For many, these years of the pandemic era stripped away things that offered balance and refilled wells – movies, theater, travel. Consequently, people lost themselves in work – aiming to ride the highs of Zoom-fueled interviews, podcasts, and meet ups – perhaps at times being advised by friends and colleagues that they were “too much” for this world, and at other times being told they were “not enough.” The psychological whiplash could be soul-crushing.
It is with this mindset I took in a sparsely attended Tuesday night showing of Joker: Folie à Deux. Forgive me father, I may have sinned: I loved it. Unequivocally.
It’s interesting how deeply misunderstood both Joker films are: the first one, in great part, because of its critical and financial success and its sequel … for the lack thereof. (Side note: these two films are like parentheses on the pandemic era – Joker in 2019 and Joker: Folie à Deux in 2024.) Much like the films’ anti-hero Arthur Fleck, neither film is quite resilient enough to endure the white-hot glare of scrutiny they’ve received. That doesn’t mean they aren’t both excellent movies. I think they are. But they are a bit too delicate to bear the weight of superhero blockbuster box office – and the judgment of sniffy pundits.
The first film curdled under its acclaim to be misperceived as a tribute to incel culture. And now the second has been abandoned for being some kind of reversal or apology for the first. I don’t find either assessment fair, accurate, or true. Taken together, the films are poetic bookends, indicting a society where institutions and pop culture dreams regularly fail the downtrodden. (See: Chappell Roan’s conflicted ascendancy in 2024 for instance.)
At least that’s my view.
“You’re riding high in April, shot down in May … Some people get their kicks stepping on dreams.” So go the lyrics to the pop standard “That’s Life,” one of many tunes that cleverly pepper the sequel which, yes, is a musical. Sort of. Less Singin’ in the Rain and more Dancer in the Dark, a haunting slice of life from 25 years ago, featuring Bjork, whose piteous character found solace in surreal musical interludes to both express and escape the pain of living.
Whereas Arthur’s inner fantasy life in the first film is expressed through day-glo, arch comedy routines, the sequel turns that conceit on its head, employing song and (occasional) dance numbers as punctuation marks around Arthur’s incarceration at Arkham Asylum and eventual trial.
Oh, and we get a wickedly spot on Looney Tunes cartoon homage at the beginning of the film where Arthur wrestles with his demons, er, literal shadow, all set to “Slap That Bass.” That sets a certain tone right out of the gate, with many Easter egg references to classic film musicals.
And any flick that incorporates deep cuts from Burt Bacharach, Leslie Bricusse, Anthony Newley, Cy Coleman, and Harold Arlen, deftly contrasting pop music optimism with hardscrabble reality is AOK in my book.
Listen, I am not going to mount a defense of this film. That is wholly unnecessary. I believe with the passage of time and the absence of toxic groupthink, Joker: Folie à Deux will be a rediscovered gem. I didn’t find it ponderous or poorly conceived, illogical or problematic. And I’m not just being contrary. I was transfixed for its nearly two-and-a-half hour runtime. And I kept thinking: am I seeing the same film all the hyperventilating critics saw?
Joaquin Phoenix gives a haunting tour-de-force performance, seamlessly continuing the tragicomic arc established in the first film. Arthur’s tale ends on a suitably mournful note completely consistent with his atrophied evolution. Lady Gaga meets Phoenix handily and turns in one of her best performances to date – a wounded Lady Macbeth for the ages. The supporting cast, led by Catherine Keener and Brendan Gleeson, doesn’t miss a beat, adding layers to this devastating corner of the comic book film universe. And director Todd Phillips maintains an exquisitely, relentlessly melancholy atmosphere throughout, aided and abetted again by Hildur Guðnadóttir’s gorgeously bleak score.
As the judge presiding over Arthur’s trial observes toward the end of the film, “A word of caution. This is not a comedy club. You are not onstage.” But, oh, so many wish they were onstage … so many think they are onstage … and when the harsh reality sets in, breaking bad becomes fait accompli.
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”
- “Once in a Lifetime” from The Talking Heads (*not in the film … but thematically consonant!)
