I've read a lot of Joker stories over the years: the pulp mysteries of 1940's Golden Age tales, the goofy exploits on giant furniture in the Dick Sprang years, the crazed villainy of Denny O'Neil and Neal Adam's reinvention in the '70s, Frank Miller and Grant Morrison's psychosexual explorations in pointedly adult-oriented stories, and of course, Alan Moore's brilliant origin story The Killing Joke.
The Joker hasn't been depicted as many times onscreen, but has similarly, and appropriately, enjoyed almost as much variety there. Cesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, Heath Ledger and even Mark Hamill have left indelible impressions of this mercurial madman, the Clown Prince of Crime. So what does Joaquin Phoenix bring to the picture?
Well, it is yet another amazing performance that he disappears into utterly, like a man diving into a deep, dark pool. It is utterly without pretention and carefully nuanced, daring you to pity him for the extraordinary torments he suffers, while scolding you for daring to hate his selfishness and eventual evil. Phoenix is remarkable and I will not be in the least surprised when his name is listed as a nominee for Best Actor.
It's just a shame this bravura performance wasn't featured in a better movie.
That's not to say that Phillips' Joker is a terrible film. It is a brilliantly shot period piece, evoking the '70s oeuvre of Scorcese's Mean Streets, among others. The score and source music are both wonderful, and help characterize a bleak and gritty world of opportunism and victimization.
But the truth of it is, all the atmosphere in the world won't help you engage me if there is no tension, and there is surprisingly little of it to be had. Will things continue to get worse for Arthur Fleck and his afflicted mother? Of course they will. Will there come a point where Fleck, like any dog, is unwilling to be kicked any longer? You bet! Will there be violence? Almost certainly.
Not as much as you might think, honestly. When it happens, it is generally sudden, awkward and fatal, but never fetishized or glamourized. But even in these meticulously applied moments of mayhem, there is rarely an unpredictable moment - I believe I counted two. Comics writer Dan Slott had a similar concern about the movies' layout, saying he'd seen it before - in the biblical book of Job.
Watching Phoenix in Joker is like watching a great master apply his skill to a paint-by-numbers kit created by a lesser artist; even when he takes liberties with the pigments to do something bold, he is limited by the pattern laid out.
As a dedicated fan of the source material, I also had tremendous problems with their depiction of the man who becomes the Joker. The "madness" that makes him an unpredictable nemesis in the comics is shown here as more of an emotional issue, and perhaps that is appropriate. Arthur Fleck's descent into deeper and deeper mental illness is less of an origin story about how a man gains his powers or abilities. Rather, it is a transformative series of events that show what happens when you pull all the supports away from someone who already feels they have nothing more to lose... as well as to people with similar mindsets who see it happening.
In fact, I don't think he is an adaptation of a comics character at all, but a re-interpretation of a specific cinematic one: Jack Nicholson in Tim Burton's 1989 Batman. Part of this is due to the interaction between Arthur Fleck and Bruce Wayne's father, but his wardrobe choices in the film's finale - purple(ish) suit, orange vest, and teal shirt - are very close to Nicholson's look in that film. Can you make an effective film about a long-standing character you've only ever seen depicted in a single medium? It's an intriguing question.
This is a tragic and intriguing character, with a handful of elements that tie him to a larger universe that will one day contain Batman, but in no way could the man we see ever be considered a foil for the Bruce Wayne's alter ego.
Batman is the avatar of preparation - master detective, chemist, engineer, martial artist and more, plus a strategist beyond peer. His alertness borders on the supernatural. The Joker exists as his counterpoint in chaos, a man with no plan and no desire for one, but who, through keen human understanding and a complete disregard for boundaries real and imagined, still routinely manages to get the drop on Batman and his allies, because he is utterly unpredictable.
In the final analysis, my cinematic fanboy hat doffs itself to the fact that Todd Phillips even managed to get an R-rated movie made of one of DC's most well-known properties. It is a great-looking film that evokes a style and pacing we don't see much anymore and still manages to feel dangerous at times, despite being unable to really surprise its audience.
A respectful removal of my thespian appreciatory hat, in honour of a great performance.
My plot-lover's hat remains ensconced due to a story that follows its proscribed patterns with a rigidity completely ill-suited to such a chaotic character.
My comics fanboy hat stays firmly on my head as well, and that's fine. They've used an iconic figure as a jumping-off point here, resulting in something that is less of an adaptation and more of an interpretation.
Hopefully it won't be too long before we once again encounter a Joker on the silver screen who is both terrifying and funny. On the other hand, Joker is now the highest-grossing R-rated film in history, so who knows - maybe that's why they're so serious.
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