Joker: Folie À Deux: The Name of the Plague
★★★★（4/5）
(This review was originally published in Traditional Chinese on October 7, 2024 on MrGeckoBiHu’s Blogger, Medium and Facebook page simultaneously)
(This English version of the article you’re now reading is translated by myself, on February 2, 2025)
(This review includes spoilers and the ending of the film)
What we are witnessing in real-time right now to Joker: Folie À Deux, is probably the closest thing our generation will ever see to what Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me was and the criticisms it faced back then. As a sequel that’s meticulously designed to confront and deconstruct the success of its predecessor——Twin Peaks/ Joker: The former became a phenomenal ratings success in American television history, with David Lynch winning the Palme d'Or in the same year for Wild at Heart; the latter, after being award the Golden Lion, achieved widespread audience acclaim, with global box office earnings exceeding one billion dollars—— in the most unflinching way, Todd Phillips is attempting with Joker: Folie à Deux what Lynch once did with Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, and as a result, has garnered an equivalent amount of attack and ridicule(Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me became a laughingstock amidst boos after its Cannes notorious premiere, and Lynch was treated like a pariah): In the collision of negative matter, the appealing facade of the predecessor is dismantled, in an effort to illuminate their works’ original tragedies and within, the unsettling, uncomfortable restlessness, fragmentation, and instability that disturb the audience. They tear apart their previous work in an attempt to rescue their protagonists—— Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, and Arthur Fleck in Joker: Folie à Deux——from their own catastrophic success.
And just as its character who tragically misrecognized his own identity, Arthur Fleck's face is gradually replaced and forgotten in the mythologizing process (through countless reproductions of decontextualized memes), by the makeup he originally wore. Joker: Folie à Deux thus serves as a traumatic de-mythologizing ritual, brutally and uncomfortably exposing the mythologizing process itself, reminding the audience that Joker is a tragedy—Arthur Fleck's tragedy—where he is like Pvt. Pyle from Full Metal Jacket, and the “Joker” is not the protagonist but the “name of a plague” that descended upon its protagonist. Henceforth, when audiences furiously spit on and accuse Todd of ruining everything that was good about his previous film, Todd responds “No, no, no, it's you who forgot what happened in the previous movie. You did not realize who Arthur was.’’
It is in this sense, then, that the split that Joker: Folie à Deux does to Joker is almost Lost Highway-ish: in Lost Highway, the narrative is divided into two parts— the pale, grim reality of a husband who has murdered his wife, and the film noir fantasy of a young punk man trying to pursue a femme fatale while evading a mob boss. This is precisely what happens in Joker: Folie à Deux, where Arthur is fated to be a death row inmate from the beginning, and the film tells the story of a condemned man finally discovering what love is for the first time in his life, albeit far too late (though it ultimately turns out to be another misrecognition). It is the saddest story in the world, and the “musical” segments thus serve the same function here as in the “noir” part of Lost Highway; they are the fantastical pillars supporting Arthur's fractured reality, and their abruptness and awkwardness reflect the instability of this fragmentation, which is precisely where Joker: Folie à Deux goes further than Joker: In the first film, the pale reality and its fantastical pillars were initially expressed together, whereas here they are ruthlessly torn apart at a fundamental level of cinematic grammar. Due to this division, the starkness of reality no longer has shadows to hide in, and this is precisely the film's aim: to allow Arthur to emerge from the shadow of “the Joker”.
However, it is not merely presented as a mean and cynical metatextual commentary; one of the primary tensions within the film lies in the authenticity of these musical fantasy segments, and this question truly only belongs to Arthur. It belongs neither to the Joker, is meaningless in Harvey Dent's criminal complaint, nor does it have a place in the defense attorney's arguments (although she is portrayed as a positive and rational character, her argument—that the Joker is a split personality resulting from his trauma—simultaneously demands that Arthur sever this aspect of his authentic fantasy: “the musical,” which is something Arthur cannot accept and is also, in fact, a lie).
However, it is precisely here that the film intensifies the tension of its questioning, because this authentic musical is a product manipulated by Lee Quinzel— the femme fatale in this film—raising a fundamental question common in film noir: Is authenticity that is manipulated still authentic? And those musical segments belong precisely to the Joker: Folie à Deux that the audience wants to see, the one about how Lee Quinzel helps Arthur escape from death row, defeating the evil prosecution led by the chief prosecutor, dancing together in a blend of innocence, mischief, and seductive wickedness. In this sense, Quinzel is participating in the film precisely as an audience member, hoping another myth can help them escape (she wants to see the “real” Arthur: the Joker). This is precisely why Phillips seeks to rip the Joker from Arthur, because “that film” would have belonged to the Joker, belonged to mythology, which was precisely what devoured him at the end of the previous film, acting as a parasite usurping Arthur’s laughter. This is why the film begins (and ends) with Arthur in prison clothes, looking like a deflated balloon, with a vacant gaze—an Arthur who can be raped by a prison guard. This is Arthur's reality. However, it is here that I believe Phillips is not so cynical here: Arthur truly falls in love with Quinzel, albeit this love itself is a tragedy.
