By Samantha Weideman
Joker is not for the soft or faint-hearted.
I was eager to see Joker—thrilled that Detective Comics (DC) was finally getting away from campy Marvel-imitating Box Office blunders and moving toward a darker tonality, bringing out the well-rounded personalities of the villains (consistent with the tone of the comics in recent years)—but I was extremely disappointed.
From the moment the film started, I was on edge. Every moment was filled with tension, and not the fun kind.
It may have been my nerves or the terroristic threats that surrounded the film, but I was acutely aware of a movie theater employee that hung around the entrance to the theater during the first five minutes of the first scene, slightly concerned that my night at the movie theater would hit headlines for nightmarish events (i.e. another mass shooting in the public sphere).
Eerie silence and moments of anxious awe were punctuated with sudden gunshots, intense violence and unsettling fits of laughter. Woven throughout were feelings of true sympathy and extreme sorrow for the movie’s main character Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix).
Let’s talk about him for a paragraph or two. [SPOILERS AHEAD: Stop reading here if you plan to watch the movie.]
Fleck leads a painful life, working as a clown-for-hire and taking care of his aging, ailing mother (Frances Conroy) in an impoverished neighborhood of Gotham City. Additionally, and perhaps more devastatingly, he struggles with a debilitating mental illness.
Although Fleck’s medical chart is never explicitly read, it’s clear he struggles with involuntary laughter, handing out a card to explain his condition to disturbed onlookers.
As the movie proceeds, Fleck’s story becomes clearer and more devastating. After investigating his mother’s claims that he was Thomas Wayne’s (Brett Cullen) son, he’s directed to Arkham Asylum to comb through their records. He finds that his mother was schizophrenic, harboring delusions of having a child with Thomas Wayne, while in reality, adopted, neglected and abused Fleck as a child.
In response to this revelation, Fleck has a complete breakdown, murdering his mother. He then seeks comfort from his girlfriend, Sophie Dumond (Zazie Beetz), who is revealed to never have known him. He realizes their entire relationship was a delusion as she protests his presence in her apartment. It is unclear what happens to Dumond and her daughter, as the screen fades to black after an unsettling confrontation and he’s shown leaving the apartment.
It was at that point my friend and I left the theater, too disturbed and anxiety-ridden to sit through another moment.
“Joker”—as noted by other critics (notably, at Bloomberg and New York Times)—presents a world and feeling akin to “Taxi Driver” and “The King of Comedy,” movies set in the 70s and 80s that portray mentally ill white men committing strings of felonies to cope with their ever-racing thoughts.
Fleck is plagued by brutal circumstances that seem to compound and lead to his mental break. However, it seems as though his character progression (regression?) exists as a continuation of the media’s ongoing narrative with white mass shooters; that mental illness is the culprit.
The controversy surrounding “Joker” is about gun violence, but maybe it should surround the lack of content warnings at the beginning of the film.
If the aim was to put the viewer in a state of mind similar to the main character, the director may have fulfilled his goal. It felt anxious, disturbing and paranoid. If the aim was to call for self-reflection as a society, the movie failed.
My advice? Save yourself from triggers, panic attacks and high blood pressure, and stay at home (or wait for Zombieland 2 for a lighter-hearted take on a lost society).
