Joker and Repeated Patterns: From Sweetness to Chaos.

There is a sweetness to Arthur at the beginning, almost unbearable in its fragility. His awkward laugh, his longing to make people smile, carry the innocence of someone who still wants to be loved. That naivety is heartbreaking — because children can’t recognise betrayal when it comes from a parent. Instead, they turn it inward, thinking “it must be me, I must be the problem.”

As the film unfolds, the betrayals multiply — from his mother, from society, from strangers on the subway. Again and again, Arthur absorbs the message: “I’m unworthy. I’m laughable. People will humiliate me, use me, discard me.”

And then we see the ways he copes:

• First by smiling through the pain, trying to keep the peace.

• Then by holding in his anger until it bursts out.

• Finally by collapsing into chaos, where the only way to release the pressure is to act out.

That chaos isn’t for its own sake. It’s the last refuge of a self that has been mocked and unseen too many times. Freud once said we repeat what hurt us, again and again, until we finally face it. Arthur’s life becomes one long repetition of betrayal, until he explodes.

It’s tempting to condemn that final descent. Yet to me, Joker isn’t a story about a monster. It’s about what happens when a tender, hopeful part of us is betrayed too many times — and when the inner critic and the outside world both make it feel impossible to be soft.

Therapy, in contrast, is about interrupting that cycle. It’s about creating a space where your sweetness isn’t mocked, where your anger isn’t condemned, and where the most vulnerable parts of you are finally met with understanding.