The People’s Joker Writers on Turning Batman Into Trans Allegory

Courtesy of Altered Innocence

Vera Drew and co-writer Bri LeRose’s The People’s Joker is a brash, brazen, and incendiary entry in the queer cinematic landscape. Often oversimplified as a Batman parody, the film is in fact a refreshingly delirious work of autobiographical art, taking its creator’s life and disassembling it through the pop cultural artifacts that mean the most to her, and through which she has made meaning of herself.

“I really needed to mythologize my life to fully pick it apart,” Drew tells Them. “What felt both good and bad about coming out as trans, both in my comedy scene, and with my family, and the partner I was seeing at that time — I just needed to process all that.”

The movie is at once a pastiche of the comic book genre, a critique of the alt-comedy world, and a showcase for the dozens of artists who worked on the colorful visuals. It’s a wildly impressive collage of genres and techniques, but the hodgepodge nature of the film’s construction holds deeper meaning, serving as a personal treatise on how our own identities are made through the art that surrounds us. Drew and LeRose manage to imbue their film with a cunning pathos that works in tandem with its plasticine, unhinged, and off-the-walls look.

As The People’s Joker screens in limited theaters throughout the country, Drew and LeRose spoke with Them over Zoom about queer villainy, returning to performance, and getting Joker-pilled.

Congratulations on the film. It’s really wonderful. Especially as people who are probably used to being behind the scenes as editors and producers, what has it been like to steward this film, which is about the presentation of the self and the negotiation of identity?

Vera Drew: Wow, it’s a big first question. I love it. I wanted to make this movie because I wanted to understand my life a little bit more. I really needed to mythologize my life to fully pick it apart. What felt both good and bad about coming out as trans, both in my comedy scene, and with my family, and the partner I was seeing at that time — I just needed to process all that.

There are plot beats in the movie that have played out in real life. There’s a scene in the movie where Penguin, played by Nate Faustyn, is talking to Joker and calling her on her bullshit and her inauthenticity, like, “You’re working for the bad guys. What are you doing?” Penguin is based on Nate Faustyn, and the relationship and friendship that I have with him. We had that conversation shortly after TIFF because I needed to be called on some bullshit. The movie continues to be a reflection; it really was a giant chaos magic ritual. Reality has often bent around it or reflected it.

Bri LeRose: We both came out a little bit later, in our late 20s. I remember at that time, feeling like I was too old to come out, like this is for teenagers: “You’re 29. Grow up. You’re just coming out now? This is so embarrassing.” I sort of felt like an imposter in the queer community. To be able to, as Vera said, process a lot of that through the writing of this movie, and then see it received, affirmed, validated, and welcomed with open arms — it’s been beautiful to see people respond to it and relate to it.

Vera, I believe you’ve done stand-up comedy for a lot of your career. What was it like to return to performing?

V.D.: That was one of the many things about this movie that made it feel at times impossible to make, just because I was wearing many hats while I was making it. I have always been a multi-hyphenate, which I say with a lot of embarrassment. I think being multi-hyphenated is the most embarrassing thing you could be next to somebody who’s obsessed with Batman. I really wanted this movie to be like, “Hey, look at what I’ve learned and look at what I could do.” This movie was actually my return to performing. I hadn’t performed comedy, or really acted in maybe seven or eight years.

I started doing comedy when I was 13. When I moved to LA in 2012, I had already been doing comedy for a very long time. I got to explore my queerness when I was doing stand-up, which I only ever did in drag — and that was when I was a quote-unquote “straight man.” It was this outlet for me to explore identity. But it also quickly became a toxic place for me of self-deprecation and high-concept self harm. I walked away from performing very consciously knowing, “I think I am queer. And I think I’ve been using this as a safety net for me. And it’s time to start being queer outside in my life, not just in this fantasy world.”

But acting was my favorite part. I want to remain behind the camera, too. Acting out my life in that way was so beautiful.

How did you create the comedy scene within Gotham City, which is meant to be analogous to real comedy scenes in New York and L.A.? And how closely did it mirror your own style of comedy?

