Joker Review - It's No Laughing Matter

If you’ve been hiding under a rock for the past couple of months, you may have missed the furore that followed the debut screening of Todd Phillips’ Joker at Venice film festival back in August, where it picked up the top prize of Golden Lion. Since then, this new take on Gotham’s clown prince of crime has heralded opinions that vary from masterpiece to maudlin, infallible to irresponsible; but one thing is for certain, this film has divided critics, fans and casual cinemagoers like few films have before. Phillips, who is undoubtedly best known for The Hangover movies has created a film that’s provocative, polarising and potentially problematic and in truth I’m unsure whether I loved its bravado and balls-to-the-wall attitude, or felt like it falls short of truly saying anything worthwhile.

What I am sure of however, is the stellar performance of Joaquin Phoenix in the titular role of Joker, also known as Arthur Fleck, a hire-a-clown/wannabe stand-up comedian with delusions of grandeur and more than a dash of destructive narcissism. Like his much-acclaimed predecessor Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight, Phoenix has more than a couple aces up his sleeve – channelling Bickle and Pupkin to unnerving effect, Fleck is pitiful and as the film progresses into darkness, manic and unhinged. While, Phoenix’s weight loss has been a large topic of conversation, there’s much more to his performance than merely appearing frail, it’s as if his internal emotions are expressed through his physicality, exemplified in numerous scenes somewhat akin to expressionistic dance. It’s a stunning performance, that will surely put him in Oscar contention.

Arthur suffers from an unspecified illness, causing uncontrollable bouts of manic laughter in circumstances that are far from humorous, exemplified in a fantastic scene that takes place on Gotham’s subway. He cuts a skeletal, isolated figure among the over-crowded and rubbish-laden streets of Gotham and while this could convey a character demanding sympathy, Phillips and Phoenix ensure this is not the case. There are real moments of brilliance from Philips and cinematographer Lawrence Sher who paint Phoenix’s Joker as a man overcome by self-importance in a city on the precipice of pandemonium. However, make no mistake, Arthur is a victim of an oppressive society, but his actions of revolt are channelled solely through delirium, and self-aggrandising narcissism. Less a comic-book movie gone dark, more a character study that happens to take place in a fictious city, albeit one heavily inspired by Scorsese and Schrader’s depiction of New York circa 1970/80.

Much has been made of Todd Phillips’ adoration for the work of Martin Scorsese and his nods to the oeuvre of the legendary filmmaker are more loud, brash head-bangs than subtle inclinations. There’s the obvious link between Fleck and the aforementioned icons of Scorsese’s filmography, but there are scenes in which Fleck could be seen as an imitation of De Niro’s Travis Bickle, were it not for the frankly remarkable performance of Joaquin Phoenix. And the streets of Gotham denote the late seventies ruin that New York City fell into represented so accurately in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. In fact, Joker in its entirety, is far from subtle, it practically screams its intentions of social commentary from the rooftops and at times it feels as though those messages are lost in the wind.

It would be remiss to not mention the haunting cello-lead score from Hildur Guðnadóttir which initially swirls with empathy for the continually beaten down Arthur. Light, delicate strings soon transform into a boiling, bassy cauldron of rage, denoting the growing antipathy and contempt for the world the pseudo-protagonist inhibits. Add this score, some clever cinematography and an all-encompassing performance and Joker may seem like a true masterpiece. However, it lacks a clear message, almost as if it has so much to say that the delivery feels anything but succinct.

That being said, there is a lot to love about Joker, which takes an infamous, already established cinematic villain and remoulds him into a quasi-allegorical figure that sheds the previously established traits of its character and conveys them in a bold, fresh manner. It’s a movie that is at times brutal and unforgiving; walking a line between cynical commentary and incendiary reimagination. But if you’re going to walk on this thin line, you may as well dance.

Popcorns – 80. Ask me again tomorrow and it’ll probably have changed.

P.S

If you’ve enjoyed this review and want to hear more from others at First Take, never fear we’ve got a whole episode dedicated to this movie dropping in a couple of days. Keep your eyes and ears peeled.