The First Joker: Not as funny as I remember

I deeply appreciate a dynamic and interpersonal portrayal of an anti-hero because it's a challenging yet fascinating approach to creating a main character that audiences can empathize with and even relate to, despite their morally complex actions. Take, for example, Walter White in Breaking Bad. I could understand his initial desperation to provide for and protect his family, which is a relatable motivation for many viewers, myself included. However, as his pride and ego slowly led him down an irredeemable path, my empathy for him faded. That gradual descent into darkness was one of the show's most compelling elements, offering an engaging exploration of the complexities of human nature. Still, crafting such a character is a risky endeavour; if not done carefully, it can easily go wrong. This brings us to Joker: Folie à Deux, the highly anticipated sequel that has struggled to win over critics, currently sitting at a mere 32% on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s hard not to think back to 2019, when the first Joker film was released to widespread acclaim, even becoming one of the highest-grossing R-rated films of the decade. Yet, after re-watching the original, hoping to experience nostalgia, I walked away feeling confused, disappointed, and a little frustrated.

Todd Phillips, director of both Joker and the Hangover franchise, took a bold risk with his dark, gritty reimagining of the iconic character, stepping away from his usual comedy roots. Joaquin Phoenix’s portrayal of Arthur Fleck was designed to be a raw and human exploration of mental illness and societal neglect, striking a chord with audiences and critics alike. While the film’s psychological depth made it thought-provoking, upon rewatching, I found it riddled with contradictions and inconsistencies, particularly in how it attempts to balance dark humour with the story of a deeply troubled man.

The film initially succeeds in humanizing Arthur, especially through his tragic moments such as Arthur's uncontrollable laughing fits due to his condition, forcing him to hand out cards to passing strangers who are unable to empathize with his struggles. Another example is when Arthur sits at a comedy show and writes down the jokes that were receiving the most laughs from the audience because he doesnt understand the nuances of comedy. These moments truly broke my heart at times, showing me a character struggling to navigate a world that doesn’t try to understand him. This is excellently exemplified in Joaquin Phoenix's audacious acting capabilities and line delivery, which truly makes me appreciate the desperation this character falls into. However, Phoenix is unfortunately unable to do it justice, at least for me due to how the film’s thematic inconsistencies unravel as it progresses. One example is a scene with Arthur’s counsellor, who at one point says, “They don’t care about people like you or people like me,” which is meant to justify her frustration. Yet, she’s done nothing to connect with Arthur or offer any real support throughout their sessions. Instead of exploring these contradictions with any degree of introspection, Phillips resorts to overly explicit, on-the-nose dialogue, spoon-feeding the audience information and seemingly trying to carry itself with clever themes without following through. Despite this, Phoenix’s performance remains a standout, earning him a well-deserved Oscar for Best Actor.

I will begrudgingly admit that the film’s trailers promised a visually arresting, emotionally intense journey, especially with Arthur’s iconic dance sequences which along with a hauntingly beautiful soundtrack to accompany it, is what initially directed my attention to this film in the first place. However, after the 6th or perhaps 7th dance sequence, I found every moment increasingly hollow and redundant. What initially seemed like a powerful narrative device to show Arthur’s descent into madness I assume, became repetitive and disconnected from the story’s emotional arc, leaving me numb, rewatching the same sequence and expecting some form of emotional height. It reminds me of Oscar bait-y acting sequences that seem experimental and flaccid when you first lay your eyes on their gorgeous and vibrant cinematography, but result in meaningless screen time in the end. One major issue I also had with the film's overall depiction of a multifaceted villain comes from the question “What does Arthur want?”. At times, Arthur seems politically motivated, but his actions don’t reflect a coherent drive to pursue any larger movement or cause. For example, at the beginning of the film, I was to assume that Aurthur does not possess any inherent political agenda towards the declining state of Gotham City because he mentions that he is "not political" and "not trying to make a statement" several times throughout the film to not only his apathetic psychiatrist but also to the talk show host in the end. Yet in one particularly bizarre delusional fantasy sequence, Arthur's love interest comments on the fact that the Wall Street killer is a "hero". So from then, on I would assume that what Arthur wants is to be perceived as a hero. This stance is, of course, conditional and changes at every moment because he is "crazy". The inconsistency extends to the film's broader narrative, where Phillips seems less focused on character study and more on jumbling various disconnected themes to seem clever. The film’s descent into madness feels less like a natural progression and more like an excuse to explain away Arthur’s contradictions as a mental health issue. This approach feels lazy and disjointed as if Phillips is using mental illness as a catch-all explanation for his character's erratic behaviour. The Joker is crazy, so all his intentions and actions following thereafter can and should be excused for dramatic purposes, or something like that.

My last bone to pick has to do with the creator of this film itself. Phillips’ apparent bitterness toward modern comedy, particularly in the context of "woke culture," seems to seep into the film. In a Vanity Fair interview, he lamented the challenges of being a comedian in today’s climate, blaming the audience’s sensitivity for the death of comedy stating “"Go try to be funny nowadays with this woke culture. There were articles written about why comedies don't work anymore - I'll tell you why because all the f*ing funny guys are like, 'Fk this s**t because I don't want to offend you." It's hard to argue with 30 million people on Twitter." This frustration is palpable in Joker, where Arthur—clearly a stand-in for Phillips struggles to be understood or accepted by society. The film’s climax, where Arthur shoots his late-night talk show host, Murray Franklin, and delivers the infamous line, "What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him? You get what you deserve!" left me feeling more confused than enlightened. While some saw it as a cathartic act of rebellion, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Phillips was using Arthur's violence as a way to vent his frustrations with society's changing standards. This dilemma brings me back to a continuous issue with comedians who are unable to accept the fact that, despite the timeless assumption that comedy is a subjective genre and can always be privy to some form of rejection, maybe you're just not that funny.

Joker ultimately feels like an incomplete character study that fails to balance its dark themes with the necessary subtlety and tries to package itself as some deep introspective commentary about harsh capitalist greed enforced on the lower class. This idea itself is inexplicably captivating and more relevant than ever in this day and age, and thus treating the subject with even an ounce of respect would've at least scored a few more points for me. Joker 2019 with its beautiful cinematography, vibrant costume design, chilling composition and renowned acting performances left me feeling nothing but empty and most importantly unpopular. The film gained enormous notoriety even to this day, with 70% critic reviews and 90% audience reviews, consistently compared to its far less successful sequel. While I appreciate Phillips’ attempt to delve into mental health, social inequality, and what it feels to be flawed, I only wish as a comedian, he did it with an ounce of satire instead of spite.