Joker: Folie à Deux

Director: Todd Phillips
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Lady Gaga, Brendan Gleeson, Catherine Keener, Zazie Beetz, Steve Coogan, Harry Lawtey, Leigh Gill, Ken Leung, Jacob Lofland, Bill Smitrovich
Running Time: 138 min.
Rating: R

★★½ (out of ★★★★)  

It seems fitting how all these post-mortems are being done on the critical and commercial failure of Todd Phillips' Joker: Folie à Deux since the film itself can almost be viewed as an autopsy of its brilliant predecessor.That this sequel feels made by someone who dislikes the idea of sequels isn't necessarily a negative, but Phillips creates a sprawling, audaciously ambitious mess that manages to tests viewers' patience as much as it subverts expectations. It's a huge, frustrating swing for the fences, revolving entirely around 2019's Joker while simultaneously having very little to do with it. 

Relitigating the previous film's events in painstaking detail, it focuses on the motivations behind Arthur Fleck's crimes and his own fractured state of mind as he faces trial. By this point, the character's mental illness and violent tendencies aren't exactly well guarded secrets, leaving the question as to whether a deeper psychological dive justifies another entry. And now with his perplexing follow-up, Phillips takes extremely bold measures to ensure it does. Some of those work, but others don't.  

Now in custody at Arkham State Hospital, party clown and failed stand-up comedian Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) awaits trial for the murders he committed two years earlier, including his live on-air killing of TV host Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). As Arthur's lawyer Maryanne Stewart (Catherine Keener) builds an insanity defense arguing the Joker persona is responsible, Arkham guard Jackie (an excellent Brendan Gleeson) gets him into a music therapy class. It's here where Arthur meets and falls for Harleen "Lee" Quinzel (Lady Gaga), an obsessive Joker superfan who was committed for allegedly burning down her parents' apartment. 

After Lee's plan for them to escape and start a new life together is thwarted, an increasingly unhinged Arthur must prepare for court while his legions of Joker fans root him on. With Gotham's Assistant D.A. Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey) hellbent on a death penalty conviction, witnesses like former neighbor Sophie Drummond (Zazie Beetz) and co-worker Gary Puddles (Leigh Gill) take the stand to testify. Continuing to lean on Lee for support, Arthur's grip on reality slips as Joker reemerges, transforming the trial into a circus sideshow.

Given the heavy influence of Scorsese's Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy on the first film, it wasn't the worst idea for Phillips to pair Joker up with Harley Quinn for a jukebox musical in the vein of New York, New York. But after a promising start, the dark, twisted love story loses its way when scattershot execution and repetitive scenes fail to move the story forward. Clocking in at two hours and eighteen minutes, it feels longer, accompanied by a trial of the century you worry may never end. What nearly saves it are two phenomenal performances and the impressive visuals, both of which are occasionally lost amidst a package that just doesn't come together like it should.   

A cleverly conceived animated opening where Joker is impersonated by his shadow prior to a live TV performance provides a more revealing glimpse into the film's themes than you'd suspect, as the Looney Tunes-style short conveys that ongoing tug of war between Arthur's two identities. And many of the musical sequences do succeed as a manifestation of his insanity, particularly an Arkham rooftop dance and a Sonny and Cher inspired variety show spoof. But even with the presence of old school songbook standards like "That's Entertainment," "When You're Smiling" and "I've Got the World on a String," these excursions become increasingly uneven, resulting in diminishing returns the more Phillips tries to squeeze in.

Of all the picture's issues, Phoenix and Gaga aren't among them, with the former giving another complex, compelling performance that alternates between dark humor and unimaginable despair as Arthur's vulnerability is put on full display for everyone to see. And despite skepticism surrounding her casting, Gaga's work is one of the best things in this, and not just because of her singing during the musical interludes. In capturing the dangerously compulsive infatuation Lee has with Joker, her true motivations remain constantly in question. Their bond not only reflects his narcissistic need for love and affection, but ties into themes of media obsession prevalent in the first film. 

