Review: If You Go into 'Joker' Expecting a Comic Book Movie, the Joke is On You
The best origin stories are those that remain the most faithful to their source. Or maybe those that depict a character—heroic or villainous, we don't mind—in the proper, loyal light, showing what created them. How society (buzzword!) might have impacted them, sending them either spiraling devilishly toward evil, or how it inspired them to begin saving those in the face of said sin.
I tend to prefer those that combine both facets of origin-film; how Spider-Man: Homecoming captured the exact prepubescent ignorance that fueled Peter Parker's reluctance to embrace heroism, and how Todd Phillip's Joker, one of the best films of the Fall, and easily the most controversial of the year, captured a culture's influence on breeding a nihilistic core inside Batman's nemesis. It's truly enthralling and marvelous in both design and execution.
To assume that Phillips would approach Joker with an interest in continuing the DC Comic villain's canonical reign would be unwise. Instead of letting the Dark Knight fuel this particular narrative, Phillips tactfully introduces Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) as if we'd never seen this character before.
On The Big Picture podcast, The Ringer's Sean Fennessey asked Jason Concepcion how he may have received this film had it just been called "Arthur" or "Fleck," a la 2017's brilliant Wolverine epilogue, Logan. It's a fascinating question, mainly because it's impossible to answer, but also because the film feels as though it could stand alone. It sort of does serve as a standalone drama, save the scenes in which Thomas, Martha, and a young Bruce Wayne appear, as well as the name of this decaying city (Gotham) and ghoulish mental hospital (Arkham).
While taking place in Gotham, the setting of this gloomy tale is ostensibly 1970s New York, in which Fleck's life is in relative ruin, at least on the spectrum of happiness. As we've said, there is no Batman, no unambiguous hero to combat the villain. The result is a comprehensive study of what makes Joker's namesake so nefarious; how his infatuation with a late-night television comedian Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro) fueled an unhealthy fixation on a hopeless comedic career; and how, as mentioned, being a crooked loner in a city full of either bottom feeders or corporate animals could inspire one to turn to destruction.
For The Joker is no Thanos nor Galactus, but a troubled, murderous clown without chemically-infused powers. He obtained his "abilities" through the process of slow-but-imminent insanity, or at least a similar condition. Not mental illness, per se, but a terrifying quest for purpose that culminates in violence and dozens of cackle-laden scenes. As if he wasn't always, Phoenix goes full method here, turning up the tactics that have made him so compelling for years. He reportedly lost over 50 pounds for the role, hurled himself into taxis during scenes, and experienced a visceral fear of the film in order to capture the constant inner pain that his character exudes.
The film begins with Phoenix's Fleck seated across from his therapist, laughing uncontrollably and frighteningly; he even chokes on his own chuckles a bit, as if he's trying to rein them in. Soon enough, you'll learn that, in fact, he was, as he offers a laminated card to a startled woman on the bus: "Forgive my laughter. I have a condition." While the condition is real, it's difficult to separate the idea of this infirmity from a coping mechanism. Arthur is so miserable that he can't seem to find anything worth laughing about, and no one will laugh at his jokes. So, why not just... laugh? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t433PEQGErc
Never once does this rendition on the famed knave say "Why so serious?" nor does he offer up the reason he got those scars. To make one thing perfectly clear: this is a different kind of Joker than we have ever seen. It's not Jack Nicholson's stretched-face version, nor the cartoon accompanied by Mark Hamill's voicework. It's certainly not Heath Ledger's iconic role -- though it does come close in performance -- nor is it... whatever Jared Leto was doing in Suicide Squad.
It is, instead, a performance that anchors Phillips' intention as he even put it to Phoenix: "a way to sneak a real movie in the studio system under the guise of a comic book film." A variety of "real" movies have distinctly influenced this one -- Taxi Driver, King of Comedy, even Fight Club -- in that they all depict men violently rebelling against the society that they feel has robbed them of one thing or another. How Phillips elects to portray this uprising is thoroughly dark, and wholly jarring, but in no way is it thievery. Instead, it's utilizing the obvious influences of lauded filmmakers, like Martin Scorcese and David Fincher, for two, and building a narrative that feels like its own.
Grade: A-
Arthur's revolution -- or what he calls "having a purpose" and "being seen" -- truly begins when he bumps into a group of Wall Street types aboard his subway car. The laughing condition kicks in, and in response, the jerks' better-than-you mentality does too. They serenade him ("Send in the clowns..."), beat him, and ridicule him. Until he fights back. He fights, looks at what he's done, and flees to the solace of a dingy public restroom. He's panting, almost frantic, unmistakably exasperated. Within moments, though, he's performing a solo waltz -- accompanied by Hildur Guðnadóttir's haunting, majestic, chilling score -- reveling in the wake of his unspeakable acts.
Is this what makes the Joker tick? The triumph that twistedly supplements villainy and brutality? Well, yes, of course, it is. But not any kind of brutality; the kind that he deems deserved and righteous. The kind that, in Arthur Fleck's eyes, makes the world a better place and, in turn, provides him that once misplaced (or never discovered) purpose he longed for his entire life. The kind that Joker explores in such brutal, artfully pitiless form. It's one of the many scenes that make you realize you haven't purchased a ticket for a DC film; you've purchased one for something exceptional.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_8i7eDZiEw
Here and everywhere, Phoenix's performance is evolving. No longer is he playing Arthur Fleck. He's playing a man with a split life. On the one hand, his character, a man with a mother to care for and a girl (Zazie Beetz) to pursue, an aspect that the actor delivers with gauded tenderness. On the other, the Joker is the erroneous inspiration for a societal shift, one that incites violence and rebellion in the streets, all while wearing a clown mask. He's terrifying; he's phenomenal.
I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that these choices came with obvious and undying controversy, causing journalists and critics to warn moviegoers about the film's ability to incite violence and its portrayal of justified evil. But I'd also be remiss if I didn't note the fact that a majority of these assumptions are unfounded. One leading neurologist told Vanity Fair that he was stunned by how Joker "authentically traces the way a man could be driven to deeply troubling acts of violence by a combination of genetics, childhood trauma, untreated mental illness, and societal provocation."
The fear of violence in the theater -- which traces back to the tragic Colorado shooting at a screening of The Dark Knight Rises in 2012 -- is not necessarily unwarranted, but nor is it based on anything Phillips, Phoenix, or Joker says. The film depicts a troubled, fictional individual -- based on Batman's enemy -- who turns to violence when he assumes his life has no other purpose. It's quite sullen; it's not a call for action.
The guise of a comic book film, particularly one from Marvel, is a concept that most figures of prestige in the film world, notably and recently Scorcese, have begun to shudder at. Perhaps Phillips -- once the director of Old School, Road Trip, and the Hangover trilogy -- knew this and approached this "comic book" origin story with the approach that Fincher took to Fight Club, not what Christopher Nolan took to Batman Begins. That's not to say that Phillips' approach is better than Nolan's; it's to say that Phillips -- who co-wrote the screenplay with Scott Silver -- had different ideas. Ideas that won Joker a deserved standing ovation after the film's screening at the Venice Film Festival; that later won the film festival's Golden Lion. They are ideas that led Todd Phillips to make a truly great and undeniably unique film. If nothing else, put on a happy face and recognize that.