly. Not the tragic pyromaniac obsessed with fiery visions, but just a jilted tech guy with control issues and a flamethrower. His emotional depth is as flat as his costume—a glorified knock-off of Marvel’s Beetle, minus any thematic connection to his psyche. You could swap him out with any flavorless stalker and nothing would change.

Cassidy, the pop star caught in his flames, doesn’t fare much better. Her character dances awkwardly between fearless diva and manipulative seductress, and thanks to some studio pettiness (read: Timm’s Britney-induced bitterness), she’s also saddled with a grating voice and questionable decisions. A key moment meant to show her lingering trauma lands... eventually. But it first comes off like a Twilight Zone-style “punishment” for being flirty, which is about as subtle as Firefly’s flamethrower.

There are a few decent sparks: Barbara and Bruce have some fun banter, and the brief glimpse of Batgirl’s care for Cassidy hints at a more meaningful arc that never materializes. Sadly, for a story about burning passion and fiery vengeance, “Torch Song” ends up lukewarm at best—less psychological thriller, more afterschool special with jetpacks.

As everyone well knows by now, oftentimes in superhero stories, the villains' characteristics reflect as much about themselves as they do the heroes, and this is once again one of those cases. Having originated from pulpy adventure stories, it’s appropriate that Batman would face off against someone born of that same tradition—a thrill-seeker whose life teeters between danger and obsession. In that sense, Roxy Rocket (voiced by Charity James) feels like a distant cousin to Catwoman. She’s not as emotionally complex or iconic, but her background as a Hollywood stuntwoman gone rogue gives her a physical daring and flamboyance that leans even harder into pulp territory.

Roxy’s entire persona is about the rush. She’s a character who lives for adrenaline, for sky-high dives and death-defying escapes, and the episode leans into that fully—with sweeping music and animated chase sequences that feel lifted from 1930s serials. Batman’s pursuit of her in a jetpack is especially slick—an old-school visual thrill with a Batman upgrade to make it memorable. It’s a fun departure from the usual grimy noir atmosphere of Gotham’s back alleys, giving Batman a rare chance to match his physical prowess against someone who’s not trying to rule the underworld, but simply trying to outfly him.

And while the drama isn’t exactly Shakespearean, the sexual innuendos flying fast and loose (especially for a Saturday morning cartoon) give this episode its own cheeky charm. Roxy’s flirtation with Batman, Batgirl’s wry commentary about the dark knight's thrill factor doubling as sex appeal, and Batman’s silent, unflinching disapproval all create a humorous tension that makes the episode stand out—if not for depth, then for tone.

It’s not a heavy-hitter like “Growing Pains” or “Over the Edge,” but “The Ultimate Thrill” earns its keep as a fast-paced romp with a jet-fueled femme fatale who, while not a classic villain, still manages to leave her mark. A lighter episode, yes—but one that’s unafraid to let its freak flag fly, even if that flag is strapped to a rocket and screaming toward a canyon wall.

"How could you? I worked with you, trusted you. And you never told me? She was my daughter. My daughter."

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I liked The Killing Joke. While that might be considered a controversial opinion in a post-#MeToo world, I thought it was a bold take that walked the edge of what mainstream superhero comics usually wouldn't dare to explore with their romanticized idea of costumed vigilantism. It didn’t flinch from the idea that people like the Joker would push their enemies past their limits in psychologically sadistic, dehumanizing ways. It made the cost of crimefighting feel real, raw, and uncomfortable.

That said, much as I enjoyed many of Alan Moore's works like Watchmen and V For Vendetta, I do admit that it doesn't really do Barbara Gordon much justice here. She was a prop—paralyzed, victimized, and used to propel someone else’s emotional arc. A plot device. A body in the fridge, there to push Batman and Jim Gordon into emotional extremes. Her trauma wasn't hers—it was a tool to escalate their arcs.

Then the animated adaptation came along and did her dirty in a whole new way by inserting a full-on sex scene between Batgirl and Batman. I get the intention—it was supposed to be her final moment of agency before everything went to hell—but come on. It’s still a YIKES when your father figure becomes your fling.

