My thoughts on The Joker: Folie à Deux and many other movies

PREVIOUSLY: I spent a whole summer working on a very-long newsletter about guilt in the time of Covid and all the movies I saw during the hotter months.

September 2024 didn’t have enough time for that, as I was covering Apple’s iPhone launch one day, and attending an NFL game (I’m as shocked as you are) the next. So, this time, a more-concise edition. Bullet point entries for unfinished items, and lengthier reviews of stuff I completed. Speaking of which, yes, those who know how to search an email or webpage can jump straight to my thoughts about “The Joker: Folie à Deux.”

The television shows

• The Acolyte: A slow starter that eventually got fun and worth its melodrama once it showed us why its twin main characters are so angry. Sure, that attempted murder was a bit much, but it saved the show with the line “I want my own life, not a shared life.” Except, well, nothing has been saved. I wasn’t finished, though, when we found out that The Acolyte was canceled and not returning for a second season.

• The Queen of Villains: Netflix’s scripted series about famed joshi (Japanese female wrestler) Dump Matsuomoto is the show I really need to finish already. Instead, well, I watched a thing that felt like it was “necessary,” because I knew questions would be coming.

• Industry: I’m finally starting the HBO series, which reads as “what if the kids from ‘Skins’ made it to finance?”

Mr. McMahon

Netflix’s six-episode speed run of the life and crimes of exiled former WWE CEO Vince McMahon gets some stuff right. It even offers some amazing moments like Steve Austin claiming CTE isn’t real — which, sadly, is hilarious in a dark comedy way. But it’s incomplete, and merely the latest step in the analysis of the titular carnie.

Sometimes, the miniseries seems to get lost in a retelling of WWE history, but it always eventually comes back around to its thesis: Vince McMahon was able to be evil without punishment (until recently) thanks to performing a diabolical on-screen persona of Mr. McMahon and claiming, “no, it’s just a performance.” It’s a good argument, and one I’ve made previously, but the lulls on the way to proving each point go for too long, leaving you feeling like you’re just watching a glossy puff piece. And then when it finally gets to the still-ongoing topic of former WWE employee Janel Grant’s accusations of sex trafficking and abuse, you only have about 28 minutes left. And that’s when everything important and troubled in WWE’s mistreatment of women comes up, including Ashley Massaro’s tragic death.

After that, the most interesting part of “Mr. McMahon” is its brief look at Vince’s son Shane — whose strained relationship with his father has been one of the least-told stories in the business. It’s a simple tale of a son who never got his father’s love in the way he wanted, and his confessional scenes truly hit. Even if he’s just the Kendall Roy of the steroids and spandex universe. (daughter Stephanie is Shiv and her husband Paul is Tom).

The bigger issue, and it’s the obvious thing that goes unsaid, is that Netflix is in bed with WWE, as it will air the “Monday Night Raw” program starting in January. Even if Netflix eventually releases a “Mr. McMahon Part II,” and it’s a thorough read on the owner? Analysis of the people who aided and enabled McMahon is overdue.

There’s a kinder read for this docuseries, as “Vince McMahon’s Crimes Against Humanity For Dummies,” an entry-level title for those who don’t know much of his life and career. Those who know enough about the company’s wrongs, though, will see this as a hype package for “Raw,” and a claim that the only bad man in the company is gone.

The Bear season 3

Yeah, the haters can go watch some true crime. The first episode is admittedly bland and worrying, but after that we got the show we loved, and it all really did a good job of slow burning the long-simmering tension of Syd wanting to be more than Carmy’s chef. Nothing on par with the Christmas episode from season 2, but I didn’t expect anyone ever could.

It also truly won me over with the Faks (not just because of that cameo) and their constant buzzing about the topics of curses and haunting.

The museums

The Barbican Centre

Francis Alÿs’ “Ricochets,” a video exhibition about childhood games was the main art exhibition I could find when I visited the brutalist institution known as The Barbican. The footage projected on many screens in the dark room presents the audience with images of kids gleefully being kids, but sooner or later you realize there’s a danger at play: some of these kids are in war zones. Others play around hollowed husks of buildings that represent a silent threat of another attack.

