"Joker" Review: Joaquin Phoenix Shines in Drab and Confused Take on the Iconic Villain

Written by: Christian Jatar

There’s a scene in “Joker” that you’ve probably seen many, many times by now. It’s featured in different trailers and TV spots and has, quite predictably, made its way into meme culture. It’s that scene where he dances in a very odd manner down an unusually long set of stairs. He is covered in his iconic makeup; He is wearing his bright red suit, and his moves are different, to say the least. He seems liberated, in a disturbing kind of way. The creepy strings and loud crashes of percussion that score all these previews bring his damaged interiority clearly to light: He has descended into madness, and he is sadly enjoying every second of it. In the movie, though, the scene is flipped on its head. In an act of baffling incompetence, writer/director, Todd Phillips, decides to use Gary Glitter’s “Rock and Roll Part 2,” a song that is most commonly associated with a football team entering the field for one last glorious hoorah, or the bros all back together and ready to party like there is no tomorrow. The scene, which in trailers was quite horrifying, is now a confused little piece of seemingly triumphant character development: The joker has descended into madness, but is it a bad thing that he’s enjoying it? This kind of unfortunate decision is what, in the end, best characterizes “Joker.” A series of bad decisions by an immature, wholly irresponsible director who has no idea how to tackle such an iconic villainous character with any sort of subtlety.

Joaquin Phoenix plays Arthur Fleck in what’s surely the third-best performance of his career (Freddie Quell at number one, and Doc Sportello at number two. Fight me). He’s a lonely, repressed white-male desperately trying to live a happy life in a society that always finds a way to knock him down (At times, quite literally). He works as a hired-clown, but his dream is to bring laughter to the world as a stand-up comic. Arthur lives with his mom in a run-down apartment. She’s his only true friend and the last beacon of hope in what he views as a world ruled by chaos. He suffers from a condition referred to as “pseudobulbar affect,” which makes him laugh uncontrollably during the most unfortunate situations. When he laughs, he feels pain. As if every “haha” carries with it a small dagger that tears his insides apart. He keeps a laminated card in his pocket that explains his condition. He uses it when the hurtful laughter impedes him from talking. It genuinely makes you feel for the guy. He’s hurting, and no one cares. It’s by far the most compelling aspect of the entire film. Sadly, it is so overused, so obviously relied upon to generate empathy, that it ends up losing its emotional pull by the end.

The most egregious mistake the movie commits is confusing “dark” with “interesting.” It thinks that by just being aesthetically gloomy, that’s somehow enough to garner a serious and thoughtful meditation of its character. The meandering script never says anything interesting about its chosen theme of mental health and how the system fails all of those who lack the means to afford much-needed help. It dedicates all of two scenes to this subject and then, predictably enough, spends most of its runtime going over a ridiculous, burned-out comic-book subplot. And worst of all, even when it’s staying true to its comic-book roots, it still manages to rob The Joker of one of his most entertaining characteristics: His theatricality. He’s always been a villain well aware of the expectations set by his name. He has fun with the macabre, and it shows. He is twisted but always up for a dumb one-liner or a needlessly mean punch-line: He’s a joker who’s gone off the deep end. In Todd Phillips’ interpretation of the character, he’s just sad and lonely. He never enjoys anything, and when he does, it’s just plain concerning: He’s a joker who’s never known anything but the deep end. It betrays the character in order to appear more serious, more lifelike. As a result, the movie spends its entire length locked in a constant tug-of-war between its two very distinct sides: The “Taxi Driver” character-study it so desperately wants to be, and the comic-book origin story it needs to be to attract a big, box-office friendly crowd. It ends up failing on both fronts. The character-study is vacuous and as deep as a kids’ pool and the typical origin story is as entertaining as watching cement dry on a cold winter night.

It does have one other redeeming quality besides Joaquin’s wasted performance: Lawrence Sher’s cinematography. He does his absolute best to elevate the script, and Phillips’ admittedly, uninteresting direction, with outstanding camera-work and despondently beautiful use of light and color. He single-handedly makes the movie all that more serious and, dare I say, art-house friendly. The most impressive scene in the entire film is one that, funny enough, was completely improvised by both Joaquin and Lawrence. It involves Arthur dancing his worries away in a ruined bathroom. Lights are flickering, the color tone is an appropriate disgusting green, and the camera sways and careens around as disoriented as Fleck is in the moment. It generates unease like no other moment in the movie. It’s earned and it’s special. Unfortunately, this is the only truly interesting moment in a film bursting at the seams with mediocre filmmaking, mostly because of Phillips' inability to take risks. He’s just too damn comfortable being derivative of other, better movies.

Now onto the real reason, people are flocking to theaters: The controversy. Is the film dangerous? Well, I can’t say for sure. I think it’s childish, overlong and, above all, tactless. I think it doesn’t do a good job of communicating its message. It’s purposely muddled in an attempt to be “high-minded” and that ends up complicating its thematic nature. This is not to say I think it’s high-minded. In fact, quite the opposite. But it really likes to think it is. The fact of the matter is, it’s two hours of watching a man go insane because of “society” and then not suffering any sort of consequence. He acts violently, gets everything he’s been looking for and doesn’t pay for his horrid deeds. I think it invites more people to follow in his steps rather than denounce him. Is it going to cause something horrible? I hope not. But I simply don’t like the ease with which it empathizes with its character, literally, every step of his sad, broken journey. It doesn’t depict him as a villain, it makes him look like a martyr. A martyr for a cause rooted in one of the most human needs: Attention. And who doesn’t want attention?

“Joker” might be a lot of things but thoughtful meditation on mental health, it is not. It’s missing the depth and nuance required to accurately portray its mentally ill character. It’s simply not interested in fully acknowledging the intricacies of Arthur Fleck. It just glosses over them, like crossing off a set of bullet-points and then proceeds to blame it on society. The film might think that it’s a dark tale of injustice and moral vacancy, but it betrays that thinking with a weak script and aimless direction. At its best, it’s a simple, joyless, by-the-numbers wet dream for any idolizing fan who just wanted to see the Joker do something twisted and cool while being edgy and R-rated. At its worst, it’s an immature, irresponsible character study of a man who gets what he wants, but only when he fully throws himself into murder and chaos.

2/5