Directed and edited by Vera Drew and co-written with Bri LeRose with the help of “a team of over 100 artists on three separate continents during the Covid-19 pandemic,” The People’s Joker premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2022, but further screenings were canceled due to rights issues. Almost two years later, The People’s Joker finally saw a theatrical release in the US, followed by the home video release from boutique label Altered Innocence, which appropriately specializes in LGBTQ+ and coming-of-age stories.
An antidote to soulless AI art and a reclamation of beloved pop culture icons from heartless corporations, Vera Drew’s The People’s Joker subverts the familiar plot structure of a comic book origin story by retelling her own coming-of-age tale through the lens of the film’s trans protagonist, Joker the Harlequin. Fantastical, autobiographical, joyful, funny, and complex, this “fair use film” lampoons cultural touchstones like the ubiquitous Batman himself and the long-running sketch comedy show Saturday Night Live, while also paying homage to the neon-lit filmography of Batman Forever’s Joel Schumacher. (The film’s dedication is to Vera Drew’s own mother and Schumacher.) The People’s Joker’s original and daring approach to beloved IP and a vulnerable coming-out narrative make the film a necessary addition to any film collection that values trans voices and exciting, experimental filmmaking.
The story begins in Smallville with a Young Joker (Griffin Kramer) fawning over the UCB (United Clown Bureau) Live telecast – with President Lex Luthor hosting and Sinead O’Connor as the musical guest – in her clown-wallpapered bedroom and realizing her closeted femininity while watching a CGI Nicole Kidman in a Batman movie. Young Joker asks her mom (an unflinching performance from Lynn Downey) if she was “born in the wrong body,” a question that deeply disturbs her insecure mother and lands her in Arkham Asylum and submitted to Smylex-fueled conversion therapy. (The inhalant gives Joker her signature, unnatural grin, of course.)
The Joker attempts to repress her trans identity through comedy and moves to Gotham City to train with her idol, Ra’s al Ghul (David Liebe Hart) at the government-sanctioned UCB, where women are relegated to the role of harlequin. Shortly into this $15,000 training program, Joker befriends the Penguin (Nathan Faustyn) and they decide to collaborate by opening an “anti-comedy” theatre. The patrons become Joker’s chosen family and she falls in love with the trans, out, and narcissistic Mr. J (Kane Distler). (“Don’t date comedians, please. Ever,” she implores us through the fourth wall.) He inspires Joker to finally transition by jumping into a tub of feminizing hormones. (This particular sequence is acted out with Barbies, Legos, and action figures.)
She debuts onstage as “Joker the Harlequin” in an anti-comedy routine that revolves around overdosing on Smylex and laughing through other people’s emotional pain. Joker’s substance abuse and her toxic relationship with Mr. J leads The People's Joker down to relatable lows before ramping up to a Network-esque rallying cry against UCB and performative allyship and bringing the audience to a transcendent, touching conclusion
When it comes to supplementary materials, this excellent Blu-ray release from Altered Innocence includes multiple commentaries – one with Vera Drew, another with Vera Drew and Nathan Faustyn, and then one more with various cast and crew – as well as a discussion between the filmmaker and acclaimed authors of Corpses, Fools, and Monsters, Willow Catelyn Maclay and Caden Mark Gardner. And of course, a glimpse behind the scenes and the original theatrical trailer.
“Life is not a comic book movie,” and, it could be argued, neither is The People’s Joker! (Though the Blu-ray does come with a 24-page comic book.) The film’s unique mix of autobiography and pop mythology, animation and live-action, edgy humor and heartfelt melodrama might not resonate with everyone, but this smorgasbord of style and genre successfully transcends the limits of the modern, big-budget comic book movies ruling the multiplexes.
Filled with rapid-fire jokes (including voice-over cameos from comedy greats like Bob Odenkirk, Maria Bamford, and Tim Heidecker) that don't always land, a multitude of montages, and references to past Joker iterations, The People’s Joker lends itself to multiple watches and – while it’s not required – rewards knowledge of past DC Comics adaptations. (The wall art hanging in Joker’s apartment a la Catwoman in Batman Returns, for example.) The People’s Joker will make audiences laugh and reflect on their connections to the pop culture that shapes us all.
What kind of film series would The People’s Joker fit in?
