Starring Joaquin Phoenix and Robert De Niro
Directed by Todd Phillips
To say that Joker was highly anticipated is something of an understatement. The idea of an origin story for DC's most iconic villain, eschewing the convention of having him square off against his archenemy but focusing on how he came to be, was an enticing one. It was always particularly intriguing because those origins as previously depicted in print and film have varied considerably. It provided an opportunity to create something genuinely original, within a familiar environment. Casting Joaquin Phoenix in the central role seemed a masterstroke, even if the choice of writer-director Todd Phillips, who gave us the basely comedic and frankly somewhat distasteful Hangover movies, seemed a unconventional. Initial buzz was positive but mostly measured; but then came La Biennale Di Venezia - the Venice Film Festival - from which the film walked away with the top prize, The Golden Lion, for Best Film. Word was out that this wasn't really a Comic Book Movie (CBM) in any real (ie crash! bang! explosions! cgi!) sense, but a much more interesting and incisive picture about a man trying to deal with psychological issues (I hate to use the now somehow cheapened buzzwords 'mental health') and descending into paranoia, introversion, and then obsession to the point at which he could become a violent maniac, and criminal. A Clown Prince of Crime, if you will.
After that reception, there was a predictable backlash, with many commentators accusing it - often without actually having seen the thing - of glorifying violence, and predicting that it would incite killing, not unlike the sad incident in the US in 2012. So by the time the film arrived in UK cinemas in October there was a genuinely uncertain feeling about what the film was, how it would be assessed (or reassessed, in many cases) by the critics, and most importantly, how it would be received by cinemagoers in general. Some months on, the answers to those questions have turned out to be remarkable. Joker took £12.6m on its UK opening, and went on to top the box office for five weeks. Internationally, it has grossed over $1bn worldwide, making it not only the first R-rated film to do so, but also, cent for cent, technically more profitable than even Avengers: Endgame. Critics were predictably divided, but overall positive. One thing was certain, though: this was one of those films which everyone was talking about, and so one you had to see, even just to talk about. And now that Awards Season has arrived, early signs are that it will be recognised on its merit rather than ignored for its commercial success, as has been the case with some films in the past. Phoenix won the Best Actor award at the Golden Globes. BAFTA and Oscars ahoy.
So what of the film itself? We are taken back to Gotham City in the early 80s, where poverty is prevalent and the masses are disaffected. The film opens with the old Warner logo of the 1980s, to alleviate doubt. This is very clearly NYC, but unlike previous filmic iterations of Gotham, there is little attempt to mask this; but it's clear that this is the arena from which these characters would come. We meet Arthur Fleck, a clinically diagnosed depressive, on seven different forms of medication, working as a party clown and part time human signpost. He is affected by a rare disorder which causes him to laugh uncontrollably as an emotional response, and he carries a card to inform others when it happens. Arthur aspires to be a stand up comedian, and idolises tv host Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). Following a confrontation with some vile Wall Street types on a Metro train, Arthur unleashes his frustration, kills them - even pursuing one down the platform to finish the job - and the Joker is born, set to go on to dig up his past and eventually explode into the future. This leads, eventually, to an encounter with Gotham mayoral candidate Thomas Wayne (father of Bruce, the future Batman), an appearance on Franklin's show, and another shocking killing. The Joker identity is adopted by the mask-wearing masses, who rise up and riot; the film ends on an amiguous note. Is this Joker-inspired action of the crowd real, or just something in Arthur's twisted mind?
Joker mimmics the comic book aesthetic, despite its obviously grittier tone. In a section in which Arthur breaks into a charity event, for example, rather than showing the whole process, it progresses quickly from outside to inside in a few shots. It's as if skimming from one pane on a comic's page to the next. It's subtle but apt. And as comics so often take existing notions but alter them slightly to tell their stories, this film leans heavily on a pair of films already made. Arthur's lonely obsession is clearly influenced by that of Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver, and his desire to appear on Franklin's show directly parallells that of Rupert Pupkin in King of Comedy. Both films were directed by Martin Scorsese, so the gritty New York setting is intended and appropriate. And both were led by Robert DeNiro. Here the roles are reversed. DeNiro, playing Murray Franklin, is the glib showbiz host rather than the unstable wannabe, but the link can't be ignored. Things are very much up-and-down too, reflecting the character's mental state; Arthur has to climb one side of a hill and descend the other when he goes to his home. Always climbing and descending, level on the ground or kicked to the floor. In one of the most memorable scenes, immediately following a killing, he dances his way down a long flight of steps to the soundtrack of Rock and Roll Part 2 (arguably the biggest of tasteless missteps, but that's a different matter). Phillips shows this playing out simultaneously at regular speed and in slow motion. Both are showing different states of mind. Stylistically, it's perfect. Phoenix's performance is simply incredible, and deserving of all and any plaudits. The Joker is perhaps the hardest role for an actor to take on in this kind of film. After Jack Nicholson's over the top, top-billing-stealing turn in 1989, Heath Ledger's posthumous Oscar winning twitchy, head-messing show in 2008, and Jared Leto's brave (and unfairly maligned) re-imagining in 2016 one might have thought that this was a no-win position from the start, but the character's depiction here as a regular guy going extremely bad is such that the role can be approached in a new way.
This is, without doubt, a dirty, nasty experience. It doesn't shy away from unpleasantness and doesn't play it for laughs. Arthur's opression eventually errupts into exhuberance, for which the viewer could or should perhaps feel guilty and shouldn't emerge from the cinema exhilarated, but rather thoughtful. If it confounds us, so much the better. But it seeks to raise the artistic and stylistic stakes within the CBM world, messing with the formula and expectations, and because of it attracted a huge audience to a film which is essentially a character piece about a mentally unwell loner. It presses enough of the DC buttons with sly nods to that sphere to bring that audience in, and Warners deserve credit for taking the risk. Joker isn't a perfect movie, but what will be debated for years to come, regardless of its box office taking and any awards it might pick up, is whether the Comic Book movie will ever be taken as seriously as an art form as any other film genre. I would say that it should.
