Jess made me do it... So a comment over on my Batman Begins review mentioned that Cripsin Glover may yet sign up for The Joker in the sequel. Interesting. My only concern was that Glover is such a force of nature that even Mr Bale may have trouble keeping ahead of him, especially once he's hidden behind the cowl. So earlier Jess and I were talking about it and I came up with the following idea as to how to misdirect the audience who are HUNGRY for some Joker action. And I also like kicking heroes in the balls. See what you think.... The Last Laugh The Warehouse is empty. No. Almost empty. Shimmering slightly in the darkness we see THE JOKER's smile. Just hanging there like the Cheshire Cat. It's the most we've seen of him so far. Before this all we heard was the laugh following each fresh corpse as Gotham's finest arrive just minutes too late. The smile widens, impossibly so and the audience edges forward to get a good look. Suddenly a flash of something even darker cuts across what we thought was darkness. It's THE BAT. Batman (voice over): Time we met face to face don't you think? CUT TO a close up of two huge strong black clad hands thrusting into the darkness to pull the smile and it's owner finally into our view. There's a horrible CRACKING sound. Batman (confused): But... I... The JOKER is lying suddenly on the floor in plain view for the first time. The trademark grin is still there, but the face behind it is chalk white with age not make up or chemical burns. The eyes are filled with tears, but the grin remains the only thing that seems alive on the old old man. The hair is lank and unwashed, thinning. One arthritic hand clutches the shoulder now twisted and broken by THE BAT's grip. The pinstrip suit is older than it's wearer, faded and worn. Threadbare. One feeble arm keeps the sagging body held upright and we suddenly notice the spreading stain between the old man's legs. Batman (aghast): I... I'll bring help. I thought... the banks. You couldn't have robbed the banks... CUT TO a splash of colour behind THE BAT's shoulder. Red and white. A tiny jingle of bells... The sound of gun shots. THE BAT is spun round by the six shots, all aimed and hitting home into the kevlar covered right shoulder. Batman: Urgh... He uses his good arm, the other one swinging helpless from his now broken shoulder, to shield his eyes from the sudden spot lights that fill the warehouse with an unnatural white as heaven glow. Nothing stands out better on an all white background than a six foot black rodent. Not that our girl couldn't hit him in the dark. But she wants him to see her. And we suddenly NEED to see her too. Five foot of madness. A jester straight off a playing card. Red, white and black and quite insane. Curves to die for. Literally. Evidence of which is in the two shining silver slim-grip, single-stacked LDA 1911 pistols. One smoking. World meet HARLEY QUINN. Harley Quinn: That's for hurting Mr J. The JOKER suddenly starts to sob. Still smiling. Harley Quinn: Don't worry Puddin'. I got the bad man and hurt his arm too. Ain't that right Bats? Kevlar's great until it's pounded right through you. Big muscles you've got there, but bones are meant to break. To underline her point she empties the left pistol into his right kneecap. THE BAT goes down. Harley Quinn (reloading): Mr J had a stroke you see. Now we have an understanding. He's still the boss. But more of what you'd call a figurehead. I tend to do the day to day stuff. The banks. The bomb. The new face for that pretty girl from the DA... THE BAT tries to get back to his feet, good hand reaching for his utility belt. Harley Quinn: Na ah, Lover. The guns do their thing once more. THE BAT is flung backwards into the wall, doubled over from the cascade of bullets impacting into his bat-groin. He doesn't get up. CUT TO HARLEY QUINN running a gloved hand through the hair of THE JOKER as he whimpers happily despite the pain in his shoulder. Rewind the scene on DVD and you'll see the slightest murmur from under the stained material of his crotch. Harley Quinn: It's gonna be alright puddin'. I'm here. I'll look after you... FADE TO BLACK. AND WHITE. AND RED. Mike is writing to Green Day.