Monday, October 28, 2019

Joker: It's No Laughing Matter


Joker (2019) is not a film for children. The sheer fact that I have to write that sentence as an opening line to my review is atrocious, but so are the choices parents sometimes make for their children. I saw too many children in the movie theater when I went out this weekend to see the seventh live-action iteration of an infamous comic book villain be brought to life once more. By too many children, I mean, I saw any children at all. With that being said, who should be seeing Joker? DC Comics fans, of course, Joker is a rare golden ticket in what has been mostly a barrage of flimsy plastic impersonators that have made up the DCEU thus far. It is an achievement and possibly a new strategic approach to storytelling that Warner Brothers will be taking in terms of how they structure DC stand-alone properties going forward. Rather than being preoccupied with an extensive continuity spanning across several different films like Marvel has successfully done for years. 

Who else should see Joker? Well, it might be easier to tell you who shouldn't. Those who have a mental illness, incels, abusers who may gain easy access to firearms, and dozens of other subgroups who may watch this movie and feel emboldened instead of disturbed as the majority of the population have been by the time the credits roll on this dark, uneasy narrative. This film is not entertaining, nor is it enlightening; it falls somewhere in the murkiness of the in-between. This indifference feels more dangerous than if it had made any out-right declarations through its themes and subject matter. 

Joker takes on an ambitious premise. How do you craft an origin story for one of the most vilified characters of modern fiction? The trick is, you don't, at least that is what the last few minutes of the film seem to insinuate depending on how you interpret them. The film has several plot holes throughout that you could drive a clown car through, but most of them can be covered up using the same reasoning a person may apply when they find themselves sympathizing with its profoundly flawed protagonist:

"Well, he's just so sick."

I couldn't help but think in the middle of watching the movie that the entire plot would have functioned just as well, if not better, had there not been a mental illness aspect. The film doesn't even take the time to have an intelligent conversation about what Arthur's mental health issues may precisely be. He is just given the generic label of "troubled soul" who takes a bunch of unnamed medications and goes to mandated therapy to cope with his undefined instability. While it is somewhat clever to use a brain injury as justification for Fleck's use of laughter, often inappropriate, in his life, the film doesn't seem interested in discerning the difference between organic mental health problems and neurological issues derived from physical trauma. He stops taking his medication and almost instantaneously becomes violent, an extremely problematic misrepresentation of the relationship between mental illness and violence. Fleck's darkness should derive from something more than a chemical imbalance in the brain or several severe blows to the head. Still, Todd Phillips seems to go out of his way to acknowledge that Arthur is gaining autonomy by exclusively ignoring his fragile mental state. Why should he take care of himself when not doing so is bringing him strength and notoriety? This is the question that seems to be posed to the viewer. We aren't critiquing Arthur's choices as much as we are watching them be justified through ongoing exposition and plot revelations. The script at times wants to have brief discussions about topics that feel far more interesting and relevant to the degradation and deterioration of the human spirit than why Arthur Fleck can't flirt with women properly. Subjects like class inequality, healthcare and gun control are forced onto the back burner so that we instead are made to focus on a story of a man who simply lost his way because he decided to embrace his damaged psyche instead of fight against it. This misguided sympathy echoes the continuous mistakes the media makes in representing white mass shooters as "misunderstood loners" rather than the heartless, hateful murderers that most of them are. It is right for the film to vilify the environment around Arthur that failed at stopping his ascension to madness, but that barely does any good if it is coupled with the suggestion that Arthur would have become what he was regardless of how society treated him. That is the precise notion I had several times throughout my viewing of the film. Arthur was destined for disaster; society just sped up and exacerbated the process by treating him poorly.

It isn't that mental health should be ignored as a plot point altogether; it just shouldn't be the defining driving force that leads Arthur to a life of crime and deviance. Every other contributing factor to Arthur's decline as a decent human being is treated secondary to what is going on in his head. "If only he had the right state of mind, he would make the right choices." Life isn't that simple, whether it is life on the big screen, in a comic book or even in reality itself. Arthur's behavior is more likely a result of the violence he was exposed to as a child and from growing up in a crime-ridden city, but these are not the factors that are visually fetishized. Instead, the filmmakers rely on the arcane trope that crazy people simply do crazy things. 


