REVIEW: Joker (2019)
Laughing all over its way to the bank and at its detractors, its massive commercial success "proved" one thing: No incel revolution happened
A possible misconception surrounding Joker is that it's a (mainstream) superhero movie. Let me break it down for you: It's not. Your archetypal superhero movie is rooted in the fantasy and science fiction genres. Joker is a psychological drama. Your average superhero movie is plot-driven. Joker is (sort of) character-driven. "We didn't follow anything from the comic books. We just wrote a version of where a guy like Joker might come from", the writer-director, Todd Phillips, said during an interview.1 The references to the comic book universe are marginal, so if you have a severe superhero movie allergy, fret not. You won't find the bat signal or a cat woman in here. Joker is an attempt at a fantasy-sanitised «character study».
Arthur Fleck, our main character, suffers from an emotional disturbance generally caused by brain injury, which is characterised for uncontrollable episodes of laughter. He has only one dream in life: To be a comedian. Throughout the movie, Phillips invites the viewer to witness Arthur's downward-spiral descent into 'self-mental destruction' (he's bullied, ridiculed and marginalised), only to show his eventual ascend or 're-birth' (he's noticed, revered and respected). His metaphorical resurrection and transformation from the ashes happen because Joker is an origin story, and what transpires in the film is the display of the formative stages that would lead to the creation of the iconic villain. In other words, we're shown the symptoms before the illness.
In Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight (2008), the Joker is a plot-instrument in order to stage elaborate action sequences (a bank robbery, an assassination attempt, a chase sequence, the infiltration and destruction of a hospital, a bomb experiment, and a one-to-one fight with the hero). "I'm an agent of chaos", he famously proclaims. No doubt there is entertainment value in Joker's role throughout The Dark Knight, but Todd Phillips' Joker is a different incarnation. Instead of an instrument, he is the protagonist. And Joaquin Phoenix offers a persuasive performance.
Joker's narration might alienate some viewers. Broadly speaking, it departs from the plot-driven mechanism present in your average mainstream movie (which is 'simpler' to digest). Instead, it tends to rely on a character-driven approach ('harder' to digest, and generally viewed as 'boring'). Paul Thomas Anderson's Phantom Thread (2017), for example, is a character-driven film that explores Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan (2010), about a ballet dancer that struggles to maintain her sanity, is another. Joker has similar DNA. And because it aims to resemble a psychological exploration, it's constructed with a series of scenes that highlight 'states of mind' instead of a plot. The Dark Knight was about action scenes, Joker tends to be more about inner-thoughts and mental triggers. More than a psychopath ("nature"—genetics), like Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight, Arthur Fleck resembles a sociopath ("nurture"—environment).
Within the realm of mainstream superhero movies (let's throw the film in there for a brief moment), Joker stands out. Marvel movies, in contrast, feel childish. But within the realm of psychological dramas, the movie feels standard, even scratching the movie cliché. Take, for example, the obligatory scene in the boss' office, who reprimands the character for his questionable behaviour; the scenes in the rain showing despair and loneliness; the scene in the public transport during the night where the character gets into a physical altercation; the phone call telling you that you're fired from your job; the empty fridge at home. You get the picture. Cinema transforms reality. After enough repetition, what is plausible in the real world becomes cliché in the silver screen.
But then comes Joaquin Phoenix to elevate the material. One of the easy criticism against him is to point out the fact that he's done the 'weirdo' role in the past—on film and, it seems, in real life. He's proven himself. Look no further than Lynne Ramsay's exquisite You Were Never Really Here (2017), a more challenging film than Joker. For all the lack of subtlety in Todd Phillips' script—sometimes he should definitely show and not tell—Phoenix delivers a fascinating performance. Most of it is constructed with nuances. His voice intonation, a facial gesture at the right time, etc. But pay close attention to the way he uses his body to build the performance (when he stands, when he runs, when he dances). Or the way he's able to imprint close-ups with a fearsome gaze, a subtle tear or a creepy, emotionally charged smile. I admire that. In the end, the movie follows a fairly known path, but Joaquin makes the journey tolerable. And at times he's utterly brilliant.