Maybe the death knell for Western civilisation really has been sounded, because Joker shows that meme culture has completely overtaken critical and public reaction (in case that wasn’t obvious already). The trailer suggested a film that would show us how a downtrodden comedian who lives with his mother became a criminally insane maniac, after being brutalised by the world around him. We live in a society, and so, it seems, does our favourite comic book villain. The ironic embrace of the film long before it was released by internet subcultures around 4chan and meme pages led to a knee jerk reaction, claiming that Joker legitimised ‘incel’ culture, by pandering to their worldview of innocent men turned bad by never, ever, getting laid. This reached fever pitch as the US Army was warned about the possibility of violence at screenings of the film, and posters on 4chan planted a hoax about shooting up an Australian cinema. 

Some audiences have praised the film’s daring portrayal of mental illness and social alienation, but others have apparently walked out of the cinema in shock. Joker is by turns brilliant, disjointed, shocking and banal. Joaquin Phoenix gives a compelling performance: his Arthur Fleck is a genuinely disturbing character, who even in his best moments managed to make most of the people around him feel uncomfortable. Phoenix reportedly lost 52lbs to play the role, in what must be part of some bizarre competition between him and Christian Bale. 

Fleck suffers from a bizarre neurological condition which causes him to laugh uncontrollably when he is nervous or angry. A clever twist on the Joker’s iconic laugh, by the end of the film we begin to wonder where Fleck’s condition ends and his ‘performance’ begins. The central tragedy is that Fleck is an unfunny clown, a useless figure of ridicule. He is beaten up by street thugs, mocked by his coworkers and even his social support worker seems to regard him with disdain. One of the film’s best moments sees Fleck deliver a painfully bad stand up routine, delivering his stilted opening jokes to a virtually silent audience. However, at other points the film tries too hard to be edgy and disturbing. During a scene in which Fleck slowly empties his fridge and crawls in, I felt that the script was screaming ‘look at how deranged he is!’. Other films, from Fight Club to Polanski’s Repulsion, have handled a characters descent into madness with greater creativity and subtlety. 

The story is set against the backdrop of rising unrest in Gotham city, as rubbish piles up on the streets and giant rats infest the subway. The setting is a carbon copy of the New York of early Scorsese pictures and many critics have remarked on thematic similarities to Taxi Driver and King of Comedy. Despite the obvious allusions to other films, I enjoyed director Todd Phillips depiction of a city festering away like an open wound. There is also a clever twist to Batman’s origins, as here Bruce Wayne’s father is not the benevolent philanthropist he appears to be in Batman Begins. A Trump like figure, his condescending pronouncements on tv fuel a growing movement against the city’s elite. Throughout all this, Hildur Guðnadóttir’s brooding score adds to the undercurrent of menace (I was not surprised to learn she has toured with Sunn O))).

Both critics and defenders of the film have focused on its sympathetic portrayal of a man who turns into a vile, hate-filled monster. However, I found Fleck to be pitiful rather than sympathetic. Although this was probably not Phillips’ intention, the distinction is an important one because it raises the question of whether the film seeks to justify it’s protagonist’s behaviour. Fleck dreams of finding stardom and acceptance on tv. A brief smile from a neighbour leads to delusional fantasies of romance (the film is certainly not an ‘incel training manual’). Robert De Niro’s chat show host, Murray Franklin, is a slimy individual, but to Fleck, Murray is the father he never had. Ultimately, his blind faith that his social betters will rescue him from obscurity leads to tragedy. Fleck’s descent into madness and violence is clearly the result of his mistreatment, but his pitiful, narcissistic nature prevents the audience from rooting for him (at least it did for me). 

The question of whether art should be socially responsible is still with us, although we are a long way from Stanley Kubrick pulling A Clockwork Orange from circulation following the panic over possible copycat violence. We are quick to look for moral lessons in cinema, but observation is not always followed by action. One could claim that Joker holds up a mirror to the ugliness and alienation of modern society. Alternatively, one could see the film as pure comic book escapism, albeit with the grittiness dialled up to eleven. 

Gotham creates the Joker. In turn, the Joker is taken up as an icon by protesters and rioters. The problem with this explanation of the character’s origins is that it becomes a moral protest, or a cautionary tale about not bullying the losers of society too much, lest they lose their shit and enact horrible vengeance. Perhaps if Gotham received more funding for social workers, the film seems to suggest, and we may have never got the Joker. Alissa Wilkinson points out that this runs contrary to the Joker’s most terrifying feature: that he is an embodiment of chaos. 

Joker is a good film and it’s atmospheric setting and Phoenix’s captivating performance give reason enough to see it. But it is not as edgy or iconic as it wants to be. It is certainly not as scary or disturbing as detractors would have you believe. I doubt they believe it themselves: hysterically branding this film as ‘toxic’ seems like an easy way to get clicks. Maybe the joke’s on them?