Like a rebellious rock band that unexpectedly goes from playing in dive bars to stadiums off their debut album, Todd Phillips's Joker: Folie à Deux seems uncomfortable in the spotlight its predecessor thrusted upon it. While the R-rated blockbuster, Joker, walked a controversial tightrope, using everything from child abuse to mental illness to societal disenfranchisement to explain how the iconic comic book psychopath came to be, its sequel seems unsure of what to do with the monster it created.
During a pivotal scene, Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix), seated in a courtroom while on trial for murder, declares, "I can't be who you want me to be." His moment of clarity speaks to the central problem that haunts Phillips's film: it actively rejects everything that made the original a success and ultimately loses sight of its own identity in the process.
Picking up two years after the events of the original film, Fleck still resides in Arkham Asylum awaiting the start of his murder trial. Using Looney Toons-style animation in its opening moments, Phillips quickly establishes both the notion that some believe Fleck is a fractured man — a child abuse victim whose alter-ego manifests as the Joker — and that this conflicted man is filled with music on the inside. While the guards brutally mistreat him when they're not egging him on to tell them a daily joke, it's the musical fantasies in his head that bring this tortured soul some solace.
It's in a music therapy class where Fleck's sinister grin displays moments of genuine warmth. There he meets Lee Quinzel (Lady Gaga), more commonly known as Harley Quinn, a patient who is infatuated with the Joker. Igniting a passion in him and filling his empty heart with a love that has long eluded him, Quinzel's presence pushes Fleck closer and closer to embracing the volatile man inside him that others are trying to suppress.
Believing that they are kindred spirits — the film's title (which translates as "madness of two") refers to the couple's shared delusion — they begin plotting a life together that nothing, not even the death penalty Fleck is facing, can stop them from achieving.
At its core, Joker: Folie à Deux offers commentary on the ways society, especially the media, have reduced everything to entertainment. The politicians we elect, the journalists we elevate, the celebrities we worship — all are individuals playing a part. Whether or not these people believe in the image they're selling is far less important than the packaging they wrap their product in.
As Fleck drifts between fantasy and reality, sometimes unsure which he truly exists in, the allure of fame is always present. He may care little for those who stand outside the courtroom chanting his name, believing he is an anarchistic voice for the downtrodden, but he cannot help but crave the adoration that it evokes. While Phillips clearly points to celebrity worship as one of the acids eroding society, the film struggles to provide any meaningful thoughts on the issues it raises.
Frankly, neither of Phillips's Joker films have felt comfortable wearing the purple-suited commentary it wears. For all it critiques about our thirst for sensationalism killing our collective sense of humanity, Folie à Deux feels like it's part of the problem. Embracing Lady Gaga's song "That's Entertainment" like its the national anthem for society's hypocrisy, the film grapples to justify its own existence outside of being a sequel to a billion-dollar hit. At times, the film feels as if it's actively wagging its judgmental finger at the same folks who took pleasure in Fleck's previous big screen foray.
Throughout the film, Phillips seems unexpectedly gun-shy this time around, reluctant to break the emergency glass and set the Crown Prince of Crime free in all his twisted glory. This is strange, since the best moments of the original arrive when Fleck finally starts to embrace the darkness swirling inside of him. Whether shifting between romantic musical beats or the bland courtroom drama that consumes most of the film, the writer and director can never decide if Fleck should be shown grace or be feared.
The most frustrating thing about Joker: Folie à Deux is that it seems to want to be everything but a Joker film. Outside of one great musical number, where Fleck declares that the "Joker is me," the film feels more like a meandering musical/drama with loosely related ideas. When Quinzel calls out Fleck for giving up on the fantasy they had, it's like she's voicing the audience's thoughts about Phillips's approach to the Joker in general.
Regardless of whether we go into the film looking to be entertained by a reimagining of the Joker and his gal Harley Quinn, or expecting a bold musical centred around a psychopath, viewers will leave feeling cheated on all fronts. Say what you will about the divisive musical Emilia Pérez — at least it commits to the wild swings it takes. Phillips's film, on the other hand, never feels as daring as its concept.
The sole real bright spots in this dull affair are Lady Gaga and scene-stealer Leigh Gill, who returns as Fleck's former co-work Gary Puddles. As Quinzel, Gaga reminds viewers, as she did in A Star is Born, that she's a magnetic talent. Bringing a sense of agency and complexity to the character, her version of Harley Quinn becomes more skilled puppet master than lovesick sidekick.
Despite being in just one scene, Gill is the only one who manages to outshine Gaga. Puddles's testimony scene is a sight to behold. Quivering in fear and stricken with PTSD that he can't shake, it's Puddles who best captures the aura of who the Joker is: a disturbed man whose violent actions and cavalier attitude towards the value of a life have a lasting impact on those left in the wake of his volatile hurricane of chaos.
Fleck may not be able to live up to the expectation of others, but it's Phillips's Joker: Folie à Deux that sings the most disappointing tune.