Selina Kyle is a mess. That’s why we love her. Unlike Batman, who is defined by a rigid, almost pathological moral code, Catwoman in movies has always been a shifting target of ethics, fashion, and feline-inspired trauma. She isn't just a villain. She isn't quite a hero. She’s the person who steals the jewels while the city is burning because, honestly, she’s gotta pay rent too.
Over the last sixty years, Hollywood has treated the character like a Rorschach test for whatever femininity meant at the time. From the campy, purring theatrics of the sixties to the jagged, neon-soaked tragedy of the nineties, her evolution says more about us than it does about comic books. People keep trying to pin down the "definitive" version, but the truth is that Selina survives because she is adaptable. She's a stray. You can’t keep her in one box for long.
The High Camp of Lee Meriwether
Most people start the timeline with Michelle Pfeiffer, but we have to talk about 1966. Lee Meriwether stepped into the catsuit for the first-ever Batman feature film, taking over for Julie Newmar (who was busy with another project). This wasn't the gritty, tortured Selina we know now. It was Technicolor absurdity. Meriwether played "Miss Kitka," a Soviet journalist, as part of a convoluted plot involving the United World Organization and a dehydrator.
It was silly. It was brilliant.
Meriwether’s performance anchored the idea that Catwoman is, first and foremost, a master of disguise. She wasn't just a lady in ears; she was an operative. While the 1966 film is often dismissed as a joke by modern "dark and gritty" fans, it established the flirtatious, high-stakes gamesmanship between her and Bruce Wayne. Without Meriwether’s poise, the romantic tension in later films wouldn't have a foundation to build on.
Michelle Pfeiffer and the Birth of the Anti-Hero
Then came 1992. Tim Burton’s Batman Returns changed everything. Seriously. Before this, the character was a thief. After this, she was a psychological phenomenon.
Michelle Pfeiffer’s transformation from the mousy, overlooked Max Shreck secretary into a whip-cracking vigilante is arguably the most iconic costume reveal in cinema history. It wasn't just about the vinyl. It was about the stitches. Those white, jagged lines holding the suit together served as a literal metaphor for her fractured psyche. She was literally coming apart at the seams.
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Pfeiffer’s Catwoman didn't care about money. She wanted revenge against a patriarchal system that quite literally threw her out of a window. Critics at the time, like Roger Ebert, noted that the film was surprisingly dark—maybe too dark for a "superhero movie." But that darkness is exactly why she resonated. She wasn't a sidekick. She was a mirror. She showed Bruce Wayne what happens when you lose control of your trauma. Her performance remains the gold standard because it felt dangerous. You actually believed she might kill Batman, or herself, or both, just to feel something.
The Halle Berry Disaster and What Went Wrong
We have to talk about 2004. It's unavoidable. Catwoman, starring Halle Berry, is frequently cited as one of the worst movies ever made. But why?
The problem wasn't Berry; she’s an Oscar winner. The problem was the fundamental misunderstanding of the character. They stripped away Selina Kyle entirely. Instead, we got Patience Phillips, a woman who gains cat powers from a mystical Egyptian Mau and fights an evil cosmetics mogul played by Sharon Stone. It felt like a fever dream directed by someone who had never seen a cat or read a comic book.
It’s a cautionary tale. It proves that you can’t just put a famous actress in a shredded leather outfit and call it Catwoman. You need the soul. You need the Gotham grit. The movie tried to turn her into a generic "chosen one" superhero, and in doing so, they lost the moral ambiguity that makes her interesting. If she isn't a thief with a heart of gold (or at least a heart of polished silver), she isn't Catwoman.
Anne Hathaway’s Realist Approach
When Christopher Nolan announced Anne Hathaway for The Dark Knight Rises, the internet had a collective meltdown. People thought she was too "musical theater" for the gritty world of Christian Bale’s Batman. They were wrong.
Hathaway’s version brought back the "Classy Cat Burglar" archetype from the 1940s comics. She wasn't supernatural. She didn't have nine lives. She was a high-tech grifter who used her heels as serrated knives. It was practical. It was cynical.
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"There's a storm coming, Mr. Wayne. You and your friends better batten down the hatches, because when it hits, you're all gonna wonder how you ever thought you could live so large and leave so little for the rest of us."
That line from the trailer defined her. She represented the 99%—the person tired of the Gotham elite. Hathaway played her with a dry, biting wit that felt grounded in a way Pfeiffer’s version never could be. She wasn't crazy; she was just tired of being poor. It’s a very different kind of motivation, and it fit the "Occupying Wall Street" vibes of 2012 perfectly.
Zoë Kravitz and the Noir Revival
The most recent iteration in Matt Reeves' The Batman (2022) takes us back to the detective roots. Zoë Kravitz plays a Selina Kyle who isn't even fully "Catwoman" yet. She’s a cocktail waitress looking for a missing friend. She’s vulnerable.
What Kravitz does so well is portray the exhaustion of the character. Her Selina is a survivor of systemic abuse who is just trying to navigate a city that wants to swallow her whole. The chemistry with Robert Pattinson’s Batman isn't just sexy; it’s lonely. They are two damaged orphans looking for a connection in a world of rain and shadows.
This version feels the most human. She isn't a caricature. She’s a woman with a motorcycle and too many cats, trying to survive another night.
Why Catwoman in Movies Always Changes
So, why the constant shifting? Why can't we just pick a suit and stick with it?
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Because Selina Kyle is a shapeshifter by trade. In the comics, she’s been a prostitute, a mob boss, a socialite, and a hero. The movies reflect this. When society is feeling campy and fun, we get Meriwether. When we’re feeling the angst of the nineties, we get Pfeiffer. When we’re worried about class warfare, we get Hathaway.
Catwoman in movies works because she represents the grey area. Batman is the law. The Joker is chaos. Selina is just... us. She’s the compromise. She does what she has to do to get by, and she looks damn good doing it.
The nuanced portrayal of her character across these decades shows a slow but steady move toward agency. Early versions were defined by their relationship to Batman. Modern versions, like Kravitz’s, have their own missions, their own friends, and their own grief that has nothing to do with the man in the bat mask.
How to Appreciate the Legacy of Selina Kyle
If you want to really understand the evolution of this character beyond the surface-level leather and whips, look at the following themes during your next rewatch:
- The Motivation: Look at why she steals. Is it for survival (Kravitz), for revenge (Pfeiffer), or for the thrill (Meriwether)?
- The Relationship to Authority: Notice how she interacts with the police versus how Batman does. She is almost always an outsider to both the heroes and the villains.
- The Visual Language: Pay attention to her goggles and masks. In The Dark Knight Rises, her goggles flip up to look like ears—a functional piece of tech. In Batman Returns, the ears are part of a mask she stitched herself in a manic episode. These details tell the story.
To truly dive into the character, start by watching Batman Returns and The Batman (2022) back-to-back. The contrast between the expressionist nightmare of the 90s and the grounded noir of the 2020s provides the perfect overview of how far the character has come. Then, find the 1987 Batman: Year One comic by Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli. It’s the source material that most heavily influenced the modern, grittier portrayals you see on screen today. Understanding the ink and paper helps you appreciate the celluloid even more.