Review, Special

During a particularly poignant time in which we find our political system and current affairs, Todd Philips’ ‘Joker’ delivers Arthur Flecks’ (Joaquin Phoenix) dramatic transformation into madness whilst brushing together the parallels of justice and anarchy.

Aside the Joker’s denouncement of the media masquerade, we bear witness to the social divide separating suffering and privilege; the gloomy hues of poverty, endless steps, paving the ground for grander paths and carpets of plenty. Arthur Fleck’s contest to justify his purpose as a clown by trade compliments the entitlement of a younger Bruce Wayne, one that lends into Batman’s own burdens and inception with violence

We quickly acknowledge the conflicting notion of how laughter gives Arthur purpose besides suffering, whilst confining him to the disillusionment of a brewing sourness which slowly bubbles over into reality. It’s a sourness with the system and disregard of matters surrounding mental illness which stand resolute throughout film, though we are neither led nor assume Arthur is categorically ‘crazy’, until he reneges the hand that makes him human and reveals his calling-card. It is ultimately a realisation which puts the entirety of both his own existence and the audiences morality into question, ushering the same measures of what is right and wrong, entertaining or palpable. 

Arthur’s optimism is shattered by the reality of being upstaged by Murray Franklin  (Robert De Niro) amidst his own dismay for existence or lack thereof. It is only until Arthur takes both the role and pragmatics of character that his malcontent for the system transpires, amassing a crowd of clowns to play out the blissful pandemonium of mob rule.


Subverting a now familiarly human face under that of the quintessential masked villain provides enough reason with situation. We proceed to diffuse responsibility for murder, allude to alternative means for stable establishment and reevaluate Arthur Fleck’s role of passenger to chaos rather than a perpetrator. Audience, centre stage, living in fear, inciting it. We undertake the Joker’s decaying sense of purpose since he has no job, family or any real friends besides a dwarf who he spares from killing. It begs the question of how existence is entirely based on what you earn and certainly not the character you behold. A social criteria ascertaining order to make sense of death, when you make no ‘cents’ worth living for. 

Onto my favourite point which concludes on the ground of ‘That’s Life’ is this whole dichotomy of humour and morality, though subjective. Something amusing to one differs with what others consider or know to be morally conflicted, which begs the greater question of ultimately who decides what is funny and what not. Arthur Fleck sits and reads from his diary/joke-book, often sagaciously, prescribing his own means for purpose and entertainment besides that of which is eagerly handed out to him already. The ways of suppressing or diluting his dismay and tainted disposition towards society is one no longer contained by the now lack of drugs enlisting council for. He plays devils advocate to his own inception into madness though not initially mad, as humanity fails to diagnose the undiagnosable, equilibrium hangs in the balance along with the earlier allusion of unstoppable forces and immovable objects; one cannot exist without the other, Batman, Joker, happiness, suffering, reality, insanity.



Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Special, Uncategorized

As the boundaries of reality become ever more distorted by days spent staging the next, one can often question if the present is just a passing manifestation of the past as we know it, or the future as we deem it to be. For each second that falls into the vacuum of space, every blink of our genetic makeup ingests the information that keeps us from a mutiny of beasts. Beasts who have shared the kiss of life, endured the roughest climates, but cannot speak of the tales that claim them their birthright. Is evolution a battle to the top of the hill that spills at the summit and melts into skies, purging the soil for fruits that do not seed, birds that do not fly and dogs that cannot bark. Humans that cannot read, Robots that cannot obey. Have our destinies be designed, can our fate be known, are our dreams reality?



While Ryan Reynolds returns as the special forces mutant, Deadpool, it’s safe to say that the newly improved Wade Wilson has come a long way since the sewn-mouthed, shiny-headed weapon of X-Men Origins. Looking at the influx of DC Comics characters set to be unleashed with Suicide Squad, it seems Marvel’s timely spectacle of the red-suited rebel will mark a new era of rough-cut immortal bad-asses that would key Batman’s car and force feed Alfred viagra.

Due to the fact that Deadpool features more dick references than all of the Van Wilder’s combined, it’s definitely a poster that you don’t wanna see hanging on your sons wall. Nonetheless, the head-popping action, bawdy quips and pistol whips are definitely gonna go down a treat with comic book lovers and cinema goers alike. As we learn more about how everyone’s soon-to-be-favourite antihero develops the ability to regenerate health, we are thrown head first into a John Wick meets Kill Bill, semi-dystopian world -but really one bar- where seemingly just violence is paid in and death payed out.

Within a few months of getting more than comfortable with escort Vanessa (Morena Baccarin) , mercenary Wade Wilson is diagnosed with cancer and despite her not being anywhere near as annoying as the ginger guys wife in Homeland, he leaves his rather smokin’ fiancè at the thought of destroying the once spirited, passionate memories she has of him. In desperation, despite refusing a previous offer, Wade seeks an alternative experimental treatment for his cancer, promising him superhuman abilities that will ultimately be used for good. Francis Freeman (Ed Skrein) plots to exploit the use of such powers to our unsuspecting ‘hero’ by subjecting him to rigorous torture on behalf of Angel Dust (Gina Carano) Though he brushes off each effort to test his physiological threshold in true later-Deadpool fashion. In a more dramatic attempt to silence his spirits, Wade is trapped in an airtight chamber where the oxygen levels are manipulated to aggravate the effects of his cancer and spike a mutation that will ultimately save his life, but leave him seriously disfigured.

Now given a second chance, Deadpool seeks to fix his hideous appearance and fractured relationship, taking revenge upon the people who did this to him. Deadpool features a handful of remarks to the X-Men franchise, and while he shares similar characteristics to Wolvervine, it seems they are wholly satirical and good natured. We see the inclusion of Colossus (voiced by Stefan Kapicic) and Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Briana Hildebrand), two mutants that attempt to epitomise the importance of morality and justice to our less than principled master of masturbation, Deadpool. The involvement of such characters will undoubtedly establish a franchise that can link various Marvel characters together that may not be as well renowned or have have such an individual impact on audiences as the household name hero. All in all, I’d definitely recommend Deadpool, despite an initial sourness toward the action/comedy genre. It plays tastefully on the monotonies of typical clean-cut superheroes, embodies the crude attitudes of adolescent males and satisfies the uncouth nature of the antihero whilst still saving the day.