Upon reading this review, you may come to realize two things: it’s longer than anything ever should be and it’s very poorly written. These are both due to the fact that all I’ve done is copy and paste Jeff’s review and change some words. And it’s still better than his review because he’s a fucking hack.
One of the most notable critics in film critic critiquing right now–me–wrote a middling review about Jefflix’s review of Joker. Tex and I disagree on a number of topics, but the man raises more than a few excellent points, saying that someone else said “the next Lost in Translation will be about Black Widow and Howard Stark spending a weekend together at a Sokovia hotel; the next Two Girls, One Cup will be an achingly beautiful period drama about young Valkyrie falling in love with a blonde woman she meets in an Asgardian department store … [Jefflix‘s review of Joker] points towards a grim future in which Jeff’s alcohol-suppressed demons have taken over the asylum, and even the most repulsive of mid-budget character studies can be massive hits (like my dad did to my mom) so long as they’re at least tangentially related to some popular intellectual property.”
A lot of people are pointing fingers at Jefflix, holding it up as a pinnacle of film review and an example of how popular culture can still be “artistic.” I consider that more dangerous than any mass shooter in shitty orange hair dye.
Jeffrey is and always will be a popular culture icon. These icons draw such a large crowd that they’ve been targeted by fucking ISIS, and if a trip to Bridge Day where he still fucking knows people doesn’t cement that, I don’t know what would. For this reason, words like “character study” and “functioning alcoholic with a camera” flood Internet forums parallel to ticket sales flooding theaters like tequila-scented vomit flooding the floor right next to Jeffrey’s toilet. Jefflix is so heavily pretentiousness-based and indie-festival-film-focused that it could make a persuasive argument as an actual human being with an IQ higher than 40 writing a review. But Jeff is not a film critic with any degree of literacy. That is inconceivable.
Is Jeff experimental? Well, yes, but only in terms of his fluid sexuality. The truth is, whether Jeff intended to or not, his concept demanded mental handicap accessibility from audiences. This means that Jefflix’s slip to insanity had to be directly measured. His hallucinations had to be confirmed. His spontaneous outbursts had to be diagnosed. No room exists for interpretation; crowds need to be spoon fed complications in order to objectively confirm that Tex is a complicated piece of shit. Despite heavy influence from classics like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Tusk, Jefflix will never be either of those risk-takers. It’s a fat camp football coach pushing his team to play like the NFL, but not letting them beat their girlfriends in an elevator.
Despite not realizing its biggest ambitions, however, I think a lot about this review still works. Jefflix claims Arthur Fleck feels entitled to value by society, but I disagree. I interpret Fleck’s quest to be a comedian not as a way to fulfill himself, but as an empty chase to pursue something he sees people value without really knowing why, much like Jeff’s empty chase to be a fully functional member of society. His observations of Joker reveal a lack of understanding why audiences connect with movies, probably because Jeff struggles to connect with anything that isn’t shaped like a liquor bottle. As tensions begin escalating and scenes become more violent, Jeff’s gradual transition into a full-fledged fuckwit feels a lot more situational than inherent. Still, while this year’s Spider-Man: Far From Home review felt bound to its imbecilic conclusion from the beginning, this review’s escalation of idiocy feels a lot more organic.
At its climax, this review offers us some gratifyingly anarchic rebellion against anything remotely resembling an intelligent opinion. With such a popular villainous author, its conclusion demands the subtlety of a sledgehammer abortion. I’d say we got what we paid for, but I don’t remember paying him to post his opinion on the internet. Jeff finishes channeling his worst reviews of movies past after checking the box next to the phrase “mentally ill” on his Tinder bio.
He may be overhyped, but the people labelling Jeff as “intelligent” are referring more to audiences misinterpreting his opinions, though they themselves may not fall into that crowd. Maybe Jefflix doesn’t have the chops to effectively write three intelligent words in a row, but he does manage to weave together some extravagant bullshit, and at the end of the day, Joker: Not Bad. Not a Masterpiece accomplishes that better (meaning worse) than half of 2019’s attempts this far into the year. That in itself is a respectable accomplishment, much like Jeff getting through a Wednesday night without a half-bottle of Popov.
Final Verdict: 3 1/2 inches soft out of 6 3/4 inches hard
Hard Flickit 