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Joker - 2019

  • Oct 10, 2019
  • 3 min read

Updated: Aug 13


"You don't listen, do you? You just ask the same questions every week. How's your job? Are you having any negative thoughts? All I have are negative thoughts."

While I understand that Arthur Fleck is a fictional character in a movie, those words rang around my head for days after I watched Joker.

It made me sad. I took it home with me, pondered on it and couldn't shake the feeling.

This wasn't because I was sucked into a movie. This was because these words echo real life.

Arthur was a person struggling with the effects of his past trauma. He had been abused and let down by the very people who were supposed to care for him, keep him safe and love him.

He sought help, only to feel let down all over again.

He was beaten, bullied and repeatedly overlooked. He wasn't seen. Eventually, he reached a point where he no longer wanted to be invisible.

Now, I'm certainly not saying that everyone who has experienced abuse, trauma or been failed by others will become violent. Mental illness does not make someone dangerous.

What I am saying is that people who are struggling can fall under the radar far too often. When someone repeatedly reaches out and feels unheard, unsupported or dismissed, their mental health can deteriorate — sometimes with devastating consequences.

Too many people are let down by systems that could be better.

Sometimes one of the most powerful things we can do is simply listen.

Arthur Fleck was portrayed as a sad, lonely and increasingly embittered man who originally just wanted to make people laugh.

His absolute life goal was simply to make other people happy — something he had never really known for himself.

He searched desperately for connection wherever he could find it.

His own mother told him to "smile and put on a happy face," and so he did. Every morning he painted one on for work and played a clown to make children happy.

Yet underneath the painted smile was somebody who was struggling.

He was publicly mocked by a talk-show host. He was beaten, humiliated and repeatedly pushed further away from the society he desperately wanted to belong to.

Of course, none of this excuses the violence that follows. Trauma, abuse and mental illness do not inevitably lead to violence, and the overwhelming majority of people experiencing mental health difficulties are not violent.

But the film left me thinking about something much more ordinary and much more real.

What if this was a real person trying to seek help?

Someone who just wanted to be seen, heard, loved and cared about, but felt failed over and over again?

How often do we really listen?

We see people using social media to publicly mock others every day. Whether it's a famous person, someone we know or simply a stranger, people are criticised and ripped apart for entertainment, likes and shares.

We see people flippantly sharing content they find amusing, even when they know very little about the person or situation involved.

"It's on Facebook, so it must be true."

But how often do we stop and think about the person on the other side of that screen?

Words have consequences.

A comment that takes seconds to type can stay with somebody for far longer.

We often see an outpouring of sadness after somebody has died by suicide. Posts are shared about kindness, mental health and checking in on people.

But perhaps some of those conversations need to happen before somebody reaches crisis point.

Joker may have originated from a comic-book character, but this film became something much more.

For me, Joaquin Phoenix's performance portrayed an incredibly raw picture of loneliness, trauma, isolation and a person whose mental health was deteriorating while the world around him repeatedly failed to notice.

It wasn't pretty or glamorous.

It was uncomfortable.

And perhaps that's why it stayed with me.

Because underneath the fictional story were things we see in real life every day: people hiding how much they're struggling, people feeling unheard, people putting on a face for the outside world and people desperately needing connection.


So let me ask you something:

When was the last time you felt truly heard?

Not compared to somebody else.

Not diminished.

Not told to "get over it."

Not told to simply smile and carry on.

Just heard.

Think before you share something about another person. Ask yourself what sharing it will actually achieve.

Ask someone how they are — and mean it.

Be willing to listen to their answer.

And remember: none of us is perfect. We all mess up.

Sometimes being there for another human being starts with something incredibly simple.

Listening.

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