With Podcast Canon, Benjamin Cannon analyzes the history of podcasts and interrogates how we talk about the art form.
When the news broke earlier this month that Warner Bros. Discovery was throwing in the towel and reverting the name of its streaming service, Max, back to its original moniker of HBO Max, it knocked something loose in my brain. You might not think it’s exactly germane to the world of podcasting, but the omnishambles that is David Zaslav’s tenure at the helm of WBD has even spilled into our beloved audio medium, in uniquely ruinous ways. Allow me to spin you the tale.
Would it surprise you to learn that in the run-up to Matt Reeves’ The Batman starring Robert Pattinson, there was a fully star-studded, incredibly well-made Batman podcast, written and directed by a longtime Saturday Night Live writer? With no less a luminary than Jeffrey Wright voicing the Dark Knight himself? If this is the first you’re hearing of it, you can perhaps guess at who might be to blame. But first, let us take a moment to sing its praises. The show, which I am inducting into the Podcast Canon today, is Batman: The Audio Adventures, an inspired twist on telling stories about the Caped Crusader that taps into a different vein of the retro approach that marked Bruce Timm’s Batman: The Animated Series.
The series is the passion project of Dennis McNicholas, an Emmy-winning comedy writer with over 20 years of experience at SNL. Refracting several different eras of Batman influences through the lens of classic radio serial structures and tropes, The Audio Adventures stands apart from all other interpretations of the world’s greatest detective. This is in large part due to the way the show’s tone manages to balance the humor of the 1966 TV series, the camp of the Joel Schumacher films, and the long-form storytelling of the comics, with just a hint of the latter-day filmed entries’ grit. One gets the sense that McNicholas is genuinely passionate about the world of Batman and is overjoyed to be playing in this expansive sandbox.
In podcasting—as is often the case in animation—the involvement of celebrity voice actors can often be little more than a gimmick to increase the marketability of a property, rather than a signifier of quality. For every rule, however, there must be an exception, and that is the case with Batman: The Audio Adventures, a show that feels like everyone involved is deeply invested in the material, and that commitment is reflected in their exceptional performances.
Chris Parnell coolly narrates the series with flinty efficiency, helping the series function like an audio comic book, transitioning swiftly between panels and providing necessary color in unfamiliar locales and circumstances. Wright shines in the lead role, giving a soulful performance redolent of Kevin Conroy’s run on The Animated Series, albeit with a slightly rougher edge. Melissa Villaseñor is a delight portraying the wide-eyed, brash youth of Dick Grayson/Robin. In support, Alan Tudyk plays a note-perfect Alfred, while Kenan Thompson grounds his Commissioner Gordon more than you might expect.
In the show’s rogues’ gallery, Brent Spiner finds new dimensions of delectable terror in his portrayal of The Joker. Rosario Dawson as Catwoman makes almost too much sense, playful and sensuous, with a constant undercurrent of malice. Ike Barinholtz nails the dichotomy of Two-Face’s twin personae, while Bobby Moynihan sounds like he’s having the time of his damn life playing the Penguin. John Leguizamo’s Riddler is wonderfully petulant, and his interplay with Heidi Gardner as his sidekick Miss Tuesday provides some of the series’ best laughs. What’s more, the second season introduces Gillian Jacobs absolutely going to town with her menacingly loopy Harley Quinn, and a bone-chilling turn by Bradley Whitford as the Scarecrow is not to be missed.
Hell, I’ve gotten this far without even mentioning that Seth Myers is here giving his all as intrepid reporter Jack Ryder, Brooke Shields plays Vicki Vale, and Jason Sudeikis pops in now and again as bewildered mayor Hamilton Hill. They are joined by contributions from Fred Armisen, Aristotle Athari, Aidy Bryant, Steve Higgins, Toby Huss, Tim Meadows, Paula Pell, Katie Rich, and Paul Scheer.
