It’s become rare for movies released by major studios to spark heated debate, but director-co-writer Todd Phillips’ Joker, a wild riff on the iconic Batman villain, has done exactly that. By placing the psychotic clown character at the center of a narrative, Phillips has invited criticism for glorifying violence, misrepresenting mental illness, pandering to so-called incel culture, and, to paraphrase The Rolling Stones, sympathizing with the devil. All of those accusations are valid, and yet all of those accusations are also bogus.

Whereas some films court controversy by aligning with a particular sociopolitical viewpoint, Phillips simply puts a whole lot of ugliness onscreen and lets viewers sort out their own reactions.

Borrowing bits and pieces from the many versions of Joker’s origin that have appeared in DC Comics since the character’s first appearance in 1940, Phillips and co-writer Scott Silver also integrate original concepts plus influences from edgy movies of the ’70s and ’80s. (The most direct homages relate to 1982’s The King of Comedy, a dark satire directed by Martin Scorsese.) The reason it’s worth dwelling on all the sources that feed Joker is to demonstrate that sometimes the art of adaptation involves using existing intellectual property as a mechanism for fusing ideas that might otherwise seem unrelated.

It’s nearly impossible to imagine that Phillips and Silver would have made as big a splash by generating a purely original film with similar subject matter, and it’s not just because the title character has wide brand awareness. It is because world audiences have engaged with this particular character so many times that he has become symbolic of certain powerful themes. Leaning on this symbolism allowed Phillips and Silver to join a public conversation already in progress rather than initiating a brand-new conversation. This method has advantages.

Tears of a clown

Structured like a character study, Joker introduces viewers to fortysomething Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix), a wannabe comedian who makes a living as a clown. Although Arthur commits wholeheartedly to performances while dancing and singing in his colorful work costume, he is ill-suited for the career he desires. Not only is Arthur so painfully awkward that he can’t read or send social cues, but a neurological condition causes him to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate times. Instead of coming across as funny, he strikes most people as creepy.

Arthur’s home life is just as grim. He shares a dingy apartment with his delusional mother, Penny (Frances Conroy). She’s fixated on her onetime employer, billionaire Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen), to whom she writes letter after unanswered letter asking for financial assistance. Arthur and Penny are always one setback away from desperation, so of course Phillips and Silver pile on disappointments, humiliations and twists of fate to send Arthur and Penny downhill fast.

This aspect of Joker has sparked much of the controversy surrounding the movie, with critics arguing that Phillips wants audiences to empathize with a character who eventually becomes a mass murderer. And here’s where things get tricky: As writers, Phillips and Silver had to get inside Arthur’s mind in order to tell his story. That process is inherently empathetic. Yet there’s a difference between understanding a character and celebrating a character.

Plainly, Phillips and Silver endeavored to provide a comprehensible psychological framework explaining Arthur’s transformation from troubled loner to violent criminal. Since violent criminals are a social problem in real life, it follows that society benefits from analyzing the origins of violent criminals the same way society benefits from the analysis of other social problems. Art is always helpful to this process, because art frequently reveals aspects of social problems that cold facts cannot. By that measure, Joker can be said to serve a social purpose.

The complicating factor, however, is a questionable subplot that develops more and more importance as Joker progresses. In Arthur’s city, disenfranchised residents mount demonstrations against rich people, whom they blame for social inequities. Events cause Arthur to become a revered figure among these demonstrators. It is equally possible to read this subplot in two different but closely related ways: A) a parable about the danger of following unworthy leaders, or B) a warning that public emotion is easily manipulated.

The useful consideration for writers is this: When wading into controversial waters, give serious thought to how deep you wish to go. The further you travel from the safety of innocuous subject matter, the higher the risk you face of your story becoming submerged in debates you might never have anticipated.

Takeaway: Telling stories that address the darkest aspects of society carries unpredictable risks.

To the manor born

Nearly every telling of the Batman story in movies and television presents the future Batman’s father, Thomas Wayne, as a saint who imbues his young son with noble ideas of compassion and fairness and service. Joker veers in the opposite direction, tapping into contemporary rage against the one percent by portraying Batman’s dad as an arrogant jerk. The Thomas we meet in Joker is an obnoxious mayoral candidate who denigrates poor people and revels in his wealth.

During one of Joker’s most vivid scenes, Arthur, who has already committed his first murders but still seems as if he might be redeemable, confronts Thomas by asking why Penny’s letters have not been answered. Thomas’s response is to laugh at Arthur and then punch the younger man in the face once he learns that Arthur visited Wayne Manor and frightened Thomas’ young son. A father’s instinct to defend his child is understandable, but using violence to solve a problem doesn’t align with the virtuous Thomas Wayne we’ve seen portrayed in movies and TV shows so many times before.

From a screenwriting perspective, two nuances here are worth considering. First, Phillips and Silver deviated from the usual portrayal of Thomas Wayne in order to amplify their theme of economic unrest. Since Joker is seen through Arthur’s eyes, anyone with money is an enemy because Arthur believes that the ruling class is to blame for his sad state of affairs. Second, the creative take on Thomas Wayne demonstrates that when adapting material, writers need not be slavish to what has come before. In fact, significant deviations from tradition often result in the most interesting takes on previously adapted stories.

Takeaway: Don’t be afraid of taking big swings when writing about familiar characters.

Shadow of the bat

As noted earlier, the future Batman makes a few brief appearances in Joker, but the storyline ends well before Bruce Wayne becomes a vigilante. Yet Batman casts a big shadow over Joker because we’re accustomed to seeing the Joker character alongside his arch-nemesis. It’s hard to imagine many people watching this movie without understanding that Joker is part of a larger story. Accordingly, the useful lesson for screenwriters involves implied context.

It is not always necessary to explicitly state how your story connects to other aspects of history, narrative or society. Allusions can be just as powerful. Watching Joker, most viewers are aware that the title character eventually falls into a lifelong duel with a formidable adversary. Some viewers might even play the game of asking whether the Joker in this movie could somehow have become the menacing figure portrayed by Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight (2008). But no matter how viewers process this aspect of Joker, the notion is the same: We all bring a frame of reference that adds drama to the experience of watching Joker because we know what happens after this story ends.

Consider the broader applications of this concept. Imagine writing a story about New York City on Sept. 12, 2001 — it might not be necessary to depict the horrifying events of the preceding day. Or imagine writing a story about America on Nov. 7, 2016 — everything shown on that day would be viewed through the prism of the presidential election that happened the next day. Taking the concept even broader, a story about one individual losing a home could be a potent way of dramatizing the 2007-2008 financial crisis. Yet another possibility involves telling a story about a sidekick during which the usual protagonist is absent — for instance, a story focusing on Dr. John Watson instead of his famous friend Sherlock Holmes.

It’s important not to overlook this exciting narrative consideration during all the chatter about Joker controversies. Think of all the supporting characters in fiction who might benefit from exploration as leading characters. Think of all the other villains whose psychology is worth investigating. Think of all the ways to find untold tales buried within stories that seems as if they’ve been told so many times they can never feel fresh again. In all of these examples, implied context provides the potential for fascinating new narrative frameworks.

Takeaway: Suggesting the larger implications of a story can sometimes be as powerful as explicitly stating those implications.