Folie à Deux.’ So sue me – Paradise Post

Folie à Deux.’ So sue me – Paradise Post

The average sequel to a huge commercial success doesn’t try much of anything. Director Todd Phillips knows this. He is, after all, the director of all three “Hangover” movies.

Surprise! “Joker: Folie à Deux” is a lot of things, but a pro forma sequel it is not. This genuinely nervy jukebox musical (?) (!), very nearly a rebuke of the 2019 billion-dollar smash starring Joaquin Phoenix, feels like its own thing, considerably less derivative and more fully realized than the first one. And it’s sure to outright alienate millions who dug the earlier film’s grinding intensity and morally queasy vigilante spirit.

That one threw several New York-as-hellhole movies, from “Death Wish” to “Taxi Driver” to “The King of Comedy,” into a trash compactor and out came the “Joker” script, made screenworthy by Phoenix, giving his all. It arrived three years into a U.S. presidential administration full of daily reminders of what celebrity worship can lead to. The time was right for a truly nasty foray into Gotham, and into the head-space of pathological party clown and aspiring comedian Arthur Fleck, whose perpetual victimization could only lead to carnage.

“Joker: Folie à Deux” makes Fleck pay the piper. It’s a comeuppance with musical numbers. Returning screenwriters Scott Silver and director Phillips begin with Fleck behind bars at Arkham State Hospital, struggling with his warring personality disorder, the tormented abuse survivor Fleck in one corner, and Fleck’s now-notorious alter ego, Joker, in the other.

Fleck’s lawyer (Catherine Keener) is working up an insanity defense for his upcoming murder trial, to be prosecuted by DA Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey). Life in Arkham is no life at all, and Phoenix appears to have undergone even more severe weight loss in the name of his craft this time, all the better to suggest a broken, undernourished soul. Then, one day, Fleck spies Lee Quinzel, Arkham’s newest resident played with dark relish by Lady Gaga. She’s first seen leading a music therapy class. She fixes him with a gaze that says: I’m a huge fan of your work. It’s love at first sight, and a spiritual marriage of two crazy kids whose mutual ambitions of greatness are, to quote Rodgers and Hammerstein, bustin’ out all over.

Bustin’ out of Arkham, at least temporarily, Fleck and Quinzel paint the town, wreak some havoc and imagine themselves as a musical duo for the ages. In the stylistic vein of the film version of “Chicago,” the “Joker” sequel frames its production numbers as sung-through and sometimes danced-through interior monologues — sometimes realistic, sometimes fantastic, often a little of both. Gaga is excellent throughout, and this time Phoenix isn’t the whole show. Gaga’s original songs fold naturally into the film’s stream of standards, ranging from Jacques Brel (“If You Go Away”) to Rodgers and Hart (“Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”) to, inevitably, “The Joker” (“The Roar of the Greasepaint — the Smell of the Crowd”). Quinzel imagines herself a Gotham Judy Garland; at one point, this pair of born entertainers become Sonny and Cher knockoffs, hosting their own variety hour.

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