The People’s Joker would fit into a film series about Trans Voices on Film, including recent work from filmmakers like Jane Schoenbrun and Isabel Sandoval. It could also fit into a series about Comedians-Turned-Filmmakers, such as Mike Birbiglia and Tig Notaro.
What kind of film collection would The People’s Joker be suitable for?
The People’s Joker would be suitable for any contemporary film collection, but especially those that specialize in comedy, LGBTQ+, or experimental films. It really belongs in any film professor’s film collection, since it’s an excellent example of telling a personal story through innovative, low-budget filmmaking while remaining true to one's artistic vision.
What unexpected responses do you think audiences would have to The People’s Joker?
While an appreciative audience will likely laugh through much of the movie, you might discover a need for tissues by the end of The People’s Joker – the finale is a surprising tearjerker, especially for those who can relate to the Joker’s fraught journey to self-acceptance.
When will this film be available for purchase and what is the pricing?
This will be available on August 13, 2024. The pricing is $27.95 for the DVD and $32.95 for the Blu-ray.
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Select Festivals
- World Premiere: Toronto International Film Festival 2022, Midnight Madness
- U.S. Premiere: Outfest LA 2023 (Grand Jury Special Mention, Narrative Feature)
- European Premiere: GAZE Film Festival 2023
- Fantastic Fest 2023
- Denver International Film Festival 2023
- Chicago International Film Festival 2023
- Seattle Queer Film Festival 2023 (Best Narrative Feature Award)
- SXSW Sydney 2023
- Melbourne Queer Film Festival 2023
Awards
- Audience Award – Fantastic Film Festival Australia 2023
- Special Mention, N. American Narrative Feature Competition – Outfest LA Film Festival 2023
- Best Narrative Feature Award – Oslo/Fusion International Film Festival 2023
- Best Narrative Feature Award – Seattle Queer Film Festival 2023
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Director's Bio
Vera Drew is an accomplished LGBTQ+ director and editor who has worked in TV and film for nearly a decade. She is currently in post on her first feature, The People’s Joker, and recently directed Season 12 of Tim Heidecker’s On Cinema at the Cinema. Prior to that, she co-wrote, edited, and executive produced Tim and Eric’s Beef House. She also launched the duo’s streaming TV network, Channel 5, for which she wrote and directed four series, including a docuseries about public access legend David Liebe Hart. Additionally, she was the lead editor on Sacha Baron Cohen’s Who Is America, for which she was nominated for an Emmy. Born and raised in Chicago, IL, she has been making funny, spooky, and/or queer short films and music videos for most of her life.
Director's Statement
You’ve heard some version of it before: “2020 was gonna be the year I _____ but then March rolled around and...well, you know.”
What is my pre-vax-Covid-I-was-gonna? Well, that was supposed to be the year that I climbed out of the dank shadows of an alt-comedy editing bay and used what I learned from my 10+ years of production experience to finally begin my career as an episodic television director. Of course, when business shutdowns started, so did the entire TV industry— especially my little corner of it. In addition to the dread of widespread viral infection, impending social upheaval, and never getting paid to make comedy again, I couldn’t get work as an editor (it was to be expected —adding fart sound effects to Tim Heidecker’s eyes blinking isn’t quite what I would call “essential work.”).
On the first day, we were all told to stay home, and an even deeper fear settled in for me... what if I never get to make a film now? It probably sounds selfish, but please understand: I knew I was a director before I knew I was a girl. At six years old, I remember watching Back to the Future on VHS for the 5000th time and realizing I wanted to do... that. I didn’t even know what filmmaking was or how a movie came into existence, and yet I knew in my bones that I was supposed to make movies. But there I was in March 2020. I still hadn’t made a movie. If you had looked at my IMDb, you may think my angst was unwarranted.
My first gig in Hollywood was line editing the first A24 movie: Roman Coppola’s A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Charles Swan III. On my first day on set, I smoked a cigarette with Charlie Sheen. It was a really cool first job for a dumb stoner from the Midwest. My next job was as an intern on season one of The Eric Andre Show, followed by camera assistant on season one of Nathan For You. I went on to edit three seasons of Comedy Bang! Bang! and one of Check It Out With Dr. Steve Brule. I am the transexual Forest Gump of Alternative Comedy Post ProductionTM, Emmy-nominated for her work on Sacha Baron Cohen’s Who Is America.
