Survived an hour of Joker: Folie à Deux (2024).
I understand, after much research, it’s a self-reflexive flick that draws attention to the audience’s alleged complicity in the villain’s crimes, or our fascination in them – hence the tedium, the daft singing, the proverbial strangling-the-cat. If that’s the point, what’s the point? If I want karaoke, I’ll listen to any pub in Edinburgh on a Saturday.
This film is one of the most painful experiences I’ve had to endure this year. I can rustle up a more captivating, less infuriating shitter with £500, and this wouldn’t even be an arduous quest. And I’m a fabulous singer compared to these two sawdust-throated failed crooners.
I fucking hate this movie.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 