Midway through, the narrative becomes disjointed when scenes drag and action awkwardly shifts between the hospital and courtroom. Musical sequences are either piled on or disappear before returning to relay the same idea in a different song or setting. But while Arthur's trial is entirely too long, it's still entertaining to watch Joker represent himself with a Grisham inspired Southern drawl as the supposedly no-nonsense judge (Life Goes On's Bill Smitrovich!) indulges his craziest whims. By the time returning characters take the stand, what unfolds feels like a bizarre cross between the Seinfeld finale and Colin Ferguson's 1993 shooting trial. Harvey Dent's inclusion makes sense, even if the character leaves so little an impression you'll have to remind yourself he's there, until a late development jolts us into recalling why.

While there's understandable disdain for what Phillips attempts, this approaches the material from an entirely different angle than the first film, far more invested in exploring whether Arthur and Joker really are one in the same. A potentially intriguing thesis on it comes toward the end, but even that's marred by some confusing, if well shot theatrics. Its final minutes feel more deflating than tragic, likely to leave viewers shaking their heads at the infuriating denouement, as if the joke's on them. And in a way, it is. But despite its many problems, this still could be worth revisiting down the road, if only to further examine how a Joker sequel turned out like this.       

Black Mirror (Season 6)

Creator: Charlie Brooker
Starring: Annie Murphy, Salma Hayek, Michael Cera, Myha’la Herrold, Samuel Blenkin, Daniel Portman, Monica Dolan, John Hannah, Aaron Paul, Josh Hartnett, Kate Mara, Auden Thornton, Rory Culkin, Zazie Beetz, Clara Rugaard, Danny Ramirez, Anjana Vasan, Paapa Essiedu
Original Airdate: 2023

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Once counted among Netflix's earliest successes, Charlie Brooker's technology themed British anthology series Black Mirror hasn't aired since 2019's underwhelming 3-episode fifth season. And that's assuming you'd consider such a small amount of content a season at all. This followed 2018's interactive, "choose your own adventure" feature Bandersnatch, which garnered a mixed response, leaving viewers wondering if the series could recapture its former glory, which peaked with the third season's Emmy-winning "San Junipero."

While that episode (and to a lesser extent, season four's "USS Callister") has justifiably been cited as a series high, let's not kid ourselves into thinking consistency has been its key strength, with length and pacing issues leading to some real stinkers along the way. But now after a production rights battle had even its creator expressing uncertainty about further seasons and what incarnation those could take, it's finally back.

The good news is that this sixth season sees the series retaining much of what originally worked, while still managing to go in wildly clever new directions. Even if five episodes still doesn't feel like enough, there is a cohesiveness to the storytelling that's been lacking for a long time. Discussions and arguments will undoubtedly break out over the subjective rankings of these episodes, but at least that debate has rarely felt this purposeful. 

Less acceptable is the complaint this "isn't Black Mirror" because it supposedly skews too far from its original intentions. In actuality, this change is a relief, as the show often tripped up by shoehorning outrageous plots into its tech-themed premise rather than organically incorporating them. This new batch is given a little more room the breathe, leaning into the sci-fi, horror and dystopian elements that first invoked all those Rod Serling comparisons. And you wonder whether we'd even be hearing those criticisms if word hadn't leaked that Brooker was planning a "Red Mirror" horror anthology that was intended to showcase the season's final entry. 

These five episodes could be viewed as two halves, with a meditative psychological drama sandwiched in the middle. The season starts in slightly familiar territory before moving to darker places that deviate unexpectedly from the show's tangentially shared universe. One of the installments feels like a miscalculation, a couple linger in the mind longer than others, but it all still fits together really well, offering up a little something for everyone.

In the opener, "Joan is Awful," Annie Murphy gives a tour de force comedic turn as tech CEO Joan, who  discovers the very recent events of her life are unfolding on screen for the world to see in a new "Streamberry" series starring Salma Hayek (played by Salma Hayek). This is easily the lightest, most playful episode of the bunch, not to mention the funniest. And nearly all of it can be attributed to Murphy's wacky turn as Joan, a woman overwhelmed by awkwardly firing employees at the board's will before coming home to safe, but boring boyfriend Krish (Avi Nash). 

