Since Avengers: Endgame, and arguably a few years before, superhero films have been circling the drain. They exist primarily to perpetuate themselves, like when Sony makes another movie about a third-tier Spider–Man character just so the company can retain the intellectual property, or when the Marvel Cinematic Universe forces its fans to watch mediocre television just so the latest movie is borderline coherent. For die-hard supporters of the MCU or the numerous Batman movies, fandom is more than mere appreciation. It is an identity. Slavish devotion and parasocial relationships do not exactly suggest to filmmakers they need to innovate the form, which is why The People’s Joker is a breath of fresh air for anyone who has grown a little cynical about the state of superhero films. By being an outsider in the truest sense, writer-director and star Vera Drew has the freedom to make a superhero movie that is actually original, and has something to say about characters that millions love so obediently.
It is a minor miracle that audiences get to see The People’s Joker at all. Shortly after its premiere at the 2022 Toronto Film Festival, Warner Bros. sent Drew an angry letter, which canceled future screenings. But its reputation survived through the festival circuit and word of mouth. Now that anyone can buy a ticket, it is easy to see why Warner Bros. might want to shut down the film. Drew plays Joker the Harlequin, a remixed version of both the Joker and Harley Quinn, except this time the character is a trans stand-up comedian and not an amoral psychopath. Batman, the Penguin, the Riddler, and Poison Ivy all make appearances in the film. Drew’s argument is that her film is protected as parody, and that superhero characters are so entrenched in the public imagination that stories involving them are under the umbrella of Fair Use anyhow. Warner Bros. relented, giving audiences the chance to see a film that uses comic-book characters as a springboard for a funny, superhero-flavored coming-of-age story that also explores identity in ways both sensitive and profane.
In this version of Gotham City, Drew’s Joker is a trans woman who leaves Smallville and dreams of a comedy career. Comedy is regulated by the government, and she does not fit into the simple binary of male clowns and female dancers/assistants. Together with the Penguin (Nathan Faustyn), Joker forms an “anti-comedy” theater that embraces outsider performers. The underground playhouse gets Joker some notoriety, and shortly before being asked by Lorne Michaels (Maria Bamford) to perform on live TV, she forms a romantic relationship with Mr. J (Kane Distler), a narcissistic trans-masculine version of the character who is more Suicide Squad than Dark Knight. The central tension is whether Joker can get over her toxic relationship and crippling self-doubt before her big show.
The look of The People’s Joker is key to its effect. Drew, who is also trans, is an alum of Comedy Bang Bang and Tim and Eric Awesome Show—absurdist television known for imaginative ideas that exceed their production values. Many scenes in the film look deliberately cheesy or artificial, a way to suggest this is all parody; it also means action scenes don’t require immersive special effects (despite a micro-budget, this film includes the car chase the genre requires). There are also several animated sequences, with Drew asking different artists to interpret each scene with an entirely different aesthetic. Some scenes are polished and surreal, while others are amateurish and sinister. All this suggests that these characters, despite their control from the studios who own them, belong to the fans. Like how a kid with action figures might imagine their own story, Drew’s film runs away from any traditional superhero structure because those structures have less meaning to her.
Drew’s approach to comedy is both deadpan and rapid-fire. There are sometimes multiple punch lines in the same scene, like when Joker tosses off a cutting one-liner about comedians and mental illness, while the background includes a sight gag from one of her animators. Drew’s frequent targets are male-dominated spaces, such as comic-book fandom and comedy, and her observations are borne out of a mix of love and deep, deep frustration. There are also familiar gags such as a sustained riff on dating toxic men, and yet Drew handles it with such confidence and wit that the jokes are never stale. In fact, there is a lot of common ground between The People’s Joker and Barbie, insofar that they use exaggeration and knowing references to build toward a poignant exploration of identity. A lot of comedy nowadays uses jokes and subversion as a trojan horse to explore something serious, and Drew’s film is no different. What makes it unique, however, is that Drew approaches deeper meaning entirely on her own terms. In a flinty performance defined by self-awareness, she realizes that by making a personal film about her relationship with the character, she will tap into anxieties and feelings that everyone—not just a trans woman comedian in a clown costume—has at one point or another.
Most modern superhero films don’t even attempt something so vulnerable and risky, lest they alienate studio executives and focus groups. Between delayed films and diminishing box office numbers, it is likely these stories are waning in popularity—a common end to any ubiquitous genre, just like westerns and musicals before them. If that’s the case, The People’s Joker might be the last great superhero film, a true original that reminds us that malleability is what makes these heroes and villains so special.
The People’s Joker opens at the Alamo Drafthouse on Bryant Street and in Crystal City on April 19.