Review: "Joker: Folie à Deux" needs double the Folly and more Gaga, too!

by Cláudio Alves

Back in 2019, Todd Phillips accomplished the seemingly impossible, taking a DC Comics movie to the Venice Film Festival and walking out with the Golden Lion. Predicted to be a dangerous provocation by alarmist critics, Joker soared to brilliant box office results and Oscar glory to boot. From its eleven Academy Award nominations, it won two – Best Original Score for Hildur Guðnadóttir and the Best Actor trophy for Joaquin Phoenix. Sure, there were naysayers, but the project's success was undeniable by most metrics. Cut to 2024, when Joker: Folie à Deux was received with polite dismissal at the Lido before clumsily dancing its way to theaters where it's bound to disappoint just as many people as its predecessor entertained—maybe more.

Philips does all but spit in the face of the first movie's fans and comic book aficionados, too. Musical maniacs may well balk at the reedy vocals and uninspired staging, while Little Monsters have plenty of reason to ask for more Gaga. It comes to a point where one almost has to respect the director for his commitment to displease. If only he did anything worthwhile with it…

Two years after the events of Joker, Arthur Fleck is awaiting his trial at Arkham Asylum, an inmate of its highest security ward, where he's regularly picked on by the guards. The time between his murderous rampage and this present incarceration seems to have withered away the euphoria Arthur once felt as the Joker, leaving him as despondent as he was under the thumb of his abusive mother. The sad sack doesn't even joke anymore, much to the chagrin of his custodians. Hell, the psychosomatic laugh of yore has been silent for a while. But one day, at the request of his lawyer who wants to argue he suffers from split personality disorder, Arthur is led to another building in asylum.

On the way, he glimpses the music therapy room, catching the eye of one Harleen "Lee" Quinzel. Another patient, she seems as transfixed as he is, walking out into the corridor to pantomime a shot to the head à la Taxi Driver – for as much as Folie à Deux distances itself from the first film, it's equally derivative, positively addicted to cinematic references. Their encounter sparks something within Arthur, quickly growing into an open flame when he's given the opportunity to share time with Lee in musical therapy. She also sets a fire of her own, burning down part of the Asylum during a screening of The Band Wagon. Amid the chaos, the two kiss, they dance and climb the fence to the delight of the vulture-like reporters.

As punishment, Arthur is locked in solitary confinement, while Lee is set free, supposedly to separate her from his influence. From there, Joker: Folie à Deux becomes a slog of a courtroom drama interlaced with some not-so-subtle gestures in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest's direction. Lee is always there, in the audience, lending support to her beloved and convincing him to embrace the Joker persona that has gathered legions of devoted fans clamoring outside the courthouse for his freedom. Also, this is a musical, despite what the filmmakers have been spouting to the press. There are musical numbers peppered throughout, often staged to happen within Arthur's fractured subjectivity, triggered by Lee's influence and one of the guard's insistent singing, whether in mockery or genuine laissez-faire.

Some escape the boundaries of his mind, but most exist in that Rob Marshall-like limbo, a theater of the psyche that unfurls fantasy within the overt artifice of a soundstage. And speaking of that musical director, a particular moment of courtroom theatrics is so reminiscent of his "Razzle Dazzle" as to inspire a few raised eyebrows. It also made me, a Chicago agnostic, reconsider the merits of that Best Picture victor. Oh well, one would assume this would give Philips freedom to experiment with abstraction and extremes of spectacle. Yet, his approach often feels timid and unsure, fearful of going too far, which leads to a picture where nothing goes far enough. Not Lawrence Sher's lovely lensing. Not Arianne Phillips' fetching costumes. Nothing.

Formal disappointments aside, this is most evident in the character development of Folie à Deux's two putative leads, a pair of dysfunctional arcs that never come together despite a bounty of worthwhile ideas. Philips' disavowal of the comics' Joker reaches an extreme in his and Phoenix's second round with the figure, cyclically dismantling Arthur Fleck or using him as a vessel to explore the transformative power of love. Not in an especially hopeful or positive light, mind you. There's something cynically solipsistic in the ways Folie à Deux tells its romance, excavating the selfishness of attraction and how the desire of another can be intoxicating, a strong shot of validation straight to the heart.

Phoenix is rather remarkable here, accomplishing a performance that's less coherent than the one that won him the Oscar, though much riskier and tragic. He articulates the film's inquiries into the exploitative falsities of showmanship with more incisiveness than Phillips' direction, and the Looney Tunes parody prologue for that matter. Not every risk pays off, of course. A particularly bad move is the limited range with which he approaches every song, from the most strenuous solo to his lovelorn duets with Lady Gaga. But even then, he can neither dim his scene partner's shine nor fight against her star power. In other words, she out-acts the Best Actor champion at every turn, basking in the warmth of her spotlight and then stealing his to add insult to injury.

Her Lee Quinzel is a fangirl from hell, so besotted by the projected image of the Joker that she all but looks past Arthur Fleck, delighting whenever he falls deeper into self-effacement. For a star so predisposed to showy effortfulness in her screen appearances, there's a notable looseness to Gaga's early scenes in Arkham, including the dive into musical unrealities. Lies flow smoothly, and their revelation is no issue whatsoever, no bump in the road to true love. Or is it obsession? A parasocial fixation deluding itself into passion, perhaps? These possibilities erupt most strongly in her last scenes with Phoenix, manifesting in the best acting Gaga has yet delivered. 

Sadly, Philips has cut her presence a whole deal, making an already half-sketched character seem like barely more than a smudged impression on the page. Gaga does what she can, but not even Mother Monster can contradict a structure that insists on pushing her out of co-lead status into quasi-supporting territory. This is a curious choice since so much of the project's conceptual underpinnings point toward a reckoning with one's creation, a dialogue between the artist and those who fundamentally misunderstand their work. It's a hostile conversation culminating in an outright attack that would have been enriched, maybe even sharpened, by a deeper exploration of Lee's perspective. Then again, it's hard to imagine a Todd Phillips Joker movie being sharp in any way, shape, or form. These things are made to be blunt objects. To what end? Beats me.

All this to say that Vera Drew's The People's Joker remains the year's best film about Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime.