After seeing Heath Ledger's Joker in Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight, I still had to take time to re-watch 1989's Batman directed by Tim Burton where Jack Nicholson played DC's iconic evil clown. While Heath was certainly much better than Jack, the question took a review and a mental list of pros and cons to gain an answer. Joaquin's performance, however, did not even warrant a question. The 44-year-old vegan Puertorriqueño definitely takes the clown crown. This set of thoughts, however, doesn’t center on his performance. We already know he is going to bag that Academy Award, anyway. This set of musings is a verbal representation of the film itself and the things it has done to my head.
Initially, it almost felt like another revisionist re-imagining of a villain but it was not. In a myriad of distorting spectacles and lenses, Joker offers a microscope, an x-ray and a sonogram all at the same time, giving us a deep view into the abysmal psyche of the DC Multiverse’s most complex, twisted and violent characters. It made the monkey-mutilating, bird-ripping, old-lady-murdering green-skinned witch Elphaba from Gregory Maguire’s Wicked suddenly seem even amiable.
Joker did not play around with positivity. It did not pander to the “other side” perspective presented in revisionist trends that try to put the good spotlight on characters that were otherwise villains in their original incarnations (e.g. Maleficent, Wicked, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister). Joker does not provide a romantic explanation for the character’s behaviour and neither does it attempt to exonerate him. It shows us exactly why he is the way he is. It shows how our vicious socio-economic environment is the perfect breeding ground for a violent cycle of oppression and retaliation. It also shows how utterly important it is to address mental health issues at their budding stages because, as many may refuse to accept in today’s age of medical advancement, there really does exist a point of no f'ng return that not even the teachings and prescribed methods of history’s most influential scientists, sages and prophets could reverse — at least not in one lifetime.
Joker is a masterpiece in cinematography, screenplay, acting and direction. Yes, it’s a masterpiece of a film, but I have beef with it. It hits very sensitive visceral spots and yet does not attempt to draw out a specific response from its wanting audience. It rather encourages ambivalence which can be deeply unsettling for those of us who have known the character for quite a while and had made the decision to despise him long ago. It would have been easier, too, to decide to love the Joker if that were the film's intention. But, no. Unlike revisionist films and literature where there is a clear courting of audience sympathy, and unlike plain origin story prequels like Hannibal Rising where the tone employed is matter-of-fact, Joker is a hybrid where the viewer is left to vacillate whether they would sympathise, empathise or subdue their emotional responses in favour of a logical and rational conclusion — a decision to say something along the lines “the film shows us how terrorists are made; the Joker is a terrorist; and while there is a backstory to the violent proclivities of every terrorist, it is not an excuse.”
And yet even with the response choices the film presents to us, there is no clear line that separates them. It’s like blots of ink on a plate. They begin as distinct colours and gradually mix on the fringes. Move the plate too much and you end up with a single hue. A combination of sympathy, empathy and the logical rejection of any excuse for violence, maybe? Perhaps this is the kind of response it has drawn from me — a person suffering from clinical mental issues — but I’m not entirely certain yet. The colours have not fully decided what they are and what single hue they ultimately want to reveal themselves as.
Initially, it almost felt like another revisionist re-imagining of a villain but it was not. In a myriad of distorting spectacles and lenses, Joker offers a microscope, an x-ray and a sonogram all at the same time, giving us a deep view into the abysmal psyche of the DC Multiverse’s most complex, twisted and violent characters. It made the monkey-mutilating, bird-ripping, old-lady-murdering green-skinned witch Elphaba from Gregory Maguire’s Wicked suddenly seem even amiable.
Joker did not play around with positivity. It did not pander to the “other side” perspective presented in revisionist trends that try to put the good spotlight on characters that were otherwise villains in their original incarnations (e.g. Maleficent, Wicked, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister). Joker does not provide a romantic explanation for the character’s behaviour and neither does it attempt to exonerate him. It shows us exactly why he is the way he is. It shows how our vicious socio-economic environment is the perfect breeding ground for a violent cycle of oppression and retaliation. It also shows how utterly important it is to address mental health issues at their budding stages because, as many may refuse to accept in today’s age of medical advancement, there really does exist a point of no f'ng return that not even the teachings and prescribed methods of history’s most influential scientists, sages and prophets could reverse — at least not in one lifetime.
Joker is a masterpiece in cinematography, screenplay, acting and direction. Yes, it’s a masterpiece of a film, but I have beef with it. It hits very sensitive visceral spots and yet does not attempt to draw out a specific response from its wanting audience. It rather encourages ambivalence which can be deeply unsettling for those of us who have known the character for quite a while and had made the decision to despise him long ago. It would have been easier, too, to decide to love the Joker if that were the film's intention. But, no. Unlike revisionist films and literature where there is a clear courting of audience sympathy, and unlike plain origin story prequels like Hannibal Rising where the tone employed is matter-of-fact, Joker is a hybrid where the viewer is left to vacillate whether they would sympathise, empathise or subdue their emotional responses in favour of a logical and rational conclusion — a decision to say something along the lines “the film shows us how terrorists are made; the Joker is a terrorist; and while there is a backstory to the violent proclivities of every terrorist, it is not an excuse.”
And yet even with the response choices the film presents to us, there is no clear line that separates them. It’s like blots of ink on a plate. They begin as distinct colours and gradually mix on the fringes. Move the plate too much and you end up with a single hue. A combination of sympathy, empathy and the logical rejection of any excuse for violence, maybe? Perhaps this is the kind of response it has drawn from me — a person suffering from clinical mental issues — but I’m not entirely certain yet. The colours have not fully decided what they are and what single hue they ultimately want to reveal themselves as.
