A brave, indulgent idea that isn’t easy to root for

Yet, ths isn’t a film that cares or caters to that reaction. This is where Phillips diverges from the superhero blueprint we are accustomed to and addicted to. In the post-Marvel, post-Nolan era, we are almost trained to crave more action, more spectacle. But Folie a Deux defies that, delving deeper into Fleck’s internal world, even as we, not unlike Gotham’s frenzied residents, prefer the myth of The Joker to the man behind the mask. So, no, Folie a Deux doesn’t seek to thrill you or rally comic book fans to cheer.

Ironically, the first film was accused of encouraging this during its final act, but that, I think, was a reflection of audience mentality, not the film itself. This time, Phillips chooses a musical—a genre perfect for a film with such a twisted romantic soul, no? It’s about our desperate need for validation, our yearning for a companion. Arthur, who couldn’t even find politeness in others (“Nobody’s Civil Anymore,” from the first film), begins the movie in silence, his words caught in his throat and buried in himself. But as he falls in love, this silent man begins to sing—a voice rising from the depths of his isolation. There’s a strange beauty in that, isn’t there?

Fleck has always searched for someone to acknowledge his existence: his mother, his neighbour, Thomas Wayne, the adulation of Gotham’s masses. Now, in Folie a Deux, he finally finds someone: Harlene Quinzel, who gives him this validation and makes him feel anything is possible. As one song goes, “I’ve got the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow.

Got the string around my finger, what a world, what a life, I’m in love.” Love, even if detached from the real, practical version many of us may be exposed to, makes him feel free—even when trapped behind prison bars. An enduring image is of them both clinging to the prison gate, uninterested in climbing out. Each other’s company is freeing enough, you see. For Harley, though, love is the fantasy she cannot bear to lose. When fantasy is stripped away of romance, what remains?