Joker: Folie à Deux

A recent rewatch of Joker reminded me just how frustrating it is. It's a wonderful looking movie with great sound design and a distinctive score, a great (if dubiously Oscar-worthy) performance from Joaquin Phoenix, and is trying to use the trappings of a comic book movie and a character with whom we're very familiar in order to implicate society. It does so by trying to blend a couple forty year-old Scorsese films with its own thoughts, an approach undermined when it becomes clear that director Todd Phillips doesn't understand The King of Comedy or Taxi Driver. Or else, he just doesn't care for their condemnation of self-centered, disaffected outsiders who feel society has denied them what they're owed and are willing to take it by violent means if necessary, all while the media inadvertently turns them into heroes. Phillips wants to take a different approach, but can't figure out how to say it effectively within the bounds of the story. The ideas are there, just poorly communicated. Joker was many, many things, but empty-headed wasn't one of them.

So I was already somewhat curious about the sequel. I wasn't sure exactly where you take the story, but there were enough positive elements in the first that I thought maybe Phillips could corral them into something more interesting and contemplative this time around. The announcement that it would be a musical, a fact which the trailer didn't shy away from, had my ear even more. Not that I'm particularly a fan of musicals; it's just that it's incredibly rare to make one a sequel to a non-musical. It was a bold choice, and so it made sense to pick a singer as co-lead, which is why Lady Gaga as Harley Quinn seemed like a sensible casting decision.

Structurally, Phillips and co-writer Scott Silver made another unexpected decision: it's largely a courtroom drama, where Assistant DA Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey) is seeking the death penalty for Arthur following his murder of five* people. The time between courtroom scenes is mostly filled by his time in the shambolic Arkham Asylum, experiencing frequent abuse at the hands of the guards, lead by Jackie (Brendan Gleeson). Of course, as the previous film was Joker's origin story, it's very unsurprising that the sequel would explore the origin of his romance with another popular DC character, Harley Quinn.

Which is also one of the most baffling and reactionary bits of the movie. It's trying to enter into conversation with all the other recent explorations of their relationship, such as Birds of Prey, the Harley Quinn TV show, and more. For the unaware, in most depictions, Harley was a psychologist at Arkham Asylum who was manipulated by the Joker and fell in love with him before eventually finding her way out of their horribly abusive relationship. The aforementioned media all deepen that discussion, expounding how the Joker worked his charm and brought her down to his level, and show her in a much better (if still chaotic) place now that they've separated. To which Phillips says "Nuh uh!" His counter argument: what if it was Harley who was manipulating Joker?! Think about that!

...Yeah, it's just as dumb as it sounds. Especially since no effort is ever expended to explore why she would be interested in gaining control over Arthur, made even more confounding once certain biographical details come to light. He learns soon after the trial begins that she's lied to him, and when he confronts her about it, she doesn't deny it for a moment. Then, in the next breath, she proceeds to drop a few more big claims on him, and he immediately believes her. Because...unclear? Even ignoring how it crudely spits in the face of their normally toxic dynamic for no real reason, their relationship is rushed, and nonsensical besides. That so much of the movie's emotional arc hinges on it is a problem.

It does provide an avenue for the musical aspects to bleed in, most often in dream sequences during which Arthur imagines being with Harley in various settings. Most appear artificial in an Old Hollywood sort of way, paying homage to the classics of the genre whose music they're also borrowing. The songs are fine, functional enough but nothing all that memorable. As for their performance...listen, I love Phoenix as much as the next guy, but the man isn't a born singer. Even with the pieces being rearranged to accommodate his much more limited range, his voice is all fried and crackly and whiny. Voices like that do have a place, but more in quirky folk music à la Tom Waits than a classic musical.

What's even more tragic is how it forces Lady Gaga into a corner. She has such an outstanding voice, t's powerful and full, always commanding your attention. Which already makes her a slightly awkward fit for a movie populated by mid-20th century musical covers, but she's talented enough to compensate. What can you do about a co-star who can't hold a candle to you, though? In many cases, she holds back, delivering a more reserved and deliberately shaky sound, trying to match Phoenix's energy, which is just a waste. At least she gets to spread her wings a bit more when her and Arthur are duetting, allowing her to lift the perception of them both. But overall, it's a disappointment.