Between Joan's trips to her therapist and a temptation to cheat with returning ex Mac (Rob Delaney), the revelation that all of this has been adapted into a series causes humiliating embarrassment on a grand scale. Luckily, she has a plan to get the show cancelled that may or may not involve Hayek and a really disgusting public act. What works best is how the story peels back a few more layers than you'd think, capped it all off with a fun final twist that plants it firmly alongside other similarly themed Black Mirror episodes covering technology's trappings. 

Netflix also really skewers itself here, showing a surprising amount of self-awareness, with Brooker's script humorously taking aim at their "terms and conditions" and greedy business model. In tackling the issue of AI and CGI replacing actors and writers, it's one of the timelier episodes, capped off by a memorably uproarious Michael Cera cameo.   

The second episode, "Loch Henry," finds film student couple Davis (Samuel Blenkin) and Pia (Myha’la Herrold) traveling to his quaint Scottish hometown to visit his widowed mother Janet (Monica Dolan) and shoot footage for their documentary on a local conservationist. But during a stop at the bar owned by Davis's childhood friend, Stuart (Daniel Portman), a far more sordid subject piques Pia's interest

Daniel tells Pia the story of local murderer Iain Adair, who was responsible for the torture and deaths of numerous tourists in the '90's, resulting in the shooting of Davis's late policeman father Kenneth (Gregor Firth) and the town's decades-long decline. Despite Davis's obvious discomfort, Pia convinces him to focus their film on this, doing the research and even visiting the scene for additional footage. But since crime documentaries are a dime a dozen, they'll need a hook for it to stand out from the pack, And boy do they ever get one. 

When this starts you're unsure what the goal is, at least until Pia convinces Davis to shift course and an incredible musical montage featuring Melanie's "People in the Front Row" signifies they're off to the races. Blenkin and Herrold build on their natural chemistry, while a subtle Dolan convinces as a mother willingly participating to keep her husband's memory alive. 

Of all the episodes, this contains the biggest twist. And for every viewer saying they saw it coming will be others totally taken aback. What really matters is whether it lands, as this unquestionably does, with Brooker turning his retro VHS camcorder on Netflix's taste for true crime exploitation and the viewers' willingness to join in for entertainment's sake. 

"Beyond The Sea," takes place in an alternate 1969, with astronauts Cliff (Aaron Paul) and David (Josh Hartnett) aboard a ship on a six-year space mission. In between medical physicals and repairs, their consciousnesses are transferred to artificial replicas of themselves on Earth, enabling both to spend time with their respective families.. 

While the emotionally distant Cliff lives quietly off the grid in an idyllic rural farm house with wife Lana (Kate Mara) and their son, David settles in California, making him a more recognizable celebrity. But when tragedy strikes and replicant David and his family are targeted by a violent, Manson-like hippie cult, Lana suggests Cliff lend distraught, depressed David his replica so he can unwind back at their home. As David's trips become more frequent, he becomes unhealthily attached to a life that isn't his. 

Going on cast and premise alone, this seemed a likely frontrunner for the season's best going in. And even while that designation is arguable, few could claim it disappoints. Running a robust 80 minutes, it's the longest episode, but a meditative slow burn that perfectly suits the material's melancholic tone. There's a mesmerizing, contemplative quality to how it all unfolds, thanks largely to John Crowley's steady direction and the impressive production design that goes into creating both the shuttle and Earth-bound 60's settings. It's 2001: A Space Odyssey meets Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, as its story wrestles with some heady sci-fi themes that are only bolstered by three terrific central performances.

Paul and Hartnett are devastating in their roles, with the former pulling off the tricky job of playing both Cliff and David, going home first as Cliff before sporadically returning as David occupying Cliff's body. It's sort of a Face/Off-like scenario with Paul never leaving doubt as to which character he's inhabiting, completely adjusting his mannerisms, speech and physicality to match each. And Mara doesn't have it easy either, having to react differently to both while struggling with Lana's guilt in finding David more attentive and engaged than her actual husband. 

