The Complicated Entitlement of Arthur Fleck

Joker’s (Probably) Accidental Identity Politics

The discourse around Joker, the Joaquin Phoenix-starring origin story of the infamous Batman villain, has been exhausting. Beginning before most people had even seen the film, battle lines were immediately drawn between those decrying its allegedly alt-right sympathies and edgy gamers convinced this was going to be the greatest film of all time. Now that it’s actually in cinemas and I’ve seen it, it’s a lot more complicated than that, even if it isn’t on purpose.

To get it out of the way, Joker is a fantastically constructed film. Whilst it’s certainly derivative of other prestige pictures (Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver and King of Comedy have been regularly brought up) that doesn’t stop it from being spectacular and gripping in its own right. At the centre of it all is Phoenix, who’s performance is genuinely astonishing. The gruesome physicality he brings to the role is mesmerising, exemplified during the surreal dance sequences in which he almost comes across as possessed. Most people, however, are in agreement on these points. Where the majority of the controversy springs from is Arthur Fleck, the tortured protagonist who eventually becomes the titular villain. It’s also where the most fascinating issues come into play.

Arthur Fleck is a complex concoction of a character. On the one hand, he’s white and male, the very person American society is built for, the very person who the American dream tells has the right to love and riches so long as he works hard. On the other hand, much of that hasn’t materialised. He’s a victim of childhood abuse, he has a disability no one understands, and he has a demoralising job, a apartment and hardly any money.

What’s difficult about Arthur Fleck is that some of his entitlement is justified. Yes, he does deserve a better standard of living. Yes, he does deserve to have his disability understood by society. Yes, he does deserve to be free of abuse. But there’s a lot of entitlement that isn’t justified. He doesn’t deserve a career in comedy. He doesn’t deserve fame and recognition from his talk show idol. Most egregiously of all, he doesn’t deserve the relationship he fantasises about with the woman in the same apartment block as him.

Whilst I’m unsure about the alarmist panic surrounding this film being an incel rallying cry, the comparison of Fleck to the online group of ‘involuntary celibates’ is not without merit. Fleck arguably embodies the incel mindset in areas that go beyond sex. Denied anything he believes he has a right to — that society tells him he has a right to — he becomes enraged. Like the incels, denied the sex from women they think they’re entitled to, the denial of Fleck’s entitlements leads him to resentment, hatred and, finally, violence.

These unjustified entitlements are very white and very male. His aforementioned fantasy girlfriend is an African-American single mother whose situation is at least as bad as Fleck’s yet never retaliates with the violence he does. She’s probably never been under the assumption that America is going to let her have much more than she already has. She doesn’t see the Wayne Enterprise employees like Fleck does because the American dream they’ve achieved has never been promised to her like it has been to him. She certainly wouldn’t be deluded by fantasies similar to the ones Fleck has for her, not under any impression that she’s owed sex from men.

Fleck’s genuine oppression as a destitute and disabled victim of abuse is not enough by itself to provoke him into such brutal violence. He needs the entitled envy of a white man denied the American dream to tip him over the edge. (It’s worth noting, as Lawrence Ware points out in his piece for the New York Times, his white male privilege also allows him to enact such violence by shielding him from law enforcement and the suspicions of the talk show on which he murders the host). Fleck’s tendency to fantasise, to dream about being brought on stage and lavished with praise by his idol just for being a particularly vocal member of the audience, shows his desires exceeding relief from suffering and oppression and tipping into an arrogant entitlement only a white man told all his life this is what society owes him would have.

However, Fleck’s white male entitlement isn’t enough by itself either. If he hadn’t been denied the American dream, if his disability was understood by society, if he had the same opportunities to achieve the wealth and status of a Thomas Wayne type, he wouldn’t have been driven to his violent rampage. Instead, he would’ve probably ended up like the Wayne Enterprise employees he murders, arrogant douches who abuse their power by harassing women and bullying disabled people. Again, however, his white male entitlement is key. Regardless of how his life turned out, it would’ve corrupted him in some way, it would’ve just looked different. His violence would’ve probably been expressed through him oppressing others with his power and privilege, rather than the murderous outbursts we see in the film. Both justified and unjustified entitlements are needed to create the Joker.

I’m not sure how much credit I’m willing to give director Todd Phillips for this. Based on his stupid comments equating the far left to the far right and blaming ‘woke culture’ for killing comedy, as well as the film’s clumsy and irresponsible references to mental illness, I’d be very surprised if he was consciously considering Fleck’s race and gender. That said, the film can certainly be read from that perspective and it’s by far the most nuanced interpretation of a film that risks being oversimplified into a masterful work of art or amoral nihilist porn. When the dynamics of race and gender are taken into account, Joker shows, however, unintentionally, the dual danger of a society that refuses to support the vulnerable whilst telling white men they can have whatever they want. If we don’t want any Jokers, we need to fix both of those problems.