This article contains major spoilers.
For all the adulation, anticipation, and fervour that superhero movies and shows receive, their fandoms have one fatal flaw: an aversion to experimentation. Fans hold an unwavering belief that their beloved comics will be faithfully adapted on screen, even if it’s being done for the 75th time, and fiercely reject any changes. This became clearer to me than ever after witnessing the audience reaction to Joker: Folie à Deux—a film that dares to break expectations.
The much-anticipated follow-up to Todd Phillips’ distinctive take on Gotham’s iconic villain has been making waves since its announcement. Joker: Folie à Deux sees Arthur Fleck confined to Arkham, awaiting trial for his actions as the Joker. As he grapples with his fractured sense of self, Arthur unexpectedly discovers both true love and the long-suppressed music within him. The revelation that the sequel would be a musical, starring Lady Gaga as Harley Quinn, Joker’s infamous love interest, came as a shock, yet it heightened my excitement to see where Phillips' bold vision would take these characters. That excitement seemed validated when the film earned a 12-and-a-half-minute standing ovation at the Venice Film Festival, with shouts of "Brava," whistles, and chants of "Gaga" and "Joaquin" filling the theatre. However, public reception has been polarising, with the film scoring 39% on Rotten Tomatoes. While the first movie captured Arthur Fleck's descent into the Joker, the sequel challenges the audience and Gotham itself by deconstructing the Joker’s existence in an almost flawless character study of Arthur. Here's why there could not have had a more fitting conclusion to the duology.
But before diving into that, it's important to acknowledge a valid criticism: the use of musical numbers in Joker 2.
Many felt the musical sequences disrupted the storytelling rather than enhancing it. While some musical set pieces brilliantly reflect Arthur’s fractured mental state and offer deeper insights into his psyche, others feel jarring, almost like being interrupted mid-sentence during an intense conversation. In this article, however, I’m focusing solely on addressing the debate surrounding the film’s ending.
The Context:
Arthur, choosing to defend himself in court, delivers a striking confession during his closing statements to the jury: "There is no ‘Joker’”. He reveals that every action attributed to ‘The Joker’ was, in fact, carried out by Arthur all along. This revelation leads the jury to convict him on all charges, as his original defence of mental insanity and split personality is rendered redundant. However, chaos ensues when Joker's fans bomb the courthouse, allowing Arthur to escape. He goes in search of Harley Quinn, only to be heartbroken when she breaks up with him. Soon after, he's arrested and returned to Arkham Asylum. Just as he's about to meet a visitor, another inmate fatally stabs him, marking the end of Arthur's tragic journey. What an anticlimactic and unceremonious ending for the Joker, right?
Except this is not the ending for the Joker.
Todd Phillips is flat-out saying that The Joker is a fantasy, a figment that doesn't truly exist. And even if he does, Arthur Fleck is certainly not him. Arthur is a deeply troubled man, grappling with a multitude of complex mental illnesses. I'm not here to diagnose him, but anyone with a shred of emotional intelligence can see he's in incredulous suffering. Unfortunately, 1980s Gotham lacked this empathy, leaving them to assume that Arthur is either lying or suffering from borderline personality disorder. In truth, Arthur created the Joker as a defence mechanism, born out of the abuse he endured. As Arthur, he's weak, sick, vulnerable, invisible, and irrelevant—a living joke. But as the Joker, he's charismatic, vengeful, and impossible to ignore. People notice him, love him, and even worship him. He becomes the one who makes them laugh, instead of being the one they laugh at.
But despite Arthur’s best efforts to become the Joker, he remains, at his core, Arthur. Then comes Harley, a woman who seems to understand him in a way no one ever has. She tells him she’d do anything for him because she’s in love with him. Arthur falls for her because, for the first time, he feels truly seen. She gives him the strength to rediscover the music and joy he thought was lost inside him.
Unbeknownst to him, however, Harley is in love with him not because of who he is, but because she believes he’s the Joker. In a brilliant subversion of their classic tale, Harley becomes the emotionally manipulative one, pushing him to become everything she imagines the Joker to be. She wants him to keep living as the Joker, just as the city rallies behind the Joker, celebrating him like never before. Finally, everyone loves him. But Arthur can’t sustain the charade any longer. He’s exhausted from pretending. And in a moment of vulnerability, he confesses: he’s not the Joker. He’s tired of the mask.
I wonder if his decision is also driven by the fact that he no longer needs the mask—because, for a fleeting moment, he finds a reason to live as Arthur through Harley. But when she rejects him, it becomes painfully clear: she doesn’t love Arthur—she loves the Joker. And the moment he relinquishes that identity, he returns to his ordinary, insignificant life and dies just as unceremoniously, as Arthur. It’s as though the story is only worth telling while he’s the Joker—beyond that, he doesn’t matter. Arthur Fleck was never a criminal mastermind; he was merely a vessel to bring the imagery of the Joker into Gotham. In his wake, he leaves the city in absolute mayhem, setting the stage for someone far more dangerous, deranged, and capable of taking up the mantle.
It's as tragic as it gets. While this may not be the direction most anticipated, it masterfully underscores the inescapable truth that the Joker and Batman are intrinsically linked and neither can truly exist without the other—each drawing purpose, chaos, and order from the other’s presence. In Phillips' first film, Thomas and Martha Wayne’s murder, a direct consequence of the riots sparked by Arthur's killing of Murray Franklin, essentially suggests that in this universe, the Joker created Batman. So, in a world where Batman is still just a child, the Joker is an incomplete entity, a chaos without balance, waiting for his other half to rise. Without Batman, can the Joker ever fully materialise in his true form, or is he merely a shadow of what’s yet to come?