It is in this sense that the entire film is designed as a courtroom drama: a literal dissection table. It soberly and candidly confines the Joker “back into Arthur's flesh,” as the Joker continually attempts to escape through fantasy, while Phillips repeatedly pulls him back: this is a film belonging to Arthur— a tragic death row inmate, the last lament before his execution, filled with false hope, confusion, rejection, and a sobering reality. This is why one of the best-executed scenes in the film is the confrontation between Arthur/Joker and Gary Puddles, played by Leigh Gill, in the courtroom, along with Arthur's murmured curse(which is far more impactful than the shot fired by Quinzel). When Arthur, his voice trembling, quietly utters this line, he loses the Joker's false glow.
However, if that is the case, isn't this merely a tragic and despairing film about a banal death row inmate? And it turns out he doesn’t go anywhere? But why should he go anywhere? And when does despair become merely banal? Perhaps it should be phrased the other way around: how could someone find such an extraordinary framework, employing such beautiful shots, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg-style four-color musical umbrellas, and giant close-ups of a prison transport filmed with IMAX cameras, such colorful and unstable forms, and such patient character analysis, to depict a person who doesn’t go anywhere? Aren't we often just capturing the reflections of our own fears when facing this kind of subject(those films which titled themselves with the word “evil,” which has particularly become a trend in Taiwan)? This is the excellence of Hollywood (when it manages to escape the scrutiny of studio executives during those rare moments in history, and we must cheer for Todd, right under Warner's nose).
The dialectical significance of the film's form henceforth lies here: the siren-like, obscene, and even violent nature of the musical itself. The singing not only consumes Arthur in a way similar to the laughter in the first film, singing can be heard, be spread, and can be sung by others, escaping from its original singer and can be danced to and misinterpreted by some distant strangers. Singing is intoxicating, not sobering. This is precisely the ominous message sung in “That’s Entertainment” from The Band Wagon—the song that Quinzel sings as she helps Arthur escape from the burning movie theater: everything is entertainment, liberation, empowerment, and it can also be terror; a world where everyone is singing and dancing is a terrifying world. It leads Arthur to believe he can “go somewhere,” and it is in this sense, that the film's form itself becomes something that can interact with Arthur (which will be exemplified more brilliantly later).
And so, when Arthur announces the Joker's death, and the jury promptly declares Arthur guilty, he can't help but laugh uncontrollably, his laughter finally (sadly, for a brief moment) returned to him: this laughter is what belongs to Arthur, not the Joker, reminiscent of the uncontrollable laughter Arthur had on the bus after being unjustly glared at in the previous film. It is here that the multiple meanings of the title are fully realized: not just between Arthur and the Joker, the Joker and Quinzel, but also between the Joker and the audience, as well as the good citizens who scorn and declare Arthur shameless and the Joker's fervent supporters. It should not be overlooked that, before the explosion in the courtroom, it was such a good citizen who first lost control, grabbing Arthur by the collar and telling this “bastard” to shut up, reflecting all of Arthur's experiences before becoming the Joker.
And if we remember, despite Joker’s miraculous win of the Golden Lion at Venice and later achieving massive box office success, during the time period between these two things, most American critics who saw the film first scoffed at it or even condemned it harshly. If not for its subsequent success, it would have faced similar criticism to that which Chaplin received for Monsieur Verdoux. In other words, English-speaking critics had long been waiting for this kind of suicidal receptional provocation opportunity such as of Joker: Folie à Deux to jump it. However, just like the massive explosion that follows, the critics' accusations are but a faint sound compared to the audience's rage. Here, Arthur's laughter is interrupted by this overwhelming violence; the audience can no longer endure Arthur. They want a climax without consequences to continue—”the audience” must intervene."
One of the most common plot devices in Chaplin's films is the mistaken identity of the tramp as someone important (usually a significant figure: a union leader, a wealthy mogul, or even Hitler), which leads to various amusing situations. The brilliance of Joker lies in its ability to reveal the tragedy behind this mistaken identity trope and to graft it onto the existing comic mythos. Here, it is pushed to its most extreme logical conclusion, with religious fanatics detonating car bombs at the courthouse, destroying it. We cannot ignore that when Arthur shakily rises from the rubble, walking into the smoke-filled streets in trembles, the image practically is an intentional evocation of the sight of New York City streets on the day of the 9/11 attacks. In this sense, the film's provocative engagement toward potential angry audience members almost becomes a secondary concern. What caught them off guard here the most is henceforth this—terror. Joker: Folie à Deux ultimately positions itself as a horror film, embodying the terror of the real world, with “the Joker” as the name of the plague. However, this shouldn't be unexpected: the opening sequence of Joker: Folie à Deux, meticulously crafted by director Silavy Hueman of The Triplets of Belleville, ends with a sea of ominous blood serving as a stage curtain. In this sense, I believe the film truly steps beyond the references to The King of Comedy and Taxi Driver and the shadow of Scorsese here, going further than what Joker did.