Thematically, it's trying to do too much. They melt into a muddled mess, stepping on and deemphasizing each other until none stand out, in part because they overlap so much. Afterwards, you can pull them apart, but it's more of an intellectual exercise, not emotion created in you by the movie's execution. There's the throughline of people insisting Arthur suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder and that Joker is one of his personalities, which is frustrating as it seems to be based on wishful thinking with a complete lack of evidence, and Arthur barely even acknowledges the idea. Phillips wants to announce he finally cracked what those Scorsese movies were about, so he includes a bunch of shots of cameras and video screens and such to make us think about how the media frames and impacts our perception of the figures who appear on it. But the central idea seems to be about how people perform for the camera, as we see Arthur doing in small ways early on and expansive ones after some late dramatic developments.

I say that because of one scene late in the film which has lingered with me, in part because it's clearly the best of the movie, and in part because it feels so incongruous.

The testimony of Gary Puddles (Leigh Gill) is by far the most compelling, nuanced, and heartbreaking moments of the film. Despite the defense making the case that Arthur was a normal guy who didn't hurt anyone until bullies provoked his alter ego to kill, Gary is a counterpoint. Having been gruff yet reasonable in the first movie, Gill perfectly captures a man who's been reduced to a pile of anxiety, jumpy and timid after witnessing the brutal murder of a co-worker by someone who'd always been kind to him. When Arthur confidently asserts that Gary was left unharmed, Gary fires back that ever since, he's had trouble sleeping, and has remained constantly scared in a way he never knew before. More than anyone else, it's Gary who lands the argument that the harm caused by Arthur is far, far more than just the people he killed.

And it works. It's the first moment we see Arthur's mask slip. His confident, defiant swagger drops for just a second as we hear him curse under his breath when Gary starts laying out what the incident has done to him. Arthur can't shut it down, he can't look away. He's forced to face the consequences of his actions, even as he thought he'd done the right thing, and it leaves a mark. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say what follows would not have happened without Gary's testimony.

It almost feels out of place. That someone who until now has displayed such conviction, and been so cavalier or even delighted at the chaos he stirred up, including a minor incident that very evening, would suddenly change his tune. But in the broader, metatextual light of the cultural impact of Joker, it begins to feel like maybe Phillips has some regrets. His attempt at telling an apolitical story was immediately received as intensely political, even utilized by politicians and in a handful of protests worldwide. Which he should have foreseen, due to the climate into which is was to be released, the nature of the story, and character's pre-existing popularity amongst some of the more unsavory elements off the internet (e.g. incels). Regardless, my read is that while no violence was committed in the name of his movie (as some people feared), Phillips concluded some of the messages commonly seen in the story were harmful. That maybe the whole thing was born of a reactionary mindset, and he was gladly riding high on the strength of his fans and boosters, until some moment came at which he was forced to reckon with the realities of what it wrought. I've no idea what that could have been, but it must have made an indelible mark, as from this point on the tone of the movie shifts.

Granted, even in this self-reflective moment, Phillips succumbs to the cruel instincts which led him here. He cannot help but mildly undercut Gary by calling attention to his small stature. There's no reason the audience needs to see a slow pan of Gary sitting on top of a phone book so he'l be tall enough to reach the microphone. Nor do we need to see Arthur's notebook where he's scribbled "How tall are you, really?" To say nothing of the more direct jokes Arthur makes at his expense. It's one more indignity the character endures, after being subjected to a similar scene in the first movie, when he's briefly unable to leave Arthur's apartment after Randall's murder because he's too short to unchain the door.

The whole sequence, its place in the narrative, the jokes within, Phoenix drifting in and out of a Foghorn Leghorn inspired Southern drawl, all of it makes it a great symbol of the issues with the movie. It has things to say, but they're surrounded by so much other stuff to distract and lessen the impact.

From an artistic standpoint, this film should not have been made. Phillips has said he always intended Joker to be a one-off, and you can feel it working overtime to tie elements of this story to the events of the first. He still doesn't have anything super profound on his mind, nor a particularly compelling way to discuss that which is. It's a big swing, I'll give him that. But this is what happens when box office results drive artistic decisions, especially when the artist in question is not very talented: triple the money spent for a bigger plane that he still cannot land.