by Nelson
For some reason, folks really love taking villains and looking at them through the good old “tragic figure” lens. It’s nothing new. We’ve done it forever. Even Satan, himself, is written to be relatable and even maybe just a smidge sympathetic in Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and, if you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ve got to run to eBay and reward myself for making a reference to Classical Literature instead of a movie or cartoon or comic book or video game. There’s still a smidge of scholar buried somewhere beneath the pop culture nostalgia that consumes 98% of my being. We love feeling sorry for bad guys, and that’s not always a bad thing. The best baddies always think that they’re justified and right, so why shouldn’t they be relatable – misguided or not?
But some villains don’t necessarily subscribe to that whole “the bad guy has to think he’s the good guy” thing, and one of them just so happens to be a guy who is quickly becoming the mascot for the misunderstood weirdo rejected by the mean ol’ world and driven to his breaking point – The Joker. It drives me to the store to get nuts with Michael Keaton. I love Mr. J, but come on. This isn’t a guy you’re supposed to feel sorry for.
The Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t think he’s misunderstood. He doesn’t think his actions are justified. That’s the whole point. The Joker revels in his depravity. He’s not under any illusions about what he’s doing. He’s out to kill people until he gets Batman’s attention. If Matt Hooper showed up in Gotham, he’d tell you that The Joker is a miracle of evil-lution. He kills and laughs and thinks about Batman. And that’s all.
Alan Moore was the first writer to toy with the idea of Joker being someone audiences could feel sorry for in 1988’s The Killing Joke. The book suggests that, prior to taking a dip in the chemical concoction that transformed him into a human playing card, The Joker was a struggling comedian desperate to support his pregnant wife. He unwittingly becomes the fall guy for a robbery and winds up taking his pivotal swim in an attempt to escape Batman. When he realizes that he’s become a permaclown, his mind snaps, and The Dark Knight’s greatest adversary is born. But, hey, don’t be too mad at him. He was just a sad guy trying to get by. Well, maybe. One of the big reveals of The Killing Joke is The Joker’s unreliable memory. He’s not quite sure who he was or how he came to be, and he couldn’t care less.
It’s ironic that the idea of The Joker as an unfortunate victim of cruel circumstance originated in a book that ultimately tells us that the whys and hows and wheres and whens don’t matter one bit. He’s irredeemably evil. He paralyzes, strips, and photographs Barbara Gordon in a maniacal attempt to drive her father insane and prove that poor old Commissioner Gordon is just like everyone else – just like Good Ol’ Mr. J, himself. Joker thinks that the Commissioner is “one bad day” away from depraved insanity, but he’s proven wrong by the end of the story and even rejects the idea of rehabilitation before heading back to the asylum…..or being strangled to death off-panel while sharing a laugh with Batman if you prefer that interpretation. Either way, The Killing Joke‘s message is simple: Joker is wrong and crazy and evil and you shouldn’t feel sorry for him just ’cause he had a bad day. It was a pretty bad day that time I woke up and discovered that my dog decided to use my home office as a toilet, but I didn’t go out shopping for purple clothes and start killing people. I pouted and drank alcohol. Like a decent person.
People’s wacky fixation and romanticization of The Joker seemed to kick into high gear in the aftermath of Heath Ledger’s performance and subsequent death before The Dark Knight even made it to theaters. Ledger gave the world a more grounded version of the character that fit quite nicely into Chris Nolan’s realism-based Batverse and hardly came across as sympathetic or redeemable. But, for whatever reason, a chunk of the audience managed to find merit in the character’s meaningless philosophizing – just like poor old Harvey Dent in the movie. At least Harvey had an excuse; he burned half his face off. The man lost an eyelid. That pales in comparison to being laughed at by people or having your crush tell you to stop being weird because they’re not interested. At least you can still blink.
Joaquin Phoenix’s turn as the character only doubled down with the “oh this poor guy – if only people weren’t so mean to him!” narrative by envisioning Mr. J as a downtrodden, lonely man who laughs uncontrollably at inappropriate times seemingly thanks to a kooky medical condition that I looked up just now and verified the existence of – which makes me second guess my use of the word “kooky.” I’m sticking with it, though. You know who else would? The Joker. Because he doesn’t care about your feelings.
It’s funny how things play out. The Joker got his very own (and very short-lived) comic book way back in 1975. Because the stories consisted of the character running amok in his constant mission to assert himself as the #1 criminal in Gotham, there was a strict company decree that every issue must end with the Jester of Genocide captured and returned to his cell (except for the one where he seemingly falls to his death only to show up unscathed in in the next issue). Forty-four years later, we get Joker: The Movie, and the guy once referred to as “The Thin White Duke of Death” is reimagined as a victim of the ruthlessly uncaring world that refused to give him a chance. Boo hoo.
Times change and characters evolve. If I were twenty years older, I’d be lamenting the fact that Batman hasn’t had a good, honest dance sequence since the 60s. If I were twenty years younger, then I’d probably think that The Dark Knight was the greatest comic book flick of all time and that Michael Keaton’s Batman wasn’t comic accurate enough. Just typing that made my skin crawl. I’ll take age and good taste over youthful ignorance. So there.
Doubtfire 