In a series of ironic twists of fate, as if becoming some kind of antimatter, Arthur reenacts the fanatical carjacking, police car's backseat and the running on the streets in reverse order beginning from the end of Joker, ultimately arriving at the staircase where he performs his ritualistic solo dance as the Joker. However, this time around, the documentary-style camera is sober, devoid of rock music, and all Arthur sees is fear. This is the first time Arthur witnesses the calamities and chaos done in his name as a plague. Therefore, on the staircase, when he encounters Quinzel again, he tells her not to sing anymore. Singing is the only thing that can surpass laughter. In Joker: Folie à Deux, singing belongs to the Joker and Quinzel. However, the song of the siren will also fade like the dim street lights at the staircase's edge. To cease singing means the death of fantasy and the collapse of the spit of Lost Highway. The greatest tragedy is that Arthur ultimately says he "just wants to talk," but no one is left to talk to him. Conversation is the beginning of personal identity, yet it is only at the last moment that Arthur realizes his need for an identity that does not belong to the Joker, which is precisely what no one cares about. This is also one of the film's most outstanding scenes and lines: at this moment, Quinzel's singing transitions from “non-diegetic” to “diegetic”, and Arthur truly hears it. When Arthur asks her not to sing anymore, in other words, he is asking for the film's very form to stop. However, people want to sing, to sing forever: audiences, Hollywood, superhero movies, religious fanatics, voters, politicians, murderers, internet trolls—everyone desires to continue singing, or rather, no one dares to stop singing. This is the tragedy of our era. Joker: Folie à Deux places this tragedy at its core; it is not a musical, but a horror film about how we escape into a musical to avoid a horror film.[1] In this sense, Joker: Folie à Deux does not hesitate to become the very object it depicts.
This is precisely why Arthur must die, and it cannot be by electric chair (which would be meaningless), but rather by being stabbed by an unnamed inmate who is deliberately made to resemble the stereotypical Joker image, as if a poorly crafted DC villain from a TV show has invaded Fleck's world. The film's conclusion is merely a literal manifestation of what happened on a symbolic level at the end of Joker (Arthur’s symbolic death/ the birth of the Joker), but without the rose-colored filter, it is barren and cruel. The audience intervenes and becomes the Joker, and Arthur never would have become the crime prince of Gotham. The point is not about who the Joker is or is not, it is about something that escapes from Pandora's box. It is the name of the plague, and once it appears, there is no possibility of putting it back. The “audience” (voters, activists, etc.) will intervene into the “screen” (the “reality” put in quotation marks), and this is precisely where the film brands its traumatic tear.
People go to the theater to see the Joker, angry because they got Arthur. However, accusing Todd of hating his previous film is not a valid accusation. If Todd hated his previous film, he wouldn't have made this one for Arthur. He simply knows that no one cares about Arthur (who already died symbolically when he kills his mother in the first film), nor does anyone truly care about what kind of horror he is caught up in (as a desperate death row inmate, as a messiah of religious fanaticism, as someone who must confront his own condemnation and suffering). So he made a sequel, giving him back his subjectivity and an ending, illuminating what he is not. Thus, Arthur's death is no longer merely dissolving into a spiritual climax, but as himself, witnessing the horrors of the world, filled with fear and confusion, like a defenseless old man being slaughtered. The opposite of “This is what you deserve” is he “has the right to witness all of this,” clearly, even though he may not fully understand it himself. For this reason, Todd must split Arthur from the Joker. In other words, Todd kills the Joker mythos from the previous film so that Arthur can live once again as himself.
[1] In the cartoon published on October 2 by Charlie Hebdo, titled Joker: Folie À Deux, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei are depicted as dual clowns with missiles launched by both sides as the background, which serves as a "truly" fitting reference to the film's title.
[2] The fact that the first half of The Band Wagon is surprisingly about a theater director convincing a group of financiers that a Faustian musical will be a success, and then the financiers walking out of the theater in pale after the premiere, in hindsight, seems like such a mischief, that it’s hard to believe Phillips doesn’t know what he’s doing, or at least that he is prepared for it. Perhaps this is where he truly differs from Lynch: although Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me starts with a scene of smashing a television and deconstructing Twin Peaks, Lynch must have genuinely felt sad back then. Phillips knows he is a gambler. Related Articles:Joker: The Myth of Arthur Fleck
https://mrgeckopapa.blogspot.com/2025/02/joker-myth-of-arthur-fleck.html
《雙峰：與火同行》：承受不能承受之痛苦——重探這部當年被嚴重低估的大師經典（To be translated）
https://mrgeckopapa.blogspot.com/2018/05/blog-post.html
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