When critics called for superhero movies to do something different, we didn't mean Joker: Folie à Deux.
In 2019's Joker, co-writer/director Todd Phillips stole heavily from Martin Scorsese's earlier films to re-imagine the iconic Batman villain as a put-upon everyman on the brink of breakdown and infamy. Earning over a billion dollars worldwide and 11 Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, The Hangover helmer's gritty Joker origin story was practically guaranteed a sequel. Admittedly, Phillips earned goodwill — even from those of us who rolled our eyes at Phillips' poor imitation of Taxi Driver meets The King of Comedy — were intrigued when he cast pop goddess Lady Gaga as Harley Quinn.
But be warned, Little Monsters: Joker: Folie à Deux will not satisfy your desire to see Gaga go hard. Harley Quinn fans will likewise be disappointed, as the character who has been re-imagined in a variety of fresh and fun ways across movies, TV, and video games never gets her moment in the spotlight. Likewise, I suspect Batman fans — specifically those who adored Christopher Nolan's take on the Gotham rogues' gallery — will groan over Phillips' casual skewing of that canon. Not even musical fans will be entertained by Joker: Folie à Deux, because while Phillips can drop a reference, he fails to make any of these intriguing elements his own.
Make no mistake: Joker: Folie à Deux is an atrociously grim and boring movie.
Joker and Harley aren't what fans might hope.
The first act of Joker: Folie à Deux is ungodly slow, lumbering through Arthur "Joker" Fleck's (Phoenix) routine at the Arkham State Hospital. He's being held in the maximum security wing ahead of his trial for murdering five people, including talk show host Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro) on live TV. Emaciated as ever and silently glum, Arthur doesn't even crack jokes for the jolly Irish guard (Brendan Gleeson, giving his all to a bit part), not anymore anyway. It seems Arthur's lust for life (or blood) is utterly gone — until he makes eye contact with Lee Quinzel (Gaga), a patient who shares his affinity for violence and mayhem.
From Batman: The Animated Series to Suicide Squad to Harley Quinn, the romance between Joker and Harley has always been characterized by varying levels and shades of toxicity. Here, the dynamic is less lovestruck sidekick and more hanger-on. Lee swiftly establishes herself as a Joker fangirl, telling Arthur she's seen the TV movie made about him like 20 times, and assuring him it's a great. She coddles his ego, his need for attention, and even his genitals to wind her way around his heart. And ahead of his trial, she's quick to rush to the tabloids to tell all about their wild love.
Per the title, the two share in a specific madness, a fantasy that explains the musical numbers within this movie that Phillips himself has declined to define as a musical. Essentially, in their shared vision, Arthur and Lee are backed by an orchestral score as they sing out jaunty songs with a twisted glee. Joker: Folie à Deux is most alive when Phoenix and Gaga embrace this freaky fantasy, informed by musicals like 1953's The Band Wagon, pulling from the scene and song "That's Entertainment."
However, Phillips seems afraid to indulge in the aesthetics of the Golden Age of musicals, favoring instead the gritty, macho ferocity of '70s classics like Dog Day Afternoon, The French Connection, or The Taking of Pelham One Two Three. But he can't pull it off. Sure, the colors may shift from sickly greens and yellows to brighter shades when the film moves from real to romantic imagination. But they're still cool, reflecting a certain squalor instead of a glistening fantasy.
A bigger issue is that Arthur Fleck is not the charismatic underdog seen in these '70s hits. Phoenix doesn't attempt the grizzled bravado of Walter Matthau, the tooth-grit intensity of Gene Hackman, or the feral, blue-collared enthusiasm of Al Pacino. Phoenix's Fleck is built of broken glass, sharp and fragile but unable to be embraced as an engaging anti-hero. In both this film and the last, he is defined by a lack of charisma. So, while clown-masked fans holler outside the courthouse, the audience might well be baffled at their obsession. Fleck is either pathetically perplexed or excruciating in his capering. The many, many courtroom scenes of Arthur/Joker facing off against witnesses, prosecutor Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey), or an increasingly annoyed judge are ruthlessly dull.
