It’s quite appropriate, and fascinatingly coincidental, that a decade after Iron Man’s superhero origin film we receive the Joker’s supervillain origin film. Although there’s more opposites than just their morals. Where one concerns Tony Stark's transition from ground zero to iron-clad hero, the other concerns Arthur Fleck’s path from fragility to insanity. It's also worth noting that Joker functions as a ‘one-and-done’, with no connection to DC’s Extended Universe of films, as confirmed by director Todd Phillips and actor Joaquin Phoenix, who plays Arthur/Joker.
While that fact might not be as intriguing as how much of the film was actually improvised, it’s perhaps the most important. Upon reflection, the last film I can remember that *wasn’t* connected to a larger cinematic universe in some way was The Dark Knight Rises… released in 2012…. also a DC Comics property. It’s not just a risk financially for the studios involved, but also a risk for audiences who have become so accustomed to that near-tedious optimism and the recurring wait for that post-credits scene. Although this is a risk that Joker takes and, from it, reaps every possible reward. For one, this is easily the darkest comic book film I’ve ever seen.
Much like Watchmen (not the film) or Blade Runner 2049, Joker is set in a sordid world that is unforgivingly brutal. At every abrasive turn, the world Arthur lives in progressively corrupts him until his psyche collapses. The themes addressed in this film are ones that I’d even consider to be taboo for something so mainstream, but work so well with Joker’s gritty, indie-esque, style. This style isn’t one that’s processed through filters of optimism and introspection, but grudgingly disassembled through the grimy lenses of pessimism and self-loathing. It’s this opposition that not only defines Joker as a film, but makes Arthur’s world genuinely immersive and realistic; so much so that your mind drifts from the notion of it being a comic-book film and more of a dark, merciless drama in the vein of Taxi Driver or This Is England.
It’s hard to describe Joaquin Phoenix’s performance in one verb, as many reviewers have previously done. Trying to condense such a dynamic performance that exhibits such variety into one feeling is almost impossible for me. However, the one word that continually ran around my mind after a second watch was “consistent”. There’s a beautiful consistency that Phoenix brings to a character that is universally known for being inconsistent: from the way he looks to how he tells his origin story.
As the film progresses, and as Arthur’s mental state crumbles, you can’t help but feel empathy for him – despite knowing what he becomes. Whenever Arthur laughs (uncontrollably, due to a neurological condition) it doesn’t feel like a celebration of the “Joker Laugh” we’ve come to be so passionately terrified of, but a gut-wrenching moment where we wish we could reach through the screen to comfort him. It’s in moments like this where Joaquin Phoenix begins to fade and Arthur Fleck takes control, making for a performance that steers into near-biographical territory.
However, just moments later, in similarly empathetic scenes, Phoenix serves us these ice-cold, abrupt reminders of the fictional character we’re dealing with. These are moments where that previous empathy is rapidly distorted into a wildly unsettling feeling between shock and terror as Arthur’s fragile shell cracks, unveiling these bright glimpses of Joker that shine through; by the end of the film, this light is blinding.
Although, what I keep thinking about every time my mind comes to think of this film is its details. How its score, by Hildur Guðnadóttir, establishes a sorrowful character theme early on that grows darker throughout the film - mirroring the Arthur's same mental descent. How it is wonderfully faithful to the character it adapts as a cloud of ambiguity follows Arthur through the film’s latter half. How it creates impressive parallels through motifs like cinematography, props and even choreography that elevate this film above the “superhero” conventions we all thought it was confined to and, truly, into a league of its own.
Avengers: Endgame marked the first definitive ending to an iteration of a franchise we’ve grown up over the course of a decade. Joker, released months after, looks to be the first chapter in this ever-endless book of super-cinema. If that is the case, I am more than ready to turn to the next page.