McNicholas’ writing undergirds the show’s performances;. it’s tightly plotted yet playfully propulsive, darkly funny, actually mysterious, and filled to the brim with Detective Comics easter eggs. While Wright’s Batman maintains his stoicism and derring-do throughout, many of the characters on the margins are allowed to be hilarious in ways that don’t detract from the stakes or make a mockery of things. It is, first and foremost, a Batman story, even as Mayor Hill melts down over an awareness campaign against Scarecrow drugs that employs the impossible-to-remember mnemonic GLARBIMACTAFIN. It’s a romp, plain and simple, but one that feels deadly serious at the same time. The way McNicholas gets to have it both ways is a thrill to behold.
In addition, I’d be remiss not to mention the top-shelf sound of the show. The podcast’s production, recording, sound design, and mixing are courtesy of Big Yellow Duck, as well as Chris Gibney. They help ground the series in the world of Gotham, building richly layered atmospheres with constant movement and texture, the sounds of the city stretching out in perceptible ways. Given that Batman has largely existed in the realm of visual media, and it is responsible for much of the flourish of his world, it is only right that the same level of of care should be taken in crafting the sonic environment, wielding the audio medium’s strengths in the same way that comics or film would use art or production design.
Part of that sonic richness is down to the wonderful, subtle compositions from Doug Bossi, along with a handful of infectiously catchy jazz-age ballads written by Bossi and Tony Phillips. Episodes are also studded with in-universe commercials—voiced by Ray Wise, no less (in the first season, at least)—which work to flesh out the world, even seeding ideas that will bloom in later episodes. It makes the show feel so fully considered; every second of every episode is either helping to color in this version of Gotham, advance the plot, or simply reward close listening.
Now, back to the issue at hand. The question that I’ve been wondering about in the years since the show’s release has been: How does a show this high profile and well-made simply not exist in the wider culture? It serves as an object lesson in the way platform exclusivity can just ruin the momentum of a podcast’s release. You see, when the show was initially announced, it had the curious distinction of only being distributed through the HBO Max app.
Much like the way Netflix has a stable of mobile games only accessible to subscribers through their iPhone or Android app, HBO Max seems to have followed a similar strategy in hopes of driving platform engagement and subscriptions by placing exclusive content behind their paywall. A quick detour: For a long time, instituting a pay-to-listen model for podcasts was the alchemical dream of many a tech entrepreneur. The “Netflix of podcasts” was seen as some grand El Dorado in the mid-2010s, a hopeful notion that one could capitalize on the podcast boom and lure audio producers into creating exclusive shows so undeniable that listeners would have no choice but to pay to access them. But podcasting’s biggest problem has always been one of discovery—even without the walled-garden aspect that these creators wanted to introduce—so launching shows without the chance for organic word-of-mouth growth was a bit of a non-starter. The idea mostly withered on the vine, with startups like Luminary eventually giving up the ghost and allowing their programs to be offered on all major podcast listening platforms.
To add a further layer of ridiculousness to the HBO Max exclusivity of the show, one couldn’t simply listen to it because it was offered on the app in the form of a video, and shutting off one’s screen stopped it from playing. It wasn’t made available through the HBO Max app on smart TVs or set-top boxes either. The video was something of an afterthought as well, just a mostly static shot of an old-timey radio, with backgrounds changing depending on where each scene was set. It was all anathema to the experience of the audio medium, a sort of kludge to justify its inclusion on the app. The show debuted in September 2021 but wasn’t made fully available to all podcast listeners until August the following year. For the show’s second season, the writing appeared to be on the wall, and the HBO Max exclusivity window mercifully only lasted two months.
I bring all of this up because the series ended on a cliffhanger teasing a third season that, three years later, has yet to materialize. As a result of the podcast’s strange rollout, there was almost a negative opportunity for word of mouth buzz, and the lavish production went off like a damp squib. Had it been released in a normal fashion, it may have caught on in a way that created momentum enough to sustain a longer run.
As it stands now, the podcast is an ornate curio; a concept which had real legs, but was effectively kneecapped by a blundered rollout. We can only speculate as to whether that was the ultimate cause of its untimely demise. All I can say is that I hear something really special in the show. A new take on one of our most indelible and exciting characters and the world he inhabits, with lush production and sound design befitting the art inherent in the telling of his tales. Batman: The Audio Adventures is a show I wholeheartedly recommend, even as it remains frustratingly unfinished.