Wander outside to the garden area, though, and you have a lot of granite architecture to enjoy a a beverage or bite around. Actually found a bit of relaxation.

Tate Modern

Ernesto Deira’s untitled screenprint is one of the many works at the Tate that froze my attention. The main collection, the non-ticketed works, at the Tate Modern are well worth your time. Cildo Meireles’ “Babel,” a tower of radios, is always a favorite too.

Brooklyn Museum

Woodblock print master Utagawa Hiroshige was the prolific artist behind these gorgeous depictions of Edo (now known as Tokyo). Each print was made from many woodblocks, with one block per color. When I worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art — wait, this is a new topic here, isn’t it?

In a past lifetime (which I’ve chosen define as 7 year windows), I worked in merchandise development at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I even wore a suit and tie to work every day. Which is weird considering how casual I am these days now that I write online for a living. Which in and of itself is still a baffling turn of affairs.

The point is, we made a lot of stationery, wall art and other merchandise using the works of Hiroshige, and I was ecstatic to finally see a dedicated exhibition of the 100 Views of Edo. Making it all the more intense were the accompanying painting from maximalist Takashi Murakami, including those that ran from ceiling to floor.

The music

”Johann Sebastian Bachlava the Doctor” by Action Bronson

Perpetually-stoned rapper-slash-food YouTuber Action Bronson delivered a shorter album that’s still dense with enough one liner non-sequiturs to keep you wondering how he does it. On “Hogan,” for example, Bronson drops the news that Mel Gibson gave him Covid at a Connor Mcgregor fight before saying that a lady looks like Hulk Hogan’s daughter Brooke, and by extension The Hulkster himself, brother.

“Bando Stone & The New World” by Childish Gambino

Donald Glover retiring the Childish Gambino moniker feels like a more honest version of how every pro wrestler and LCD Soundsystem claimed they were retiring. Especially since it’s a soundtrack and an audio-trailer for an upcoming Glover movie that we’re all waiting for. Childish Gambino, if you forgot or never knew, is a gimmick name that Glover procured from an online Wu-Tang name generator.

What I can say about Glover’s latest tonal-shift compilation is that it certainly feels like the end of an era because he seems to be in a self-examination. That said, for as much as I love some tracks (“Real Love,” “Yoshinoya,” “Running Around,” and “Lithonia”) the whole album doesn’t exactly feel cohesive. So for as much as I’ve been playing it front to back, it’s also destined to be scraped into playlists.

The playability of the whole record definitely lives up to Glover’s goals as expressed in his New York Times interview with friend-of-the-blog Reggie Ugwu.

”Brat” by Charli XCX and its remixes

“Pop star Charli XCX” is a phrase that some knew, but the public didn’t believe because “Brat” hadn’t happened yet. So while I’ve been on the Charli bandwagon since “Superlove” (a song she refuses to perform at concerts, frustratingly enough), I’m ecstatic for the world to discover what Charli’s angels have already known. She’s got a great ear for beats that’s only gotten better over time and a dry sense of humor that’s only matched by an earnestness… or something that comes across as humbling humility. There’s a whole kayfabe to pop music.

As for why Brat works? While it does have some down-beat moments, Charli succeeded because she’s combining big fucking beats with a personality that can make you feel like she’d be a fun person to grab a drink with. Sure, she’s also saying “I don't fucking care what you think” on “360,” but there’s a calming intimacy throughout.

And while the album itself could have been enough, the laboriously named deluxe edition and big name remixes with Lorde and Billie Eilish kept Charlotte as queen of the pop princesses this summer. And a remix album incoming ensures “Brat autumn” will be scrawled on subway shop sandwich boards.

“Forever” by Charly Bliss

“Forever” is the third studio album from Brooklyn (and now Australia)-based Charly Bliss, a quartet who have been genre-smudging for a while now. Most recently, I learned the term “bubblegrunge” (smells of Spotify daylists, doesn’t it?) used to describe their mix of pop and rock, but this album is a full-body embrace of pop. Comparisons have already been made to the best Canadian musical import of this generation, Carly Rae Jepsen — and that’s the kind of comp I love.