After seemingly years away, Hartnett returns in a major role and is also apparently now five times the actor he was, capturing the loneliness, anger and jealousy of a man who's lost everything. Believing Cliff doesn't appreciate what he has, David walks up to the edge of madness before crossing that line into the unthinkable, perhaps damning both of them to share in their own separate hell together. You may generally know where Brooker's headed from the start, but this Twilight Zone-inspired morality play will benefit from repeated viewings, satisfying the most cynical series purists with its brutal ending.

In "Mazey Day," increasingly disillusioned celebrity photographer Bo (Zazie Beetz) gets a tip that missing actress Mazey Day (Clara Rugaard) may be hiding out nearby following a hit-and-run overseas. Despite recently quitting the paparazzi game, she knows photos of the starlet could command a lot of cash. Looking to dig herself out of a financial hole, she follows some leads to locate Mazey, with disastrous consequences. 

The season's shortest episode is also its most underwhelming by a large margin, testing the theory that less is necessarily more with Black Mirror. From a technical standpoint, it's fine, but despite the next entry demonstrating how the show can successfully dip into unchartered territory, there just isn't a lot of purpose behind this, regardless of genre.   

Brooker setting the action in 2006 is smart since the very idea of a celebrity "disappearing" in the current age of social media is close to impossible, especially following a vehicular assault. The paparazzi was also at their most venomous during this era so that helps in setting the stage for what could have been a promising look at media obsession. Unfortunately, this takes a lesser route that isn't poorly executed, but just very run-of-the-mill. 

After making that hard narrative pivot, the intrigue comes to a sudden halt, leaving us with an entertaining diversion in search of something larger to say. Beetz makes an effective lead but can't overcome the deflation of that sudden detour, which leaves a potentially better story on the table in favor of shocks and gore.

A beautifully bleak opening set to Art Garfunkel's "Bright Eyes," begins the final episode, "Demon 79," which takes place in a small English town of Tipley, circa 1979. It follows meek, mild mannered department store associate Nida (Anjana Vasan) into work where she puts up with a prejudiced co-worker (Katherine Rose Morley) and boss (Nick Holder). Despite fleeting daydreams of enacting violent revenge, she remains composed and polite, quietly suffering as further anti-immigrant rhetoric is spewed outside the door by campaigning conservative politician Michael Smart (David Shields). 

When Nida takes home a mysterious wooden talisman from the store's basement, she inadvertently  unleashes an aspiring demon named Gaap (Paapa Essiedu), who appears in the human form of Boney M. band member Bobby Farrell. Told she has to make three human sacrifices before May Day or the world will end, she's suddenly faced with some monumental choices as the clock winds down. While definitely not a murderer, the skeptical Nida will need Gaap's help to learn quickly, assuming the fate of the world does really lay in her hands.

This joins "Beyond The Sea" as the best directed episodes of the season, as Vasan's heartbreaking turn proves to be the real draw here, with the actress nothing short of extraordinary in depicting the emotional stages this shy woman goes through, even before this supernatural entity appears. While its premise draws heavy parallels to the recent Knock at the Cabin, a better thematic comparison might be the classic Twilight Zone episode, "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street," at least in terms of its examination of "otherness" and xenophobia. 

Gaap believes Nida's been chosen because she's a good person, but also an easily corruptible one. And you see that aspect peeking through every corner of Vasan's performance, which has her character torn between doing what's dutifully expected and finally taking a stand. The comedic banter between Vasan and Essiedu keeps everything rolling, but her fear and anger is palpable when it starts seeping through to the surface.

It's one thing to talk about preemptively doing the world a favor by killing someone like Hitler, but not as easy to actually go through with when you're the person swinging that hammer. While the possibility of Nida being mentally ill hangs over this story like a specter, Brooker and co-writer Bisha K. Ali realize what such a decision would mean, ultimately staying true to their original conceit without undermining it. Divisive as this episode is, it's ironic that an homage to 70's British horror devoid of modern technology further illuminates how challenging perceptions has always been the series' biggest strength.   