I am thankful that I got to work on a lot of cool shit and learn my craft under the employ and mentorship of literal comedic geniuses, but when that pandemic hit, I felt like where I had devoted my energy —my entire career— had been a total and complete waste of time. I was scared I had let comedy distract me from becoming the type of filmmaker, and quite possibly, the type of person I was supposed to be. Coming out in comedy TV was hard, always surrounded by often well-intentioned but ultimately clueless cis boys obsessed with meta humor. Long before coming out, I often used my own art to express my queerness, but I often did it in a monstrously and toxically feminine way.
When I wasn’t spending all night editing Dick Chaney footage with Borat looming over me in basketball shorts, I spent the bulk of my free time in my 20s at a public access station (aka an abandoned warehouse) that I started with my friend, filming “sketches” that were more like video art fetish videos. While my drag routines and self-deprecating comedy shtick were an expression of my identity, this community saved my life, even if sometimes it was just self-harm with dick jokes.
As society crumbled outside, in my fearful and probably manic state I started writing a script for a horror comedy about an annoying drag queen that is physically addicted to irony and gets sucked into a goddess worship cult. It was also right around that time that the guy who directed Joker said something really stupid...
“Go try to be funny nowadays with this woke culture,” he says. “There were articles written about why comedies don’t work anymore—I’ll tell you why, because all the fucking funny guys are like, ‘Fuck this shit, because I don’t want to offend you.’ It’s hard to argue with 30 million people on Twitter. You just can’t do it, right? So you just go, ‘I’m out.’” - Todd Phillips, Vanity Fair.
My friend Bri LeRose (who wrote on Lady Dynamite and Arrested Development) saw this quote and felt inspired to tweet: “I will only watch this coward’s joker movie if Vera Drew re-edits it.” So I replied, “Sure.” She venmo-ed me 12 bucks. I was jobless and mentally ill at the time, what else was I going to do? I began actually re-editing Joker 2019. It was supposed to be a few fart sound effects and some silly rhythmic glitch editing —think Everything Is Terrible meets Negativeland— but then I got inspired. As I watched the movie over and over and over again, earnestly trying to edit my found footage experimental Joker remix, I reconnected with my childhood love of Batman and recalled an early memory of realizing I was transgender.
It was 1995, the same year I realized I was a director. My dad and uncle took me to see my first PG-13 movie: Joel Schumacher’s big-budget gay art film, Batman Forever. That scene came up where Nicole Kidman’s character is waiting for Batman in her nightie. I remember sitting there, as a six-year-old boy, deeply confused. Why did I feel represented by her? Why did I want to look like her? Why did I want someone to look at me the way Batman looks at her? The rubber nipples... That day was one of the many breadcrumbs in realizing that I was trans, and May 2020 was when I realized how important and foundational these characters have always been for my queer identity.
Perhaps that propaganda we’re fed every time someone says something critical of Marvel or DC films is true —these characters are our modern myths. Myth is about coming of age. Myth belongs to the people. I went back to Bri and said, “You got me into this mess and now I need you to help me write a screenplay for a trans Joker parody.” And Bri said, “Sure.” We took the core elements from my original drag queen horror idea and began writing a deeply autobiographical coming-of-age story. Despite his bro-y union-busting politics, Todd had made a film that accurately portrayed class struggle, what it is like trying to get healthcare, and how much the system is keeping everyone trapped in a cycle of abuse.
As a trans chick living in the States, the themes of his film resonated with me. Outside of 2016’s Suicide Squad, my main sources of inspiration weren’t even comic book related, consisting of Return to Oz, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Boyhood, and Goodfellas, to name a few. We started the screenwriting process as two friends who kinda knew each other and, in collaborating, we opened up and processed a lot about both of our lives together: Growing up queer and closeted in the Midwest, our moms, working in comedy showbiz—and a shit ton of trauma.
Bri doesn’t watch superhero movies, and I watch too many. I was the one urging Bri to write impossible-to-film-on-an-indie-budget superhero set pieces around a one-woman show-style narration, and Bri was the one encouraging me to write honestly and tenderly about what it was like coming out of an abusive relationship. For me, this film was very expensive therapy. It helped me come to grips with the fact that queer people can hurt each other and that, sometimes, the first person you love—that first person who loves you unconditionally, whose love finally melts your sketch-comedy-poisoned heart and find the real you inside— that person isn’t always supposed to be in your life forever.