For as much as I bop to Charli XCX, I yearn to Jepsen and Charly Bliss. “Forever Young,” the band’s second album, got me through the roughest parts of the pandemic, and it was released well before then.

While first-single “Nineteen” is imbued with CB’s signature motifs, the two singles to drop since were anything but. “Calling You Out” is about a relationship in the death-throes as their insecurities fray it all, constantly accusing their partner of misdeeds because of what past partners did. The third single, “Waiting For You” hits at the core of Bliss’ extended break between albums, sampling the anxiety of a band split across continents (thanks to the pandemic). While its title could easily be seen as belonging to a ballad about a romance on pause, it’s about the power of friendship through music. And it continues the building of CB lore, telling fans that the quarter missed each other as much as we missed them. And, then, well, after I wrote all of the above we got “Back There Now.” That fourth single may was the best so far, and has left me utterly impressed with the quartet I already love.

Album-ender “Last First Kiss,” though, leaves you wanting more — in the best way.

The books

• ”I Have Some Questions for You” by Rebecca Makkai: I'm just beginning this now, taking it slowly because I'm a slow reader. But it's got me interested.

• “My Brilliant Friend” by Elena Ferrante: I’ve only started this, and don’t expect to be done any time soon. But I appreciate the memories of youth it invokes.

”All Fours” by Miranda July

Last I wrote, I’d only consumed 36% of filmmaker and fledgling novelist Miranda July’s latest work. In the weeks that passed, I became so infatuated with “All Fours” that I intentionally stopped reading it as fast as I could. It’s a big recommend to all, and shows that July should have been on the selection committee for Olympic breakdancing. In more recent conversations, I’ve learned that “All Fours” isn’t exactly for everyone, as there are valid critiques of its slow third act. July’s writing, though, is inarguably fantastic.

It’s a book about tensions, and the slow, feverish build that happens before you can’t go back. And the fact that sometimes the action you think is the big sin isn’t, and that your big mistake might happen without your realizing it. And that mistakes might be necessary to evolve. I say maybe because there are no sure answers, mostly frustrations.

September’s movies

Blink Twice (2024)

I’m admittedly a bit biased on this one, as it ruined an evening, but there’s something … about this movie that feels like going for the creepiest and most unsettling explanation is a coward’s way out. Except, well, putting the evils that these men do into hyperfocus isn’t exactly a cowardly angle. It’s a stylish push on an arguably over-done revengeful strong female protagonist out to settle sexual violence.

Everyone does their best with the material given. Naomi Ackie is a good final girl, and Channing Tatum’s only flaws are his charm and good looks that are unbefitting of a billionaire tech exec. The supporting cast, decent. But there’s just … so little here. There’s a way to read this as co-writer / director Zoë Kravitz’s shout about the evils of Hollywood, especially since she was born in the shit. It’s just … I expected something more than this.

Also, it has the same flaw as “My Old Ass” (spoiler), there’s big stretches of this movie where nothing really happens.

@ the Brooklyn Alamo Drafthouse, currently available via digital video on-demand

The Joker: Folie à Deux

I won’t spoil anything about the plot here, but Todd Phillips’ “The Joker” sequel is … well, the best thing I can say is that I found it more interesting than the original.

Unfortunately, it’s also a movie that often reads like its director is frustrated with the reaction to his previous work. You see it in references to public reaction to a movie. You see it in how much of the film is a litigation of the events of “The Joker.” As you may remember, Joaquin Phoenix’s Arthur Fleck was abused and abandoned by society, became The Joker, killed a late night talk show host, and (in our reality) became a hero for a certain kind of alienated and online young male. The incapable of being loved crowd, so to speak.

To answer the question on most minds, “Folie à Deux” film is also, inarguably, a musical — though its songs are more like internal monologues than what you might remember from other musicals. It’s also not the same kind of musical as “South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut” or “Moulin Rouge.” It takes a while (around 26 or 28 minutes in) for the first song to kick off, but after that the needles drop with a consistency. That said, thje question of whether or not this is a musical (Phillips once claimed it’s not), isn’t as interesting a query.

