Director: Vera Drew
Writers: Vera Drew, Bri LeRose
Stars: Vera Drew, Griffin Kramer, Lynn Downey
Synopsis: An aspiring clown grappling with her gender identity combats a fascistic caped crusader.
Vera Drew’s scathing, viscerally original The People’s Joker begins as it must: With a disclaimer. Even before the bulk of the necessary studio cards appear, Drew wants (er, has) to make it clear that the film you are about to see is, if nothing else, a parody, one that is “completely unauthorized by DC Comics, Warner Bros. Discovery, or anyone else claiming ownership of the characters and subjects that it parodies and references.” She cites the United States Copyright Act of 1976, fair use, and credits her team. Not that any of that would stop the aforementioned brass to try landing a few punches before it made its way into the world in its current form.
That it even exists in the real world today is something of a miracle, given how hard David Zaslav and co. worked to make sure it was locked away in cinematic Arkham forever. After being scheduled to premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2022, the film was abruptly pulled from the program, with TIFF’s website stating, “The filmmaker has withdrawn this film due to rights issues.” While Drew has since made it clear that Warner Bros. Discovery did not technically send her a cease-and-desist letter… let’s just say, if it sounds like Christian Bale and it responds to the Bat signal, it’s probably Batman.
After a litany of negotiations between the involved legal teams, it was agreed upon that The People’s Joker could, in fact, premiere at TIFF, but for a sole midnight screening before being shuttered off to the edit bay before future audiences could feast their eyes on the lampoon that releases in theaters on Friday. But if there were any preconceived concerns about this cut being a sanitized version of Drew’s dream satire, feel free to leave them at the door. Somehow, some way, this thing is more alive than any DC Studios product can dream of being, with a whole lot more heart behind it, too. Whether they like it or not, odds are viewers will appreciate The People’s Joker enough to make up for the derision of every lawyer WB has ever deployed against passion projects of this sort combined. (And there are very few, for obvious reasons.)
The origin story of Batman’s longtime nemesis being reframed as a tale of trans identity might not be your first approach were you making a parody of the Joker, but then again, you’re not Vera Drew. This tale is wholly her’s, not a multiversal version of Arthur Fleck’s villainous turn, but a unique, artfully-rendered way for Drew to detail her own coming of age in a world where trans artists still fight (and often fail, better read as “are silenced”) to get their proper due. Much of The People’s Joker has DIY greenscreens as backdrops, fitting for a film that was fully funded and designed through crowdsourcing efforts. 100-plus artists and animators contributed their work to the film, helping Drew rebuild Gotham City through a wholly dystopian, satirical lens.
That means that, while their names may seem recognizable, plenty of altered Batman adversaries do make their way into the final cut. There’s Ra’s Al Ghul (David Liebe Hart), this particular Joker’s hero and comedic inspiration, though unlike the character Liam Neeson played in Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight movies, this one is pronounced “raish”. His late-night appearances on an SNL-style comedy show — which featured Lorne Michaels in all but face and voice — taught the Joker that “it didn’t matter that [she] was a shitty, miserable person; [she] just needed to become a comedian, because comedians are shitty, miserable people.” Mr. Freeze (Scott Aukerman), The Riddler (Trevor Drinkwater), and The Penguin (Nathan Faustyn) all feature somewhat-prominently as fellow aspiring comedians that the Joker dubs her chosen family (because every queer coming-of-age film needs one of those). Even Batman (Phil Braun) shows up, though in this rendition on the Caped Crusader’s story, he’s an abusive, closeted gay man with far-right politics.
Everything about Drew’s film screams singularity, but that’s not to say it doesn’t recall identifiable observations that viewers of all walks of life can latch onto. In addition to these reimagined characters, the Joker — whose deadname is bleeped throughout the film — notes that her sexual awakening occurred when watching the Batman films of yore starring Val Kilmer and George Clooney, with a particular focus on the prominence of their nipples popping through their Batsuits.
These details, coupled with a scarily-spot-on comedic sensibility, elevate Drew’s film from what could easily be viewed as a patchwork pastiche from an obvious fan of DC lore to a biting critique of societal expectations told by way of recognizable cultural entities. Its artistic choices and style, which border on amateurish greenscreen animation, shouldn’t be seen as detractive eyesores; the exact opposite is the point, and it’s delivered with such confidence that it’s impossible to look away.
Despite its personal undertones and its undying courage, The People’s Joker is decidedly littered with home-run swings that result in massive whiffs. You may cringe at the incessantly bombed jokes and its janky tonality. As a narrative work, it doesn’t quite pass the smell test. And it’s often too reliant on well-documented incel tropes, veering dangerously toward a dark tunnel that would entrap a lesser work of mockery in a world occupied by Twitter troll’s first stand-up specials.
Yet the beautiful thing about this movie’s lasting imprint is that it’s intended not to be one of comic-book-level significance, but of a film that foregrounds its message and its existence, almost in equal measure. I implore you to find me a film that dares to throw as many jabs as this one — celebrities abound, from John Lasseter to RuPaul, get caught in its crossfire — while simultaneously managing to imbue itself with as much of its filmmaker’s soul as this does. “Why so serious?”, indeed.
