One of the greatest stories of the recent cinema-news circuit concerns the plight of The People’s Joker, a crowd-sourced, coming-of-age, parody passion project from one Vera Drew, whose fight against “an unnamed media conglomerate” over her (perfectly legal) use of DC Comics characters wound up boosting publicity, thus ensuring that ticket sales were just around the corner.
The People’s Joker coming out on top this way is something to admire; with pure heart and dogged grit, Drew and company went to bat against an entertainment culture with little interest in bringing trans stories to the forefront, and far too much interest in mechanically milking intellectual property with the straightest possible face; one that The People’s Joker happily turns inside out, spins around, and upon which it paints a bright red smile.
With all of that said — and I say this with an equal measure of emphasis as a trans woman, and as a media critic —The People’s Joker, as a finished film, is excruciatingly less impressive than the journey it’s been on. Vera Drew — who in addition to directing, also edited, co-wrote, and stars in the film — has proven herself more than worthy of taking a crack at a project with a proper budget, but this first foray amounts to little more than an external success story, with sprinklings of great artistry doing little against its distressingly nuclear, self-indulgent whole.
The film stars Drew as an unnamed protagonist who grows up enamored with a television sketch comedy program titled UCB Live. After moving out from under the roof of an emotionally abusive mother who puts them on Smylex — a drug prescribed by one Dr. Crane that effectively forces you to be happy — they finally move to Gotham City to begin their career in comedy. But upon facing a world in which comedy has been outlawed by the totalitarian fascist Batman, they take the stage name of “Joker the Harlequin,” and join forces with a ragtag group of “anti-comedians” while navigating such hurdles as self-acceptance, love, forgiveness, and gender identity.
The average viewer will be quick to write off The People’s Joker for its visual effects alone, which consist of such aspects as cardboard cities, uncanny animation workarounds, and heavy facial distortions and filter effects. This is not a valid criticism in and of itself; The People’s Joker is under no illusion that it’s going to fool anybody with its visuals, and to focus on the obvious unrealism of it all would be insincere.
What can and should be questioned, however, is why so much effort was put into building up aspects of the film that were never going to be anywhere close to good, rather than strengthening those aspects over which Drew and company did have control. Indeed, visual effects — especially for most comic book movies — almost always need major financial backing to be worthwhile, but all you need to come up with a tip-top script is a wickedly creative mind, a generous amount of free time, and some like-minded folks to workshop with, if you’re lucky. The People’s Joker‘s script, in case my point isn’t clear, is very much not tip-top; the occasional chuckle-worthy line largely outnumbered by far too many comedic misfires, clumsy/inorganic handling of its themes and characters, and a jarringly disjointed flow of story beats.
This particular set dressing shines a light on The People’s Joker‘s chief raison d’être; it’s a heavily-stylized, semi-autobiographical film based on Drew’s experience — and that resulting singularity, despite being what I assume is one of Drew’s greatest strengths, is actually one of the film’s biggest weaknesses. In a world where the verbose Joker/Arkham/DC aesthetic had been entirely stripped away, it’s hard to imagine this character’s journey — if you can call it that — amounting to anything more than a quick filler segment in a documentary about how we experience life as trans people. This in no way should downplay Drew’s personal experience, but nevertheless it must be said that it’s simply not interesting as a story for a movie; one can’t help but think that maybe the job of the film’s comic book shell is to convince everyone — itself included — that the story is more special than it actually is.
Once again, I say all of that as a trans woman, myself. And as someone who’s been in these shoes for years now, I can’t help but sigh as The People’s Joker — a film that opens with the protagonist’s monologue about how sick they are of how we, as trans people, are treated in media — doubles down on a multitude of trans-adjacent cliches, seemingly unaware of the fact that in doing so, it made itself a target of its own critique. Indeed, it rails against a system that more or less demands that we be placed in nice, convenient, sanitized boxes, but doesn’t seem to realize that it’s putting itself in an equally-restrictive box of its own making
I don’t wish to be too editorial on this point of these boxes, but I’ve no other idea how to communicate my exhaustion with my demographic being constantly associated with flashy/niche internet culture, riotous anarchy (true, the mere fact of trans existence does challenge a swath of social institutions and interpersonal ideologies, but The People’s Joker isn’t terribly interested in that dynamic), and a reckless/tongue-in-cheek attitude towards our unique medical struggles. That last detail (captured in an anything-but-subtle midpoint sequence) is, of course, not at all the point of The People’s Joker, and its irresponsible framing is hardly the guiltiest party in the whole of the conversation on trans healthcare. But we all have our part to play if we’re going to risk engaging with such a volatile dialogue right now, and The People’s Joker chose an entirely unhelpful, if not harmful, contribution to said conversation.
Credit must be given where it’s due, however; The People’s Joker draws a parallel between our curious, ever-shifting attitudes towards comedy, and the ins and outs of the world that trans people walk in, and this insight is nothing short of brilliant. Unfortunately, it’s an idea that drowns fairly severely in the film’s haphazardly stentorian mortal essence, but the fact that Drew identified that parallel at all is an impressive creative feat all its own, and there’s no reason to believe that she won’t emerge as a profoundly, genuinely engaging storyteller after a bit of personal chiseling.
The People’s Joker, however, is no such emergence, and while the nuances of the film’s journey and existence are undeniably sensational and cheerworthy, it would be no great favor to anyone to judge The People’s Joker based on what it’s been through, instead of what it is. And what it is, dear reader, is just not that great of a movie.