Instead, look at how the Harley Quinn that Lady Gaga plays differs from the character seen in “Batman: The Animated Series,” “Birds of Prey,” and Max’s animated series. This Quinn has a different connection to the Joker, as Phillips explores the phenomena of serial killer fandom throughout the film. It’s almost a blockbuster version of Pascal Plante’s “Red Rooms” (see below), but with the killer’s vantage — and providing sympathy for his plight. And while it does a good job of making you feel for Fleck as he’s manipulated, the Quinn part rings hollow, and pandering to some of the people who saw themselves in the protagonist last time. Joaquin Phoenix’s Arthur Fleck is not The Joker we know from those same projects, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Folie à Deux” refuses to be pleasing to anyone, and that might be its legacy, as this amount of risk-taking in a film this big is unusual. Phillips is clearly weary from gestures to everything, but seems to have held onto some creative control in exchange for coming back to follow up a seemingly-finished story. It’s just a shame he didn’t bring a better story to the cast. Gaga is incredibly underserved by the script, which makes the decision to have her addition as the biggest difference this time out forces me to ask “sure, but why?”

@ a preview screening

My Old Ass (2024)

Don’t get me wrong, though, I don’t dislike “My Old Ass.” Though I did find it a little mean for it to call a 40-year-old character to be called middle-aged. But that’s the natural reaction for someone who is 39.999 or however close I am to 40.

Anyway, I misjudged this one, thinking this YA drama was something of a thriller. Lead Maisy Stella makes good as Elliott, a teen on the verge of the next stage of her life. Then, well, she starts talking to herself (the trailer sort of walks up to the “how” of it all — just don’t expect a ton of Ms. Plaza), before we meet Chad (Percy Hynes White), who’s a bit … well, I don’t know.

Either way, by the moment the credits rolled, I was in an emotional state that proves that this movie knows how to hit the nails on the head.

@ the Brooklyn Alamo Drafthouse

Red Rooms (2024)

Pascal Plante’s courtroom thriller thrives when it doesn’t provide answers, with extremely-taut tension surrounding the trial of a serial killer who targets children. But the criminal on everyone’s mind is practically an afterthought of the movie — with good reason. Instead, we focus on one of his fans and a model whose interest in the case goes unexplained. Perfectly shot, “Red Rooms” was one of the most uncomfortable watches I’ve had in weeks, in a good way.

@ the IFC Center

Persona (1966)

You never forget your first Bergman, said someone, probably. Really enjoyed this one, probably because you can see the ending coming from a distance. And that’s one of my favorite things about “Persona:” knowing the twist does nothing to diminish your enjoyment or interest. In fact, it made me more focused.

@ The Metrograph, streaming now on Max

The Substance (2024)

I have been tempted to call writer, director and co-producer Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance” the most exciting theatrical experience I’ve had this year. That’s how much this blend of body horror, dark comedy and satire thrilled and kept my attention. (I’m not ready to go too strong with claims, because “Love Lies Bleeding” was also this year.)

Not only is “The Substance” going to prove a powerful and personal experience as it takes aging, misogyny, and internalized misogyny to gut-melting extremes, but this film truly rips because of the trio of excellent performances at its core. Demi Moore’s Elisabeth will make you wonder why people haven’t been writing for her. Margaret Qualley’s Sue continues the actress’ ascent, this time with the difficult task of an uniquely-brained character whose selfish behavior is very-obviously a bad idea. Then, we get Dennis Quaid, who is basically (possibly unwittingly) doing a perfectly camp Vince McMahon impression.

These characters runs circles around tropes and familiar fable formats, but “The Substance” refuses to be anything but itself, a dizzying story about how this world churns through women. That there is no way to live comfortably as a woman, as brain-breaking tension constantly threatens everything.

@ the Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn

And that’s it. Look forward to talking to you again, possibly about the act of turning 40.