I wish this was the movie Lady Gaga thinks she's in.
Joker: Folie à Deux is a misanthropic movie, where nearly every act of kindness is undercut by a hidden agenda. But even in this grim portrait of Gotham, Phillips leans hard into misogynistic archetypes. The two female leads in this sequel fall on opposite sides of the tedious madonna/whore divide, where a man's view of a woman is either a saintly mother or a sinister temptress. On one end of the spectrum is Arthur's defense attorney (an underused Catherine Keener), who argues that the Joker is a separate personality and that Arthur needs mental health care, not prison. On the other end is Lee, who sees Joker as Arthur's true self, and through their romance pushes him to embrace the clown paint, wherever it leads him.
Because this is firmly Joker's movie (Harley's name isn't in the title, is it?), Lee's character is less fleshed out and more a sexy device to push Arthur out of his numb routine and back into the chaos circus. Despite her worldwide fame as a singer, Gaga isn't given a big number, just a small solo moment before a mirror, singing to herself as she puts on the closest this movie will get to a Harley Quinn makeover. This could-be awesome transformation is underwhelming, the results like a rushed Halloween costume. Fans who've relished the fresh fashion fantasies bestowed upon us by Birds of Prey, Harley Quinn, and The Suicide Squad will likely be disappointed. Adding insult to injury, the duo's dance down Joker's signature staircase — which is all over the promotional materials — doesn't even occur in this movie.
Why would Gaga take such a sidekick role? She pours herself into the part, so much so that she's released a companion album, Harlequin, though Lee is never even called "Harley Quinn" in this movie. But despite being kicked to the margins of this Joker story, Gaga's performance offers a rich subtext about parasocial relationships — one that perhaps is informed by her own experience as a global pop star. Her Lee is a fan who feels not only that she understands the (in)famous person with whom she is obsessed, but also that she knows what's best for him better than anyone else. Yearning to be seen and loved, Arthur is easy prey for such attention. But while the film begins to regard Lee as a vicious opportunist, Gaga's performance shows empathy through Lee's radiant desperation to be seen. Whatever the song put before her, Gaga performs them smartly in character, pitching her voice from tender on the verge of breaking, to sultry vocal purrs, to broad cabaret belting. Her Lee is a woman determined to be the badass she wants to see in the world, and Gaga's vocal performance charts that course in the background of the Joker tedium.
While Phillips' dull courtroom drama has the depth of a college dorm room poster, Gaga plunges into a deep pool of primal yearning and emotional resonance to make the most of a criminally underwritten role.
DC canon and classic musicals are given equal disrespect in Joker: Folie à Deux.
The script by Phillips and Scott Silver sprinkles in some familiar Harley canon, however haphazardly. But it's not enough to make this character feel remotely connected to the versions of Quinn that have come before. Worse yet, Phillips cavalierly includes in his third act a none-too-subtle allusion to Nolan's The Dark Knight. This scene — which involves a violent interaction with another Arkham inmate — is clearly intended as an Easter egg for DC fans, but it's hard to imagine Phillips' blatant retconning of the adored trilogy (which he had nothing to do with) will be appreciated.
On top of showing a clip from The Band Wagon, Joker: Folie à Deux is sprinkled with old standards like "Get Happy," "That's Life," and "If My Friends Could See Me Now." There are also allusions to iconic musical offerings such as Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The Sonny & Cher Show, and Chicago. But these flourishes feel as superficial as the narrative's tentative connection to the DC comics.
It's all so much clown paint on a pig. Phillips has crafted an astoundingly tedious courtroom drama bedecked with musical numbers, star power, and DC IP, yet it still feels like a slog. To his credit, he's broken out of the superhero cliches that have resulted in fatigue from critics and audiences alike. But his pastiche brings nothing new or exciting to the screen for a woefully indulgent runtime of two hours and 18 minutes.
In the end, Joker: Folie à Deux doesn't feel provocative, romantic, or even entertaining. This sequel feels like a punishment.
