Just as I’m getting to grips with my illness, life hits me with another disappointment. My magnum opus of pop, Unheimlich: The Philosophy of Lady Gaga was rejected by publishers. Taking their advice after the first draft, I littered the text with oversimplified interpretations of philosophical giants, creating a tenuous link between Ms Gaga and the life of contemplation. (Plato, Descartes, and especially Foucault are like open vaults for authoritative reference; you can mine them for just about any point of view.) But it wasn’t enough. To be honest, my publisher’s whole argument about it being too psychological was probably just to spare my feelings (like a noble, yet weathered old tree, my feelings are so mature that an ill-wind can cause them great distress). I suspect his real motive was his distaste for the 200 plus pages of my dream of a future of glamorous, orgiastic cyborg sexual relations. Elongated sentences like this probably didn’t inspire confidence: “Brought together over 17 light years, via holo-technology, I stare lustfully, yet resentfully and enviously, at her engorged nipples, through the holes of my artful, platinum mask, screwed into my facial edifice.”
So, I’ve decided to undertake a new project and complete my treatise on a philosophy so dark and brutal and honest that no publishing house will be able to resist the buzzing publicity that its controversy will bring. Anarchy: The Philosophy of the Joker will undoubtedly sell a million copies. Every internet residing, resentful atheist will want one. They’ll combat the disease of doctrinal, narrow-minded anti-intellectualism with pages and pages of readymade, one-line arguments. Small paragraphs will hardly need to be rephrased, as they will fit conveniently into Youtube comment boxes. Anal, vicious comicbook geeks will snort at you if you even mention it, and it will be impossible to have conversation about the book without someone informing another that he or she “didn’t understand it”. Unattractive males in their twenties will find solace and empowerment in the iron-clad words. When you buy it online, Amazon will recommend that you also purchase the 2012 ‘Not that Hot’ calendar – another invention of mine, which has writing space beneath an exiguously-clad hottie, to enable ugly, sexless, misogynistic geeks to – in an act of sour grapes – jot down the physical flaws of the girl.
But the philosophy of the Joker is more radical than the militant atheism of the Dawkins and his internet acolytes. As it says in the text, “the philosophy of the Joker doesn’t subscribe to the order of military; it is swayed by chaos” (approximately 17 percent of the book is italicized, incidentally). In fact, the philosophy of the Joker doesn’t subscribe to any order; “it wants to gleefully see the word burn.” It sees though all the all-too-transparent bullshit of society and religion, and then it puts its face right up to it, the stench of it fuelling the ever-burning rage. By merely mentioning nihilism and ‘the will to power’, the book draws parallels between Nietzsche and the Joker. “Surely the two men are kindred spirits,” the book tells us, “after all does the Joker not espouse nihilism and the will to power?” The Joker inspires fear, and the book’s readers will want to do the same after turning the last page. They will want to tear down societies hypocritical values, by showing them how debase ‘civilised’ people can actually be. The profound and unlikely truth will be revealed: people act badly when they are mistreated and desperate. (No, reader, you’ve read it correctly. Only by reading my book will you be able to understand this counterintuitive insight.)
Of course, we’re only talking about one portrayal of the Joker; the ultimate performance by the late Heath Ledger in 2008. While The Dark Knight’s Joker digressed from the character in the graphic novels (We don’t say ‘comicbook’, because they’re serious pieces of art.), he towers above all previous portrayals, especially Jack Nicholson's 1989 performance. The book flays the Tim Burton and Joel Schumacher Batman films over 156 pages, which absorb about 1,500 of the 5,000 plus counts of the word ‘moron’ (36 percent of which are entirely in caps). Neither of the directors appreciated the material in their hands, and they passed up the opportunity to make a film dark and intellectual enough for the true fans. We longed for a two and a half hour, dark and gritty film (never ‘movie’), with an near-impossible plot, to properly capture the complexities of being a billionaire martial art expert, who needs to indulge in unarmed vigilantism. Christopher Nolan finally gave us what we craved. We wanted more death, terror, destroyed lives, and brutal realism to truly encapsulate the tales of Gotham City. In a more adult portrayal, viewers almost believed they were watching a documentary, when Batman used less ornate Batarangs.
Alas, Heath Ledger has left us, in circumstances almost as dark as The Dark Knight, so we will never get to further explore the philosophy of the Joker from the mouth of the master. My book will have to be a substitute for the Joker acolytes on internet forum. Given the need for such a dark, no-holds-barred philosophy, I’ll be undoubtedly LOLing all the way to the bank. A bank job only surpassed in badassedness by the Joker himself.
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But seriously though: we all know that Cesar Romero’s was the best portrayal of the Joker.
“Ohh-hoo-hoo-hoo! Ha ha, ha ha ha!”
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