In 2019, Todd Philips' "Joker" rode a wave of hyped-up controversy and surprising critical acclaim into an unprecedented box office windfall and a surprisingly broad showing in the awards season. Six months later, amid global protests against police brutality and systematic racism, viral footage showed multiple individuals dressed as Joaquin Phoenix's take on the iconic titular villain posing and running amuck in chaotic scenes. Having finally seen the movie and sat on its muddled themes for a while, I can't say I'm surprised.
Ever since Christopher Nolan reinvented the Clown Prince of Crime as an anarchist with a bent for social experimentation in "The Dark Knight," the already substantial Joker fandom took on new life. Batman's nemesis became a champion of sorts for the meme-based manifestos of internet commenters seeking the edgiest possible ways to rant their indignation over "living in a society." And despite all the talk of "Scorsese-influences" and "poignant commentary," I found the new movie had more in common with those shallow, vapid memes than "Taxi Driver" or "The King of Comedy."
Normally, I try to avoid spoilers in my reviews, but in this case there’s no real way to really unpack my thoughts without giving away major plot points, so let this be your warning. Here there be spoilers.
We meet Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix), clown-for-hire by day and awful aspiring comedian by night, afflicted with a myriad of mental illnesses, including one which causes him to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate moments. That particular diagnosis sets the tone for the level of subtlety we can expect from the rest of the film.
Arthur works a dead-end job in the dead-end city of Gotham, a painfully nondescript metropolis that we are constantly told is so hopelessly corrupt that it is on the verge of a violent uprising. However, we never really see anything out of the ordinary from a pretty standard American city, save for some cheesy dialogue from the rich that seemed incredibly unrealistic until I remembered we now live in the era of “Sacrifice Grandma for the Economy.”
Arthur’s life rapidly spirals out of control, first losing his job and then having a violent run-in on the subway with some drunk, harassing stock brokers who are inexplicably familiar with the lyrics to Stephen Sondheim’s “Send In The Clowns.” This triple homicide-by-jester somehow launches a citywide movement of people who quickly decide that these three random jerks deserved to die. And that means they must all start wearing mass-produced clown masks that conveniently look exactly like Arthur’s makeup.
From here on out, Arthur spirals further downhill, culminating with an appearance on The Murray Franklin Show, a late night variety show whose titular host (Robert de Niro) once mocked one of Arthur’s failed routines. He plans to kill himself, but ultimately assassinates Murray instead. This is hugely popular among the people of Gotham, though why they seem to think Murray deserved to die is unclear. Joker is broken out of police custody and celebrated by the rioters while the Waynes are murdered in an alley, because would this really count for anything if we didn't see Batman's parents die? Again?
A final scene of Arthur in an asylum casts doubt on veracity of the story we just heard. Or maybe not. Like so much of this movie, it’s not really clear why it’s there. "Joker" is full of meandering plotlines, none of which are elaborated on for long and serve little more than to move the lead into the needed position to commit his next murder. The more interesting subjects such as the social injustices of Gotham and the treatment of people with mental health issues never get more than the cursory glance needed to prolong the primary plot.
To inhabit his decidedly pedestrian version of Gotham, director Todd Philips managed to assemble a cast of extremely talented people as broad as his many divergent plot-points: Brett Cullen, Zazie Beetz, Bryan Tyree-Henry, Marc Maron and even Robert de Niro. I mention them to highlight the skill available, but will not mention them again because they have next to nothing to do or contribute to the story. Philips was clearly not interested in anyone who wasn't Arthur/Joker.
Perhaps the fractured nature of the piece is intentional. Perhaps Philips wanted to represent the scattered psyche of his titular character. I have pondered that possibility. The movie is, after all, told entirely from Arthur's point of view. But in the end, I feel that such an explanation is more wishful thinking for a sense of cohesion than an actual analysis. The use of Arthur as the point of view perspective, however, is responsible for the biggest problem the movie has: its messaging.
The creative team behind "Joker" and its avid fans have gone to great lengths to insist that the movie doesn’t glorify violence. I am left, however, failing to see how this is anything other than willful ignorance. One need only look at the comments on the YouTube clip of the initial subway killings, for lists of people calling the murders “satisfying” and justifying Arthur’s actions, just as the mob in the movie does.
This isn’t even a matter of questioning violence as a means for social revolution. The Joker isn’t targeting objects of oppression. He’s lashing out at anyone who has slighted him, dispensing lethal retaliation for personal offense. Rather than expose or address true societal problems, writer/director Todd Philips turned male rage and indigence at personal slights into a social revolution, pandering to the type of people who would much rather everyone stop being “politically correct” and just think and act on whatever they want and feel.
This is unfortunate, because I think there exists a Joker movie that actually has something relevant to say. The Joker is in many ways The Id personified, a force of human nature purely given over to base selfish impulses. Crime, murder and destruction are all just games to him, a rejection of the “boring” social contracts of living in a society. He can become a Tyler Durden-esque character, drawing others into his thrall through the appeal of selfish impulse and the rebellious urge to lash out at rules just because they exist.
But just like Tyler Durden, any character meant to critique a toxic ideology can instead become a hero to those who share the character's point of view. In its meandering indecisiveness to actually say anything meaningful or invest in the world beyond Arthur’s point of view, the movie plays directly into his own hype. Instead of being a cautionary villain, we last see him as a champion of the masses.
Those masses seem particularly relevant given recent events. But in "Joker," the sight of rioters, mainly white men, railing against the vague oppression of “society” and lifting up a murderous clown as their hero makes a stark contrast against the diverse coalition of real-life protestors facing brutal oppression in the streets on our own news screens. The movie comes across as an embodiment of that dancing cosplayer on the news, appropriating the real struggles of the oppressed to seek justification in a self-imposed victim status and living out their fantasy of violent individualism.
I've likely spent too long unpacking the problematic messaging, but that was really what stuck with me the most, because there is so little else to actually invest in. The most praise I can offer is for Hildur Guonadottir's score and Joaquin Phoenix's performance, both both pieces subtle but incredibly nuanced. One can only be left wishing those same qualities had been applied to the rest of the movie.
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