The film has its definite triumphs. Phoenix gives a raw and intense performance of a character whose multitudes are never fully explored and perhaps never should be. He never phones it in, and his performance is innovative as opposed to a derivative of the many talented performers that preceded him in the role. Frances Conroy and Brett Cullens give strong supporting performances with the latter portraying Thomas Wayne in a way that de-sanctifies someone that we've always viewed through the eyes of a mourning son. Zazie Beetz does her best as a potential love interest for Mr Fleck, but her character all-together leaves something seriously to be desired in terms of depth or substance. However, this seems to be a fault of the writing and not the actress herself. Robert DeNiro's presence feels more like an enlarged homage to Taxi Driver (1976) than anything else. He is still a welcomed inclusion to an already competent cast, and his character also provides most of the genuine humor present within the film. One scene involving a character who is a little person seems to challenge the audience to laugh at the uncomfortable. This scene is one of the only moments in the film where I felt as though Phillips had something compelling to say about how we view the world and use humor to cope during times of stress. The acting, cinematography and even the editing are all successful in creating a distinctive, gritty, realistic aesthetic to the film, but the story is where the project most falls short of sure-fire success. It argues complexity but doesn't contain the tools or the sheer willingness to support its case. It makes some good points but leaves them to be overshadowed by insufficient and inaccurate declarations. Joker is a film that deserves to be discussed rather than derided or applauded in any conclusive kind of way. It is a film in which context is incredibly important. How do we explore subjects like mental instability, moral deplorability and societies many institutional failures without misrepresenting, insulting or worse psychologically harming individuals who may share attributes with our troubled on-screen protagonists? How can we avoid inflating ideas and preconceived notions and instead offer audiences something more communicative? Todd Phillips doesn't have many answers, but his film does pose many good questions, whether it is consciously aware it is doing so or not. However way you look at it one thing is for sure, it is no laughing matter. 

Tuesday, October 8, 2019

Hocus Pocus: What are the Bewitching Ingredients to this Halloween Hit?



Those who do not enjoy or choose to celebrate Halloween should still be grateful for the pagan holiday. Without Halloween, Christmas music would be permeating through every department store by mid-September, hell in some places it still does. Halloween is a buffer, a transitional holiday of sorts, one that allows us to dispel any leftover summer energy in the form of joyful dress up and frightening or comical make-believe. 

Most people would argue that horror movies are in themselves by design, Halloween Films. I disagree with this notion because it is simplistic and creatively narrow. A Halloween Film should be considered any film set on or during the Halloween season. Not all of these movies are horror movies. Some of them are children’s films, comedies and even romances. Halloween movies need exude not only horror but also hilarity as well. The best kind, in my opinion, is able to exude both. 

This is why Hocus Pocus (1993) has stood the test of time. It exists both as a film to watch with your family as well as with your friends. It is a film you can laugh at while still finding moments that leave you genuinely unsettled. Hocus Pocus was not a box-office success; on the contrary, it lost Disney a substantial amount of money upon initial release. Why then do we continue to watch, reference and place acclaim on it to this day? There are numerous reasons why Hocus Pocus has cast a spell on its audiences throughout the years, and they can only be explained like a recipe from Winifred Sanderson’s spellbook:


How to Make a Halloween Hit


  1. Fill a cauldron with a talented cast. 

Hocus Pocus was originally envisioned as a tonally darker television movie until it underwent significant rewrites to enhance its comedic potential. What got it from the small screen to the multiplex you may ask? Its three female leads, all of whom were riding career highs at the time of the film’s production. Kathy Najimy had just gotten off the immense box-office hit Sister Act (1992) while Sarah Jessica Parker had just done Honeymoon in Vegas (1992) with James Caan and Nicholas Cage. It was Bette Midler’s interest in the project; however, that truly got it off its feet and into the air on a broomstick. The film lives and dies on the performance of its lead antagonist who defies convention to embrace instead an infectious campiness that makes her hysterical and horrifying all at the same time. Parker's sex appeal and Najimy's comedic timing also deserve due recognition, but it is Midler who keeps the audience transfixed from beginning to end. Credit should be given to the younger cast members as well, however. Omri Katz portrayal of our lead protagonist Max is sympathetic and charming in all of his teenage rebelliousness. His relationship with his sister Dani played wonderfully by a young Thora Birch further gives the film added depth and emotion. Vinessa Shaw is the least interesting admittedly of the three young heroes, but still does a fine job as Alison Witt. She downplays the class disparity between her and her suitor and never playing the damsel in distress but rather a competent ally to Max in his adventure throughout the film. Even the voice work done by Jason Marsden as Thackery Binx, the pilgrim turned feline evokes believable emotional investment, especially in his interactions with Dani. A funny cameo by Garry and Penny Marshall, brother and sister duo who play wife and husband in the film add further respectable gravitas to an already stellar ensemble. Overall if the cast had not been so dedicated to bringing the script to life in a way that was unique yet accessible, Hocus Pocus would be largely forgotten as a cash-grabbing Halloween flick better left to the cobwebs of cinematic history. The performances hold the test of time, however, each year when I watch it, no matter how many times I’ve seen it before, the energetic performances of each and every cast member reinvigorate my interest into following along with the dazzling tale once more. 

