Joker: Folie a Deux

by Mike McGranaghan

To fully understand why Joker: Folie á Deux is one of the worst films of the year, you have to go back and look at the phenomenon of the first Joker. At the time, Hollywood was eager to turn comic book movies – their biggest money earners, by far – into awards season contenders. With an esteemed actor like Joaquin Phoenix at the front and obvious Martin Scorsese influences, Joker was positioned to seem a little higher-class. There was also a controversy, when speculation arose that the incel community might commit acts of domestic terrorism inspired by the central character’s exploits. It was idiotic, but it helped give the movie an unearned sense of importance. The result of these two factors was eleven Oscar nominations, including Best Picture and one for Todd Phillips as Best Director. Phoenix, of course, won Best Actor.

Time hasn’t entirely been kind to Joker, and I suspect its reputation will continue to diminish over the years. (Seriously, all those great performances and Phoenix finally wins an Academy Award for that?) All the attention appears to have gone to Phillips’ head, because Folie á Deux is a self-indulgent, borderline pompous mess. You want to be entertained or get some cinematic excitement? Keep on walking, because the director has no interest in doing anything other than feeding his ego.

The French subtitle is the first giveaway. The fact that this sequel is a musical is the second. Not an upbeat, toe-tapping musical either. No, the numbers are intended to be bleak and dour, a reflection of protagonist Arthur Fleck’s fractured state of mind. They add absolutely nothing to story and, in fact, bring an already sluggish plot to a dead standstill.

The first half is a prison drama with Fleck putting away his clownish alter ego and preparing for an upcoming competency hearing. The second is a courtroom drama, with the character on trial for the murders he committed in the original, leading to repetition of material we’re already familiar with. Sitting in the audience every day is Lee Quinzel (Lady Gaga), a troubled woman he meets behind bars and falls in love with. Actually, she loves Joker, not Arthur, and she does everything possible to encourage him to bring out his other personality.

I don’t think I’ve ever looked at my watch as much during a movie as I did during Joker: Folie á Deux. Scenes in the prison are needlessly protracted, especially since very little of dramatic interest occurs in them. Arthur skulks around, interacts with a guard (Brendan Gleeson), and imagines himself singing “For Once in My Life” in front of his fellow inmates. Courtroom scenes are even worse, with Arthur putting his makeup on and representing himself – an excuse for more of the Method overacting that permeated the first movie.

What does this lead to? Not much, other than an ending guaranteed to enrage fans of the original. Phillips and co-writer Scott Silver outdo themselves, delivering a final scene that’s a virtual “screw you” to the audience after 130 minutes of soul-crushing boredom. Apparently, they think denying entertainment, then wrapping up with pointless nihilism makes them hip or edgy. It does not.

There isn’t a single thing about Joker: Folie á Deux that works. Not even Lady Gaga, who fails to convince us that she’s playing Harley Quinn. (Margot Robbie need not worry about job security.) This is a movie that practically dares the audience to endure it. Believe me, you don’t want to.

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