The process of completing this film changed everything for me. I was finally making the art that I was supposed to be making, and it didn’t matter that it took me 30 years to finally make a movie. Because there I was, making a movie that only I could make— and I was making it with my friends. I was mythologizing my life with a team of the most talented artists alive. I was making the film that I needed when I was an alienated 12-year-old queer kid growing up in my own midwestern Smallville. A film that LGBTQ+ kids like that still need (even in 2024). A film for anyone who ever had the courage to live authentically in a synthetic world created by hypocrites. In the past year since unleashing the film, life has imitated the art that I made to imitate and understand my life. Making movies is magic. Enjoy The People’s Joker. It saved me.
I used to make and host a web series called “Hot Topics with Vera Drew,” which is the only web series with the expressed purpose of getting Vera Drew sponsored by Hot Topic. It was all a ploy to get Hot Topic to sponsor me and fund the high school emo-girl phase that I never got to have since I was closeted as a teen. It was the entire premise of the series. Hot Topic never sponsored me (I am too edgy for them), but it was on that series that I first announced what Bri and I were doing and where I opened up the creative process to any artists, musicians, and filmmakers who wanted to help us realize our vision.
I didn’t expect that many people to respond to what I thought was a niche idea, but literally hundreds of people —many gay and/or trans— jumped at the chance to work on this film. Animators, illustrators, editors, a lot of lawyers—a small community of people, many of whom never had aspirations of film before, came together to make The People’s Joker. Our script was ambitious and, when we finished it, we had no idea how we were going to pull a lot of it off. As that community formed, necessity became the mother of invention, and I used my experience producing, editing, and VFX-ing low-budget comedy television to bring all of these artists’ disparate styles together into a vibrant and weird mixed-media aesthetic. I can’t tell you how cool it is to wake up to an email from someone asking, “How does our batmobile look? Does it look too much like a penis?” (my response, of course, being, “Make it look more like a penis”).
I had a vision for this film, but I knew I had to trust the talent and vision that everyone else was bringing to the film. It was always going to be my story on the screen—with my face in almost every single scene— so being surrounded by a community that felt both very creative and queer (finally!) for the first time in my life, it was easy to put my ego aside and relay the core idea of what I had in mind to my collaborators, and encourage them to run wild with it. The results were a very organic, go-with-the-flow-and-adapt creative process. The film’s mixed-media aesthetic and machine gun-paced joke delivery allowed us to employ a lot of different styles with our versions of ‘happy mistakes.’
When 3D animator James Moor made our first test render of Lorne Michaels’ death sequence, there was a glitch that ripped the texture off the 3D model’s body and made it look like his clothes were flying off in a wind tunnel. We decided to keep it in. When I asked AT Pratt to make our broken-down amusement park matte painting, what I got back was a huge piece of psychedelic art with an Escher-like perspective that I had no idea how we were going to ever use as a background. If this were a TV show I was working on and we received materials like this, someone would have sent the art back and said “It’s wrong—fix it” but, in our case, with the help of our extended team, we were able to make everything fit together.
When Trevor Drinkwater (who plays the Riddler) said that he wrote a whole backstory for his character about streaming wars and tech snobs, I decided to write it all into the script. In the film, we talk about the improv concept of “yes and.” My creative process on this film was Yes And-ing every absolutely bonkers and beautiful artistic choice pitched to me by our team. No first-time filmmaker has ever been so lucky. We shot the live-action portions of the film in five days at Tim and Eric’s office. Nobody ever believes that but it’s true. After that, the film took me another year and a half to finish.
If you had told me how hard it was going to be to finish this, I would have never done it. It turns out no amount of green screen removal experience can prepare a girl for what it is like to have every single shot of her debut feature be a visual effects shot. It was grueling and there were times when I questioned if we’d ever finish it. It was with the help of my producer, Joey Lyons, that I was ever able to manage such a large team of people and such a tight turnaround for our initial film festival deadlines. It was a labor of love made by a lot of people who love each other. It was all worth it.