Todd Phillips’ new Joker sequel is not a movie. You might find that confusing. “Isn’t Joker: Folie à Deux two hours and 19 minutes long?” you ask, bewildered. “Why would Todd Phillips make audiences sit in a theater for two hours and 19 minutes if not to watch a worthwhile movie?”
It’s OK to have these questions—I have them, too. But Folie à Deux is a bland advertisement for self-victimization, not the anguished, romantic jukebox musical its low-lit posters suggest. Instead, its runtime is largely occupied by inert courtroom drama and indulgent shots of Arthur Fleck, Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker, being brutalized and then puffing out dramatic clouds of nicotine.
He’s on trial for the five murders he committed in Joker, though he’s not sure how guilty he should feel. As Arthur contemplates his self-worth, he stares down dirty cops through half-lidded eyes and pursues the wealthy and petulant “Lee Quinzel” (Lady Gaga), who sings too many jazz standards.
Though the music, just by its absurdity, injects some verve into Phillips’ dead fish of a film, Folie à Deux is otherwise tedious. Joker and Harley Quinn are never depicted as the larger-than-life, unpredictable lovers that have made them such fascinating villains for decades. Instead, they are humanized beyond recognition, until they could be humans in any movie, in any time, doing anything. If I wanted a blank slate like that, I would have fired up my old Wii and made another Mii that looks like Hello Kitty.
