"Flawed, Fearless, and Fascinating" - The Troubled Genius of Joker: Folie à Deux:

Film Review

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Polarizing, audacious, and deeply flawed, Joker: Folie à Deux may be the most hated film of the year, but it’s far from the worst. In this daring sequel, Todd Phillips and Joaquin Phoenix swing for the fences with a bold fusion of psychological thriller and musical, risking everything . . . for what? Perhaps for a peek at meaning.

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IN SUMMARY:

To call Joker: Folie à Deux a complete disaster, at this point, may be premature. For all the vitriol, the film’s narrative ambitions and stylistic risks suggest something worth revisiting.

Stepping into the near-empty Lotte Cinemas theater for the afternoon showing, I was already aware of the critical scorn that had enveloped Folie à Deux since its release. Despite a solid showing at the Venice International Film Festival—where it found a measure of appreciation among critics—the film has stumbled at the box office, with a domestic gross of $36 million against a $200 million budget. It’s a striking fall from the original’s staggering success, which saw a $1 billion worldwide gross on a “modest” $70 million budget. The question is not what went wrong, but what this film might still have to offer.

To call Joker: Folie à Deux a complete disaster, at this point, may be premature. For all the vitriol, the film’s narrative ambitions and stylistic risks suggest something worth revisiting. The reactions it has evoked—reflected in its CinemaScore of “D,” a full letter grade below even Madame Web (2024)’s “C-”—recall the polarizing receptions of films like American Psycho (2000) and Fight Club (1999). These films, once considered misfires, later found cult status and critical reassessment. I am not suggesting that Folie à Deux is a modern masterpiece, but it is far from the “junk” that some have deemed it. Rather, it is a film that expands upon its predecessor in thought-provoking ways, ultimately deepening my appreciation for the original.

While Folie à Deux delves further into Arthur Fleck's psychological torment, it achieves this with a different set of tools. As a psychological thriller, it proves even more unnerving than its predecessor, despite eschewing the overt brutality of the first film. As a musical, it occupies even riskier terrain, and herein lies the crux of its divisiveness: the music is not merely an aesthetic layer but a structural device that recasts the story in a new light. The score and songs draw us into Fleck’s inner world, making his unraveling not just visible but audible, imbuing his madness with an unsettling lyricism. This approach may alienate those who expect a straightforward continuation of the first film’s grim realism, but for others, the music makes the descent into chaos all the more haunting.

“The dissonance between the musical's form and the character’s mental state creates a compelling contrast, suggesting that even in his darkest moments, there is a perverse kind of beauty in Fleck's mind—a twisted symphony that might deepen our understanding of his journey.”

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Music has a way of deepening a story by transcending dialogue and plot, allowing audiences to feel the emotional currents that lie beneath the surface. In Folie à Deux, the musical numbers do not merely punctuate the action but serve as psychological interludes, moments where Fleck’s inner life bursts through the seams of the narrative. Here, we see music as a mirror to madness, refracting Arthur’s fractured psyche in a way that dialogue alone could not achieve. A traditional film might struggle to articulate the complexities of Fleck's unraveling; in this format, we hear the madness as much as we see it. The dissonance between the musical's form and the character’s mental state creates a compelling contrast, suggesting that even in his darkest moments, there is a perverse kind of beauty in Fleck's mind—a twisted symphony that might deepen our understanding of his journey.

However, despite these strengths, there are undeniable flaws. One of the most significant is the underutilization of Lady Gaga, who, despite the hype surrounding her role, occupies a mere 25 minutes of screen time. Given the film’s billing as a musical thriller, this imbalance feels like a squandered opportunity. Additionally, the film’s confined settings—limited to Arkham Asylum and the Gotham City Courthouse—create a sense of spatial restriction that seems incongruous with its hefty budget. It is difficult not to feel shortchanged when a film of this scale seems to unfold within such narrow bounds, especially when compared to the ambitious visual scope of directors like Christopher Nolan or Denis Villeneuve.

The backlash is understandable; Folie à Deux is, in many respects, a cautionary tale about the dangers of unbridled creative freedom. Todd Phillips and Joaquin Phoenix were given carte blanche to craft the sequel with no oversight whatsoever—a privilege that seems most often to lead to an indulgence rather refinement. If the first Joker (2019) was an reckless and irresponsible product, this sequel represents an even more reckless production, albeit one with intriguing aspirations.

The film’s relationship to its predecessor is complex. If Joker (2019) drew comparisons to Taxi Driver (1976) and The King of Comedy (1982), then Folie à Deux is more akin to Funny Games (1997) meets The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964). It refracts the narrative through a lens of spectacle and subversion, with Arthur Fleck’s story set to music that underscores his descent into chaos. There is something bold—perhaps even foolhardy—about this choice, but it is also what makes the film worthy of discussion.

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Folie à Deux may indeed suffer from the curse of being ahead of its time. Its place in film history is uncertain, but it is precisely the kind of divisive work that could gain recognition as a misunderstood gem upon reevaluation. Even if its execution is flawed, the film's ambition is unmistakable. I don't love Joker: Folie à Deux—the work too often fails to cohere as a whole for me to give it my highest praise—but I cannot deny its audacity and the way it moved me. At least as much as the first film did.

The most hated film of the year, but not the worst . . .

It is not a mistake so much as a bold miscalculation that deserves a second look. Indeed, it is a film that might just reward repeat viewings and, over time, come to be seen not as the most hated film of the year, but as its most fascinatingly, frustratingly interesting. However heavy the dog pile of hate on this film, I do not see its legacy going away anytime soon.

I see both films as separate, autonomous entities—like literary foils to one another—existing in constant contrast, opposition, and debate.

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SOURCE OF IMAGES: Warner Brothers, The Criterion Collection