“He hasn’t gotten himself enough credit for going, ‘Yeah—that guy,’” he continues. “And everybody went, ‘Wait, Michael? You worked with him on Beetlejuice, right?’ But I think what happened was Tim saw Clean and Sober”—Keaton’s first non-comedic role, about a man overcoming substance abuse. “I get the credit. I don’t know that he got enough credit for making that move. That was a bold move.”
Plenty of esteemed actors have since wriggled into the Batsuit—George Clooney, Christian Bale, Ben Affleck, Robert Pattinson—but Keaton is still considered to be one of the best Batmen, and certainly the best Bruce Wayne. He’s even reprised the role, twice: in 2023’s The Flash and in the unreleased Batgirl, the latter of which was scrapped by Warner Bros. amid cost-cutting measures and will never see the light of day. Was the fate of Batgirl disappointing to him at all?
“No, I didn’t care one way or another. Big, fun, nice check,” Keaton says, rubbing his fingers together in the universal gesture for “moolah.”
He pauses for a second, then softens slightly. “I like those boys. They’re nice guys.” (Batgirl directors Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah, he means.) “I pull for them. I want them to succeed, and I think they felt very badly, and that made me feel bad. Me?” he says, shrugging. “I’m good.”
Keaton is starting to get visibly agitated with this line of questioning. He tenses up, and I suddenly find myself on the disapproving end of some of cinema’s most famous eyebrows. Why does everyone want to talk about Batman all the time anyway? At the end of the day, it was a role he played, like any other. If there was one thing he really got out of it, it was this: “I’m nothing but only respectful and grateful, 100%,” Keaton says. “And proud of it actually, because I like to prove everybody wrong. It’s fun for me.”
The dad vibes, first established with Mr. Mom, remain strong with Keaton. It’s a priority in his life—he has a son, Sean, who now has kids of his own. It continues to be a preoccupation in his work—both his self-directed film from earlier this year, Knox Goes Away, and the upcoming comedy Goodrich, wrestle with fatherhood. But nowhere is it more present or palpable than on his Instagram. That’s where, to his 945,000 followers, he posts stuff that could otherwise be posted by your average MSNBC-loving suburban dad. It’s refreshingly unmanicured, the majority of the feed populated by photos of his dog, photos of his actual TV taken from the couch, screengrabs of articles with wonky cropping, and, once, a photo of a tweet on his computer that was then posted rotated 90 degrees the wrong way.
When I merely mention the existence of his Instagram account, he turns bright red and starts belly-laughing that great Michael Keaton laugh, pretty much collapsing in our booth.