That said, I think "Over the Edge" explored that kind of consequence much better here. Superheroes, especially heroes like Batman, often skirt a razor-thin line between heroics and hubris, and one bad day isn’t just a comic book cliché—it’s an inevitability. So I'm usually glad whenever a show tackled that subject matter. Even if "Batman: The Animated Series" had explored the theme quite often already to the point of tedium, this particular installment sharpens it into something uniquely personal.

At its core, this is a story about broken trust. The bond between Batman and Commissioner Gordon has always been a weird one—half professional, half unspoken mutual respect—but it worked because of the DCAU’s airtight internal logic. That’s what makes it devastating when that logic breaks. When lines are crossed and trust turns to fury, you realize how much of Gotham’s delicate moral balance was held together by silent, unbreakable assumptions.

Bruce’s grief, Gordon’s rage—it’s all played perfectly restrained. The episode never gets melodramatic. It doesn’t need to. Every word, every silence, carries history. Bruce has always known the risk he took by involving others in his crusade. Even if he acted from love or necessity, he knew what it meant recruiting child soldiers. The consequences felt real, and when the cost finally comes due, it hits hard because his regrets visualized on-screen felt grounded.

But what truly elevates the episode beyond just another "Batman consequence" message is the reframing twist. Without spoiling anything, let’s just say the story isn’t content with being a grim spiral into despair. It recontextualizes everything in a way that makes it clear: this isn’t about vengeance, or blame, or punishment. It’s about fear—deep-seated, suffocating fear about the consequences of living in a world where vigilantes recruit children, where secrets erode trust, and where one misstep can shatter everything.

In fact, that fear distorts the events in the episode so effectively that when certain characters begin compromising themselves—morally, legally, even ideologically—it starts to feel surreal. Off. Like a funhouse mirror reflecting Gotham’s worst-case scenario. Even the more bizarre design choices—like Bane’s transformation into what can only be described as a leather-clad gimp with domination tendencies—suddenly feel oddly appropriate once the full picture settles into place. In hindsight, it’s less a visual overhaul and more of a subconscious tell: a repressed fantasy made literal, where fear and authority blur into fetishized brutality. It’s the kind of psychological kink that slips through the cracks when your anxieties have a Freudian slip.

And the brilliance of it is—that absurdity doesn’t break the tone. It amplifies it. Because when fear distorts reality, it doesn’t sharpen it—it exaggerates it. Every threat becomes grotesque, every consequence unbearable, and Jim Gordon is suddenly bargaining with the Devil. It’s not about realism anymore. It’s about perception spiraling into nightmare logic, where everything is just one twisted step too far. And that's exactly what makes the episode resonate: it captures not what is, but what could be feared—and how that fear shapes the world around it.

That’s the difference between Over the Edge and something like The Killing Joke. Here, the story doesn’t reduce its characters to symbols or narrative devices. It lets them feel. It gives them space to panic, to fear, and eventually, to breathe again. The resolution doesn’t erase those fears—but it does offer something rarer in Gotham: emotional clarity. It doesn't tie everything up with a neat little bow, but the closure nonetheless feels earned. The parties involved confront the potential dangers of their roles—not by quitting, not by rationalizing—but by acknowledging the weight of those dangers and choosing to continue anyway. It’s not heroic. It’s human.

Visually, the episode is top-tier. Direction, music, and animation blend seamlessly with the story’s intensity, delivering some of the best tension and action of the entire series. But it’s the emotional fallout, not the explosions, that lingers.

Overall, if you’ve ever wanted to see what happens when Gotham’s carefully balanced world of masks and trust is pushed to its psychological limits—without cheap theatrics or melodrama—this is the one.