Joker

Director: Todd Phillips
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Robert De Niro, Zazie Beetz, Frances Conroy, Brett Cullen, Shea Whigham, Bill Camp, Glenn Fleshler, Leigh Gill, Marc Maron, Douglas Hodge, Dante Pereira-Olson
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

There's been a lot of discussion lately as to what constitutes a "realistic" take on a comic book or superhero property, if such a decriptor even exists. While great entertainment, the idea that Tim Burton's 1989 Batman was once praised for its dark grittiness seems downright laughable now. Christopher Nolan may have changed game entirely with his Dark Knight Trilogy, stripping away many elements that defined the genre with something more closely resembling a crime drama, but it was really Heath Ledger's Oscar-winning reinterpretation of the Joker as a nihilistic terrorist that left an imprint. Nolan was onto to something big with that approach until Marvel came along, reminding audiences worldwide that they love "fun" superhero movies, as interchangeable and corporately indistinct as they've since become. Soon, a future where every major property would be Nolanized with a healthy dose of realism and nuance fell by the wayside. 

Now, with Joker, comedy director Todd Phillips does what Nolan and everyone before him was either too tentative or flat-out forbidden in going all the way with, delivering a dark psychological drama that doesn't only subvert the form, but flat-out demolishes it. The credits read "Based on DC characters" and, finally, for the first time, we can say, "very loosely." It actually shares more in common with dark psychological dramas like Taxi Driver, The King of Comedy and Requiem For a Dream, channeling the tone, look and content of those films more than any aforementioned Bat project. And Joaquin Phoenix's chilling, disturbing reimagining of this character is a full-fledged introduction, going where so few actors have in really playing the man behind the facepaint, infusing him with a complexity this long limiting genre has frowned upon. The material's depth affords him that chance, as he creates a painfully real depiction of mental illness that would be too difficult to watch if it wasn't so gripping. 

It's 1981 and party clown and sometimes stand-up comedian Arthur Fleck (Phoenix) is living in a dilapidated apartment with his ailing mother, Penny, (Frances Conroy) in Gotham City. With crime and unemployment at a high, the city is also in the midst of a garbage strike and overrun with rats. Even as wealthy businessman Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen) vows to bring change with a mayoral bid, the rift between the haves and have nots of Gotham grows larger, with no signs of relief coming anytime soon. That's especially true for the mentally ill and socially awkward Arthur, who suffers from a clinical condition that causes inappropriate, uncontrollable laughing fits. Relying on social services for seven different medications, his luck worsens when, in full clown make-up and costume, he's jumped and beaten in an alley by a group of thugs while hawking electronics.

Implored by his co-workers to take measures insuring his safety on the streets, he discovers the most enjoyment watching "The Murray Franklin Show" with his mother. Both are enamored with its Carson-like host, Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro), whom Arthur dreams of someday meeting when his stand-up career takes off and he's asked to appear on the program. Things start looking up when he gets some club gigs and starts dating Sophie (Zazie Beetz), a cynical single mother who lives in the same building. But with his fragile mental state, Arthur's always one dangerous incident away from being pushed over the edge. And it's coming, no matter how often his mom tells him to "put on a happy face."

Despite taking place in "Gotham City," let's just call it what it is: late 70's, early 80's New York City. It not only looks and feels like it with the grafitti, garbage and porn shops, but the prevalence of the same socio-political issues as well. It's essentially a period piece, and more discussion should probably be centering around how that informs and even exacerbates the shocking events. And when talking about a mentally ill character, how it pushes him further over the edge when any or all of the few options available to him start to rapidly disappear. The idea of placing Arthur in this setting during that era was a masterstroke by Phillips, greatly heightening the intensity of nearly everything that occurs over the two hour running time.

