At the Venice International Film Festival, Shane McKevitt has the last laugh with Joker: Folie à Deux.
Pale light illuminates a bleak, concrete cell, revealing the gaunt frame of one Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix). Led by Jackie (Brendan Gleeson), a surly prison warden, Arthur shuffles through the grim corridors of Arkham State Hospital. He’s sat down for a shave; Arthur has to get cleaned up for his lawyer, Maryanne (Catherine Keener). Arthur is on trial for murdering five people and, with Assistant District Attorney Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey) seeking the death penalty, Maryanne hopes to plead insanity. The guards keep asking Arthur to tell them a joke. As the razor nicks Arthur’s face, blood oozes down his chin to form a frown; the Joker has lost his smile.
Joker: Folie à Deux is Todd Phillips’ follow-up to Joker (2019), which chronicled Arthur’s descent into madness and his adoption of the “Joker” persona. The film was nominated for eleven Academy Awards including Best Picture and Best Actor, which Joaquin Phoenix won for his titular role. This, combined with the film’s monstrous box office take, made a sequel all but inevitable. The screenplay for Folie à Deux is once again written by Phillips and Scott Silver, who attempt to justify a continuation of the story. The result is a messy, unsatisfying sequel, albeit one that’s not afraid to swing for the fences.
The first Joker was criticised for being too derivative of other films, most notably Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976) and The King of Comedy (1982). Phillips, aware of this critique, does something similar for the sequel. We see Arthur escorted through the pouring rain, the wardens holding black umbrellas. As the camera switches to an overhead shot, with Arthur gazing at the sky, the umbrellas transform into bright, pastel colours. Soon after, the inmates are shown watching Singin’ in the Rain (1952). The film’s opening sequence is animated: a Looney Tunes-esque short illustrating Arthur’s split personality. Later, Arthur brutally smashes a judge with a cartoonishly oversized gavel. There are less overt nods as well; crouched in the fenced-in yard of the asylum, Arthur sports a blue button-up and black beanie, as worn by Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (1975).
The film takes place primarily in two locations: the asylum and the courtroom. Light and colour are used to contrast the dim halls of Arkham with the outside world. The inside of the asylum is dominated by cool blues and greens. When sunlight shines through the barred windows, it takes on a warmer, orange hue. Even outside Arthur’s hallucinations, the world has a dreamlike aesthetic that mirrors his internal struggle.
The sound design elevates Arkham to a character in its own right. Early on, as the rain pours down violently, it thumps against the windows with disturbing ferocity. Likewise, every creaking door, shuffling footsteps, and wailing inmate echoes through the winding halls. The asylum is an omnipotent force closing in on Arthur from all sides, suffocating his mind and body.
Arthur’s monotonous saunter toward the electric chair is turned on its head when he meets Lee (Lady Gaga), a fellow inmate. She is enamoured by him. Arthur has become a star since his incarceration and, outside the gates of the asylum, his followers have only grown more rabid. A television movie has been made about him too, and a book written on his murder spree. When Lee and Arthur’s relationship blooms, the film takes its biggest swing: it’s a musical.
Lengthy musical sequences, which include a 60s-style variety show, midnight jazz club, and a rooftop dance number, routinely interrupt the plot. They jump between reality and fantasy, although it’s often hard to tell which. While they add colour and flair to the film’s otherwise modest scope, they also muddy a narrative that’s already stretched too thin. The songs merely restate what happened in the scene prior, rather than advancing the story. Consider Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz (1979), where the musical numbers illustrate the dissolution the personal and professional lives of Roy Scheider’s character, Joe Gideon. You couldn’t tell that story without them. The inverse is true in Folie à Deux; take out the music, and you’re left with the same film, albeit a much shorter one.
Outside of these elements, the film feels remarkably small. We never get a glimpse of what’s happening in the rest of Gotham. Did Arthur really start a revolution? A crowd of followers waits at the courthouse steps, but the broader scope of the story never makes it to the screen, making the ensuing court case lack the necessary weight to carry.
Gaga’s interpretation of Lee/Harley Quinn is a linchpin for the musical numbers, yet she’s never developed into a three-dimensional character. She’s merely a representation of Joker’s followers at large. This works as a plot device, with Lee feeding into Arthur’s chronic narcissism. But with so much of the film devoted to their relationship, more layers were needed to make it believable and compelling. Instead, it’s just a conduit for one duet after another.
The film’s most intriguing facet is its exploration of Arthur Fleck’s dual identity as Joker. Interesting questions are raised regarding his culpability for the events of the first film. Was Arthur a pariah who rallied the masses, or just a useful idiot who fell into the lap of a fervent public? Are they followers of Arthur, or just the symbol he represents? There is a great moment, mirroring the first film’s opening scene, where Arthur strides down the streets of Gotham, running from a man in a Joker costume. This poses a timely and fascinating thesis, but it can’t carry an otherwise barebones plot with zero sense of urgency.
Joker: Folie à Deux certainly sings a different tune than its predecessor, but it isn’t an encore worth sticking around for.
Joker: Folie à Deux is in cinemas from 4th October 2024.
