Joaquin Phoenix plays Arthur Fleck, a pathetic clunker and nonconformer in Gotham City, some time in the early 1980s. Arthur is a former outpatient at a psychiatric installation but is now allowed to live with his senior mama, Penny (Frances Conroy), in her scuzzy apartment.
Poor Arthur has a neurological condition that means he is liable to break into screaming horselaugh at precocious moments. He has a crush on his single- mama neighbour Sophie (Zazie Beetz) and pines to be a funnyman, idol- worshipping inelegant Television host Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro).
But he can only get a job as a zany in beaming makeup and droopy-toed shoes twirling an advertising banner outside a store, where he is bullied and beaten up by youthful goons passing in. One day, after the demotion and despair come too important to bear, Arthur gets hold of a gun and discovers that his gift is not for comedy but violence.
Phillips has formerly directed a film featuring a brilliant unfunny-funny figure with learning difficulties Alan in The Leftover, played by Zach Galifianakis, that strange dysfunctional figure who mispronounces the noun “ slacken”. Well, the casting of Phoenix indicates more easily how sexy Joker is supposed to be.
There's great product design by Mark Friedberg, some tremendous period cityscape images by photographer Lawrence Sher, and a strong performance by Phoenix, though not his stylish. The film holds your attention up until Joker’s terrible vengeance massacre on the shelter beforehand on, maybe intended to echo the notorious Bernhard Goetz firing of 1984 – although Phillips prudently makes it anon-racist attack.
After this, the film loses your interest, with tedious and forced material about Joker’s supposed triggering of ananti-capitalist,anti-rich movement with protesters dressing as zanies. Joker’s own felonious and periodical- killer career bafflingly fizzles.
The film makes reference to pictures from around the drama’s period, similar as the Death Wish flicks, The French Connection and perhaps indeed Star Wars, but it’s more obviously a laborious and meaningless homage to the Scorsese/ De Niro classic The King of Comedy with a bit of Taxi Motorist, which means that at colorful moments it is a bit like The King of Comedy and Taxi Motorist, only not as good. The connection is gestured by the casting of De Niro himself, but it's nevertheless unearned and pedantic, especially compared to Lynne Ramsey’s You Were Noway Really Then, also starring Phoenix as a nonconformer living with his mama, which managed the connection more expertly.
The whole idea of the malign zany should be veritably applicable. We live in an period of trolling, incels and internet bullying. (The ghastly Milo Yiannopoulos described himself as a “ supervillain” on his now cancelled Twitter bio.) There’s nothing wrong and everything right with engaging with all of this. But, maybe because online aggression is delicate to dramatise, Phillips understandably wanted his film to be set in apre-web age.
Yet he cheats an anachronisticquasi-YouTube moment into his story when a videotape of Arthur’s disastrous attempt at burlesque comedy ever emerges.
A bit of Taxi Motorist, only not as good … Joker. Hack Motorist, only not as good … Joker. Photograph Warner Bros Bro. This Joker’s birth is doggedly mature and uncartoony, compared to, say, Jack Nicholson’s low- position crook Jack Napier falling into a chemical handbasket in Tim Burton’s Batman, turning him into the Joker with white skin, green hair and a flinch grin. (The look of DC’s Joker was firstly inspired by Conrad Veidt in the 1928 silent classic The Man Who Laughs, a man whose face was disfigured into a grin by his father’s political adversaries.)
Forget Joker then is the film you should see about an revolutionist nonconformer. There is no reason why Phoenix’s elaborately backstoried Joker should not be as important as Heath Ledger’s mysterious, motiveless, originless Joker in The Dark Knight.
But at some stage the ridiculous- book world of supervillaindom has to be entered, and Ledger was more important because he was n’t counted down with all this realist detail and bloated ironic noir majesty, and he was not forced to carry an entire story on his own. The film ever manages to be desperately serious and veritably shallow.
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