Rarely does relief come from the feeling of being trapped in a powder keg ready to explode, and for someone like Arthur, it's a living hell. Phillips' and Scott Silver's script nails the idea that back then no one, aside from medical professionals, would recognize something as rarely talked about or acknowledged as mental illness. As a result, the surrounding characters pretty much write him off as merely a creepy "weirdo" no one would even think of considering a danger or threat on his worst day. It's this all too familar underestimation that helps leads to devastating consequences in a tumultuous city ripe for the picking. The setting also gives the movie an incredible out, allowing Arthur's behavior to rise to alarming heights before law enforcement get involved, albeit way late. And based on the time period and circumstances, it's believable, allowing a crucial suspension of disbelief most other films couldn't get away with. This does, and masterfully.  

A noticeably emaciated Phoenix has to walk a tightrope here, conveying a sincerity and almost childlike innocence and curiosity in Arthur when we first meet him. He takes his job seriously and believes he can go places despite the obstacles facing him, until it becomes too much for his emotional faculties to process. His laughing condition (a real life disorder ingeniously incorporated into the character) only magnifies the awkwardness of every already awkward encounter he has. Very few of his relationships are functional. Whether it's with his mom, co-workers, boss or girlfriend. The latter is especially rife with dysfunction, almost immediately sending out warning signs that something's amiss in this dynamic, possibly on both sides.

It's hardly a spoiler to state that once the Sinatra and Chaplin aficionado obtains a weapon for self-defense and gets his first taste of violence, Phoenix is able to take Arthur on a credible trajectory from someone who initially appears as if they couldn't hurt a fly to an unstable vigilante starting to get noticed and drunk with delusions of grandeur. His problems keep piling up, but because so many of Gotham's lesser off inhabitants can closely relate, he may eventually end up getting his time in the spotlight after all. Just like his idol, Murray Franklin. After all, what Arthur always craved most was attention and adulation. Echoing shades of Taxi Driver, he'll eventually get it, just not in the way that he or anyone else would have envisioned. 

Cleverly riffing on former co-star Jerry Lewis' role opposite his in The King of Comedy, De Niro delivers his most memorable supporting turn in years, proving to be a far more engaging presence as the fictitious talk show host than the notoriously guarded actor's been as a real life guest on them. How the media-obsessed Arthur's path eventually crosses with his should seem absurd, and it is, but it also ingeniously highlights the social divide in Gotham, giving this tragic clown a pulpit from which to preach. Police involvement in Arthur's crime spree may be much delayed, but in the midst of such turmoil, it's still easy for him to continue going undetected and unnoticed as a local celebrity, just as as he has his entire life. What occurs in the third act may be extremely violent and disturbing, but the inevitable path was paved for it the entire time.

The only references made to anything related to the Batman canon are passing ones and strategically placed Easter eggs that fans will notice and appreciate without alienating others completely unfamilar with the character or its history. Really, all of that can be thrown out the window since this is about as far removed from that universe as it gets. Even the inclusion of the Wayne family is mainly to further fuel the wealthy disparity crisis ripping apart Gotham. There's also a deeply personal angle to this involving Arthur that's strangely effective, adding a lot of fuel to an already burning fire.

While this isn't some kind of Joker "origin story" and thankfully exists independently from any scenario in which such a term would exist, some audiences will probably still reserve the option to view it as such. Let them, just as long as there's never a sequel to this, and it stands just where it is. There's a thrill in knowing the only goal was to serve this specifically memorable character and story rather than feed a studio machine just waiting to churn out inferior mainstream follow-ups that would only undermine the exceptional work done by Phillips and Phoenix.

Even in a long line of Phoenix performances, this is one for the ages, and as serious and unsettling an exploration of mental illness as you're likely to see on screen. Those in doubt need only look at the controversy surrounding its release and the real fears that some could view an examination of this protagonist's problems as a call-to-arms, and a provocation to commit violence. That it caused such a an uproar speaks to the massively discomforting chord this story strikes, albeit one we've unfortunately gotten all too familiar with. If anything, let Joker stand as a warning against us ever becoming numb to it.