Crazies in Love — Joker: Folie à Deux
The Joker. Harley Quinn. Gotham City in flames. The possibilities are endless. After Todd Phillips’ divisive but brilliant Joker from 2019 offered a dark, grungy look at one of many plausible origins for the Clown Prince of Crime (the man himself has famously said in various media that if he was going to have a backstory, he’d like it to be multiple choice), one that cleverly and surprisingly shined a light on how society can fail the mentally ill, there were any number of avenues to take in order to expand upon this thesis. Even though the first film was meant to be a standalone, and even though there was a challenge in figuring out a follow-up plot now that this version of Joker was established, it was certainly doable, and in ways that were both entertaining and profound.
Imagine our collective surprise when Joker: Folie à Deux turned out to be the cinematic equivalent of melatonin. It defies all logic. So much care was put into the first story, aided immensely by Joaquin Phoenix’s Oscar-winning performance. Phillips showed us a Gotham standing atop a powder keg, needing only for someone to light the match. That spark came in the form of Arthur Fleck, an abused and lonely man falling through the cracks of an underfunded and dispassionate healthcare and welfare system, cursed with an involuntary manic laugh, and operating under the delusion of becoming a comedian despite little to no talent and training. Under a perfect storm of anguish, violence, crime, the entitlement of the wealthy, and the fantasy of what life could have been like had things turned out differently, Arthur finally snapped, embraced the clown persona, and offered himself as a the triumphant anarchistic savior of those also broken by the system. How can you take all of that buildup, throw in Mishtah J’s mad love in Harley, and somehow have the whole thing turn out to be almost intolerably boring?
The answer is by undoing that messianic rise and reducing Arthur Fleck back to his previous status as a whimpering, downtrodden fool. Picking up at Arkham Asylum, Arthur is emaciated and largely silent, just another prisoner among the criminally insane, with much more of an emphasis on the “criminal” half. Really the only reference to mental health in Arthur’s “A Ward” (get it, Academy voters?) is the fact that the inmates line up each day to take compulsory medication. Otherwise, his living conditions look like any other generic prison drama. The inmates fight, the food is disgusting, there’s basically no lighting, and the guards mock and abuse the residents, chiefly led by Brendan Gleeson as Jackie Sullivan. You may ask why such an accomplished actor as Gleeson is here playing a guard, and the apparent answer is that Phillips wanted to hire a real Irishman to do an accent that sounds like an American doing a lazy Irish accent and/or make reference to the old trope of Irish cops in New York (in one of the odder choices of the film, Gotham is explicitly referenced as a city in the state of New York). The only reminder we get of the Joker from the last movie is the fact that just about every character reiterates his crimes through expository dialogue. Did you know that Joker killed five people, including one on live television? Because Joker killed five people, including one on live television!
Anyhoo, Arthur is on his way to meet with his lawyer, Maryanne Stewart (Catherine Keener in her own Sunken Place, judging by the look on her face as she delivers her lines), who is trying to craft an insanity defense, arguing that Arthur and Joker are separate personalities. As he’s led through the asylum’s “B Ward,” he sees Lady Gaga as Harleen Quinzel (going by “Lee” in this film to be “edgier,” I guess) singing in a music room with a group of other non-dangerous patients. They lock eyes, Lee comes out into the hallway and mimes shooting herself in the head, and instantly Arthur is smitten. Sure.
What follows from there is a two-sided story that satisfies no one. On the one hand, you have Arthur and Lee becoming closer and even grossly romantic. That’s not me passing judgment on either of their appearances, merely the way in which their tryst presented, including a conjugal visit in solitary confinement where Lee has to help Arthur perform. The other side is Arthur’s trial, where Harvey Dent (Harry Lawley) not only rejects the split persona claim but actively seeks the death penalty. Lee, having been released on her own cognizance because she voluntarily committed herself to Arkham in the first place, tries to assume the role of media liaison for Arthur and get the closest seat in the courtroom to herself in order to influence his actions, much to Stewart’s chagrin. This version of Harley is nothing more than a star-fucker, and Joker is an easily manipulated simp. Throughout both proceedings we’re inundated with interruptions for song breaks, because for reasons known but to God, Phillips decided to make this something of a jukebox musical.
Weirdly enough, this all could have worked, had Phillips remained committed to what he established last time out. In pretty much every incarnation, the relationship between Harley and Joker is unhealthy at best and abusive at worst, mostly because of the power dynamic between them. With that in mind, it can be intriguing to flip the script somewhat and have Harley be the one using Joker. But Phillips accomplishes this by tearing down Joker’s cult of personality completely off screen and having all of Lee’s machinations (what little there are) expressed solely as dialogue. The one active step she takes in anything between them is starting a fire during a film screening as a means to attempt escape, but when you learn that she was there of her own volition anyway, the moment is robbed of any meaning.
The same goes for the song and dance numbers. In most musicals — at least, most good ones — the songs are there to either advance the plot or advance the characters. Here, they do neither. A couple of them make for interesting scenes as far as the cinematography is concerned, but that’s about it. We gain no insight into Arthur or Lee, no hint of their motivations, just a glimpse into the shared psychosis that makes up the pretentious subtitle, and even then it’s false based on where the plot goes. With each interlude the story is ground to a complete halt with almost nothing to offer, other than a Sonny & Cher parody and an opportunity for Lady Gaga to work her way through the Great American Songbook and K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the 70s.
There are moments of great potential, but sadly, they’re fleeting, and far too few. For instance, there’s a pretty good indicator for when Arthur is experiencing things in reality versus whatever he’s imagining, and that’s in Phoenix’s singing voice. When it’s real, he’s gravelly and off key. When he’s in his mental paradise with Lee, he brings gusto and proper pitch to his tracks. The best musical reference of the whole movie doesn’t even come in a song, but in a rather dark joke when one of the guards (Tim Dillon) asks Arthur to sign a copy of his book, stupidly saying out loud that he thinks it’ll skyrocket in value once Arthur is executed. In what is perhaps the best scene in the entire affair, during Arthur’s trial, an unexpected character from the last film returns to testify, forcing our villain to truly take stock of what he’s done. Hell, the opening scene is a Looney Tunes-inspired cartoon where Arthur literally fights with his own Joker-y shadow, which could have set up an amazing thematic through line. Again, this could have worked, had Phillips kept up the momentum and character development that he started five years ago.
Unfortunately, though, it’s just a formulaic disappointment. There aren’t any real surprises. There isn’t any chaos. Outside of a few diversions, the plot unfolds pretty much like you’d expect it to, only you’re wondering why we spent so much time on Thomas and Bruce Wayne last time only for the Waynes to have no involvement here. And when things are so pedestrian, that opens the door to notice all the other little flaws, like the fact that every scene is so poorly lit that one person in the auditorium I was in literally yelled, “TURN ON A FUCKING LIGHT!” I think the artistic design intent was to create a massive contrast to the moments when Arthur feels like there’s a spotlight on him (illustrated with literal spotlights), but it does get exceedingly annoying to not be able to see what’s going on because the screen is so dark. This becomes even an even more damning flaw given the major bit of foreshadowing Phillips tries to implement for the ending, but since there isn’t enough illumination to distinguish any of the ancillary and background characters, we’re completely unable to catch on. Similarly, a scene where the guards savagely beat an inmate feels tacked on and has no real bearing on anything, Hildur Guðnadóttir returns for the score but it’s wasted because so much focus is pulled for the catalog covers, and even basic logical questions of how Lee is able to operate within the asylum are left dangling with no answers, and not in the “everything and everyone is crazy” way that would enhance our enjoyment of these characters.
In Joker and Harley, you have two of the most extraordinary members of the DC Comics Rogues’ Gallery, and somehow, Todd Phillips turned them into something almost distastefully ordinary. They’re fucked up, sure, but not in any way beyond what any of us watching might think up. Even worse, this film actually regresses them, Joker through a reversal of his rise to ultraviolent power and Harley by betraying 30 years of evolution for no reason other than to make her yet another liar who takes advantage of Arthur. Is this what Phillips was honestly trying to build to, or is it yet another casualty of studio avarice in wanting a sequel to capitalize on the last flick’s success? Either way, the end result is well-made, but incredibly dull, and I mean that in the literal sense that such dullness is unbelievable given all the ingredients he had for true greatness. The ultimate insult to Harley’s Puddin’ is to render him as the punchline to his own gag, but it’s even more upsetting when it’s a joke no one gets. A total batshit disaster would have served the character more than what he actually got, which was just pure averageness.
Grade: C
Join the conversation in the comments below! What film should I review next? What’s the worst comic book-inspired sequel you’ve ever seen? Was there ANY point in making this a musical? Let me know! And remember, you can follow me on Twitter (fuck “X”) and subscribe to my YouTube channel for even more content, and check out the entire BTRP Media Network at btrpmedia.com!
Originally published at http://actuallypaid.com on October 17, 2024.