2. Dice up and add in a handful of musical numbers. Stir until sizzling with catchiness. 


Any good movie, from any genre of film, has to have at least one signature scene. It’s typically the first image that pops in your head when someone mentions the title. Many films have numerous ones such as The Godfather (1972), in Hocus Pocus, it's hardly a debate, however. Bette Midler’s take on Jay Hawkins classic “I Put A Spell on You” is enthralling, entertaining and undeniably toe-tapping. It is a large contribution to why the film has a special place in the gay community as the Divine Miss M shows off her vocal skills to cast a spell on the unsuspecting adults of Salem. Though Sarah Jessica Parker has stated in interviews that she and Najimy, competent singers in their own right, also contributed vocals to the track, it is unfortunate that they are not audible in any audio version I have ever come across. Regardless, while some may find the scene to be a crudely disguised excuse for fanfare, as a writer, I appreciate how the performance is integrated into the plot structurally. When Max excuses the Witches of being who they are on-stage at the Town Hall Halloween Party, how else are the Sanderson Sisters supposed to distract a room of partygoers and ensure that their young and helpless prey cannot be given any assistance or protection? They must cast a spell, but reciting some cleverly worded phrases does not an exciting scene make, so the sisters improvise, mocking the modernity of society by using their culture and music against them in the guise of a performance on their behalf. It is ingenious, credible and incredibly fun. The scene could be written twelve other ways, and none would hold a candle to the theatrics that Broadway legend Miss Midler and her two costars give in this unforgettable moment in childhood history. It is another example of how the film blends fear and comedy so well. While the performance itself is humorous and delightful, the intentions behind it are nefarious and deadly. This spell will cause these people to dance to death if the witches are not stopped by sunrise. It is an execution dressed up as a showstopper. The second, more understated musical performance is, of course, is Sarah’s bewitching original song “Come Little Children”. This leans heavier into scary Halloween territory as the witch is using this mesmerizing lullaby to lure the children of the town to their certain death. In fact, in the opening sequence of the film, it accomplishes just that with Binx’s sister Emily. The performance is brief, but it raises the stakes perfectly as the film enters its third act. The witches are armed and ready and will stop at nothing to achieve immortality, including infanticide. Again, the music plays a crucial role in supporting the plot, not just to adhere to the talents of the actresses or the desires and expectations of the audiences watching. That is why these songs and renditions linger in our heads long after we’ve first heard them. Their implications deepen as the years press on, and we understand the plot better. 

3. Aged Millennial Loyalty (locally grown preferably) 


At the end of the day, a cult film is only as strong as its followers will allow it to be. While Freeform’s constant October reruns certainly are a factor into Hocus Pocus’s longevity that doesn’t hold a Black Flame Candle to the devotion children of the 90s have towards this film. Coincidentally the film was directed by Kenny Ortega, who would go on to direct the High School Musical franchise, another staple of millennial nostalgia, particularly in the world of Disney. Hocus Pocus fans often associate the film with their fond memories of childhood. Watching it on VHS after trick-or-treating and laughing along with their parents and older siblings at the film’s many moments of adult humor. The film helps remind us of the simpler days we’ve left behind in which stories of witches coming back to life to haunt and hunt us felt like a viable fear to have alongside monsters hiding under our bed and impending acne. While there have been rumblings of a potential remake in the works for years, any such project would miss a crucial element that the original has in aplenty. That is the presence of nostalgia itself. The film was made at a time when Disney and children’s content creators, in general, were far less concerned with offending parents and guardians with troubling imagery or plot points. You could say the word "virgin" repeatedly in a film and even allude to its context. The use of practical special effects and limited CGI capabilities actually allows the film to reside in a more tangible and realistic level of existence than many similar cinematic efforts conducted today. When the Sanderson Sisters go on their broomsticks, they really are up in the air and not suspended a few feet off the ground with a green screen behind them. It is set in a time before you could use your Smartphone to inform your parents or friends that 300-year-old witches were after you or Tweet a selfie of you and your new lady friend hanging out at the Sanderson Museum on Halloween night. Hocus Pocus if made and set in contemporary times would no longer be Hocus Pocus, at least not the one so many of us connected with as children. Film historians likely won’t be speaking about it in 40 or 50 years, but those of us still alive more than likely will, especially during October. We will pass it down to our children and loved ones even if their love or admiration for it will be distinctly different than our own. It didn’t garner any acclaim during the Award Season of 1993, and yet it is critically acclaimed in the hearts and minds of us fans who watch it now as an escape, as a way back into a world we’ve long ago left behind. This is the most key ingredient in making a Halloween Hit; creating a film that will still entertain the trick-or-treater long after they’ve become the homeowner who answers the door on October 31st who worry about having to go to work the next morning. 

While many deride Hocus Pocus as overrated, overacted and underwhelming in terms of legitimate chills or chuckles, the film has an unquestionable appeal to countless people, specifically millennials who were of cognitive viewing age around the time of its release and soon after. The film’s interior is unapologetically campy, protected by an outer shell of positively ghoulish storytelling. A virgin lighting a candle and causing a trio of witches be resurrected with their sights on murdering hundreds of children doesn’t exactly sound like the feel-good film of the year, and yet for so many, it has become the film that has defined All Hallows Eve Cinema. Set on Halloween night, we follow Max, Dani and Alison every year if for nothing more than to be reminded that there was a Halloween before jello shots and self-imposed curfews. It was a film that was unafraid to challenge expectations of what children could handle and what adults would tolerate. Love it or hate it, we should all respect cinema capable of having such a lasting impression on our hearts, minds and even wardrobes. It’s more than just a bunch of hocus pocus, but even if it isn’t that for you, I certainly hope you have some piece of spooky childhood cinema or even television that you hold dear to your heart this time of year. If not, damn, damn, double damn!