“Joker” Review

Filed Under Comics

I think we can all agree that Heath Ledger is to the Joker what Daniel Craig is to James Bond. He may not be the first actor to play the role, but he definitely made the character all his own. It’s one of those game-changing performances that shatters your expectations. And when the inevitable cash-ins come along, such as last week’s “Joker” graphic novel, you can’t help but be disappointed that the material isn’t on par.

Writer Brian Azzarello and artist Lee Bermejo had previously worked together on “Lex Luthor: Man of Steel,” a four-issue mini-series that cast the villain as a misunderstood hero. I enjoyed that arc, and I’m not a fan of Azzarello’s writing by a longshot. I despised his runs on “Batman” and “Superman.” Even “100 Bullets,” his critically-acclaimed crime saga, left me cold; it took me a couple of sittings just to get through the first trade.

Still, I wanted to like “Joker.” So long as Azzarello aped Ledger’s take on the role, like Bermejo aped the look, it’d be a fun ride. But no, what could’ve been an unofficial sequel to “The Dark Knight” is just uninspired fanwank.

In the book, the Joker is inexplicably released from Arkham Asylum and goes about rebuilding his criminal empire. The story is told from the point-of-view of Jonny Frost, a low-level hood who becomes the Joker’s driver. I half-expected Frost to ultimately be revealed as Joe Chill, the thief who’d killed Bruce Wayne’s parents, but it just turned out to be a coincidence that his name sounds like a clunky alias.

At any rate, the Joker pinballs from one second-tier Bat-villain to the next, leveling threats and so forth. The rogues gallery is needlessly given a gritty facelift. Killer Croc is no longer a lizard-man, but a brute with problem skin. Harley Quinn is a stripper; there are exactly two occupations for women in crime stories: whoring yourself and whoring yourself. The Riddler’s a tattooed and completely unconvincing criminal genius with a bum hip. And for whatever reason, the Penguin’s referred to as Abner. I was sort of waiting for Man-Bat to show up and be some creepy Bat-fan who you see at conventions that’s really into cosplay, but alas, my hopes were dashed!

Penguin’s real name, by the way, is Oswald Cobblepot. Then again, Azzarello could’ve just had the Joker friggin’ call him Penguin.

That being said, I think the whole “Abner” issue is as good a summation of this book as any: It misses the mark. The Joker doesn’t sound like the Joker. It’s difficult to separate the character on the page from Ledger’s performance, but even if you try and ignore the recent film, the character just doesn’t come across. Why? Well, he’s not funny! The Joker should be funny. He’s not some scarred, sneering sociopath without a sense of humor. The film understands this, so when he’s driving a pencil through a hoodlum’s eyeball, he provides a punchline and leaves us laughing. A humorless Joker is a crushing bore. I was hoping at the end of the book, Jonny Frost would waste him and take up the mantle of the Joker himself. That would’ve at least made this a black comedy.

So how does Batman figure into all of this? Well, he shows up pretty late in the game, making you wonder why in the hell the Caped Crusader hasn’t been shadowing the Joker from the moment he stepped out of Arkham’s front gate. That Two-Face has to summon Batman to do something about the Joker really gives you an idea of how little Azzarello understands these characters.

“The Dark Knight” is a tough act to follow, granted. “Joker” seems to want to embrace the “real world” vibe of Chris Nolan’s Batman universe, yet it doesn’t bother with telling a story that’s anywhere near as engaging.

-Brad Lohan

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