"For 10 years I starved, sweated... subjected my body to surgery after surgery, and for what? Days became weeks, weeks became years... until my time ran out."
- Calendar Girl

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Look, I don’t need a cartoon to lecture me like I just walked into a public service announcement. If you’re gonna bring social commentary into your story, it better feel earned—lived-in, textured, and not like it was scrawled on the back of a protest sign and mailed to the storyboard team. So imagine my surprise when Mean Seasons opens the door to a potentially brilliant, surprisingly mature theme... and then kind of fumbles it like a banana peel under a T-Rex.

No, really. There’s a T-Rex. Don’t ask.

The premise? Solid gold. A former model and spokesperson, discarded by a youth-obsessed industry once she dared to hit the scandalous age of 30 (gasp!), returns as a masked villain called Calendar Girl. The symbolism practically writes itself—pin-up nostalgia, disposable glamour, literal calendar pages left behind at crime scenes, a sleazy agent tempting a young actress into the industry, literal Chippendale henchmen being used as eye candy in a pointed gender role inversion. It’s one of those episodes that makes you think, “Wait, how was this made in the ‘90s before #MeToo?” There’s a clear shot being taken at the kind of shallow beauty standards the media has enforced for decades, especially with the episode's clear dig at the WB network for favoring youth-centered shows at the time like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dawson's Creek.

Even though I'm a man, I'm conscientious enough to clearly see the objectification that runs rampant in entertainment. It’s baked into the industry—women chewed up and spit out once they age a day past 29, sacrificed on the altar of youth and beauty. So I don't mind when such messaging is grounded on realistic problems, such as it was initially here in this episode.

And yet, just when it’s gaining traction as a smart critique of Hollywood's obsession with beauty and age, the episode starts folding in a side plot about Bruce Wayne feeling old, throws in some explosive holiday props, and yes, drops a mechanical dinosaur into the mix like it's Saturday Morning Cartoon Says Feminism. Now, don’t get me wrong—I think ageism is absolutely worth exploring, and the subplot about Bruce Wayne feeling his age was a clever parallel, especially with how he's surrounded by younger sidekicks who could very well take his place. But it tonally clashes with the earlier symbolism about female objectification. It’s like the episode accidentally picked two powerful, socially loaded issues and then jammed them into one villain origin story without doing either justice. It feels like two completely different scripts collided in a production meeting, and nobody noticed.

What really complicated my feelings, though, was Barbara Gordon’s role. Initially, I thought her quip to Batman—“Don’t you mean woman? She was your age when she made that commercial, Bat Boy”—was part of the problem. On first watch, it reads like casual internalized misogyny: the younger, sexualized sidekick mocking the older woman’s downfall. And given the way Batgirl’s design in TNBA leans hard into the male gaze (thank Bruce Timm for those weird curvaceous angles the animation keeps framing), it felt especially tone-deaf.

But after thinking about it more, I’m convinced that line wasn’t aimed at Page—it was aimed at Bruce. Barbara’s calling him out for referring to a woman his own age as a “girl,” and subtly dunking on his lingering nostalgia for a pretty face from his youth. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it critique, and the episode never follows through with Barbara showing empathy toward Page, which is a missed opportunity. But it does suggest that someone in the writers’ room had a sharper angle in mind—they just didn’t know how to give it room to breathe.

Now, to be fair, there’s still enough haunting aspects to be experienced here. The costume design for Calendar Girl? Genuinely eerie—equal parts glam and ghost, masking both vanity and pain. And Sela Ward's voice performance absolutely nails that tragic downward spiral. There’s a psychological core in this episode, buried under all the gimmicks and misfires, that still resonates if you’re willing to dig for it.

But man, this thing had the potential to be more. It flirts with depth, then runs back to safe cartoon tropes like a kid who realized the pool was too cold. And while I’m not blaming the writers for failing to fully articulate themes that culture itself hadn’t grappled with yet—this was pre-Weinstein, pre-social reckoning—it's hard not to feel the weight of what they almost said. They touched something real... and then gave it fireworks and a dinosaur.

Still, I respect the swing. And even when the show misses, it’s not boring. Call it a near-miss with ambition. One that deserves the points for trying—even if it chokes a little on the landing.