B.L.: We’ve talked a lot, especially more recently, about how bitter we both were when we were writing the comedy pieces of the movie. I don’t think either of us feel as personally wronged by comedy as we did in those early days. I’m coming from comedy rooms and stand-up also. It was a lot of being in places where you weren’t really wanted, or seen or respected or listened to. We’re both from the Midwest and we moved out to L.A. to doggedly pursue [comedy] and force our feet in the door and find our own connections, pound the pavement. And you think once you do that, you get to stop doing that.

What both of us found is that you never stop pounding the door down. Even when someone lets you in one time, you’re going to have to do that on every new job. So we caught each other at the places in our careers where I think we were both tired of doing that — just really, really, really tired of having to convince someone to listen to you before you even get to say the things that are on your mind, the things that you think are funny, the things that you think are important.

V.D.: It was my breaking point realizing that I’m never going to get permission to tell my story. That came from the experience of constantly having to carve out my own niches in the comedy world. Bri and I met at Abso Lutely Productions, which is Tim [Heidecker] and Eric [Wareheim]’s production company. We met at the lunch table because we made each other laugh and then realized we wanted to work together when the ideas for this project started taking shape. We both have worked on really fucking cool iconic shows like Arrested Development, Check It Out! with Dr. Steve Brule, and Nathan for You. We’re both like alt-comedy Forrest Gump being in these genius environments.

But I’ve always had to carve out my own space. I was in [the Upright Citizens Brigade] up until level three, and I had a teacher take me aside and go, “Look, you’re really funny. You’re one of the best improvisers I’ve ever seen. And you are not a UCB improviser. So you can keep coming here if you want, but I think it’s probably a waste of your money.” And I was like, “Thank God, thank you for saying that.” Because that’s what I was feeling.

The movie is very New Queer Cinema, very much responding to a culture of fear and oppression by turning that into art. How else do you express that existential angst and anxiety in your creative endeavors?

V.D.: I’ve always loved queer villains and queer-coded villains. We live in a world – [facetiously] we live in a society – where trans people and queer people are villainized, so why can’t there be big colorful movies about that? That really explicitly leans into that [notion], like, “OK, you want me to be a villain? Here, I’ll be a villain for you.”

But that’s what I’m navigating now. Even when we were trying to release this movie, we’d get these bigger distributors who were interested but they were clearly wrong for this project. It [was important to] stay true to the messages of this movie that is very anti-capitalist, very anti-exploitation, very pro-labor, pro-sex work, and pro-queer. And thankfully I found that in Altered Innocence, our distribution partner. Their entire catalog is incredible.

As you’re mythologizing your own past, how do you still manage to keep things close to you? How do you maintain certain things to keep them private and personal, especially as you’re going on this press tour?

V.D.: I can’t really. It’s really intense. I’m not complaining. I’m so glad that this many people want to see it. I wasn’t ever anticipating this level of exposure on something that I’d make, let alone something that’s personal. We live in an age where nobody has privacy anymore. There’s a part of me that feels good about having these kinds of conversations, because I can clarify and set the record straight about things. It’s nice to no longer have the option to really be in any closet. When people see this movie, they know exactly what art I want to make.

B.L. It feels vulnerable to share this movie — obviously, way less vulnerable for me. Shout out, Vera, for taking most of the heat on that one. Talking about it also feels vulnerable to the 15-year-old me. It doesn’t feel vulnerable to me, 34, sitting here. Now it feels like, “Oh my God, I’m a teenager again.” But it’s very healing to be able to do that from a place of maturity and growth and collaboration and support — and to be able to put that out and then not be carrying around these old wounds so much anymore. I feel more grown-up now than I did when we started.

V.D.: I’m so thankful for that level of specificity and how brave we stupidly were. There were so many points last year where I would turn to my girlfriend, Lydia, and I’d be like, “I can’t believe I did this. I lost a part of me or something by revealing this much.” But really, I didn’t; I just introduced myself to the world a little bit. I will say the next thing I’m hopefully making will be personal, but a little bit less specific. Just to protect myself.

Vera Drew recruits a legion of artists and alt-comedy icons to deliver a truly unusual comedy.

Last question: What is your most recent Joker origin story?

V.D.: Oh, wow.

B.L. Oh, I actually have one at the tip of my mind. I don’t have a car in Los Angeles. So I am a pedestrian in my neighborhood. The way that people whip through the intersections every time I leave my house, as if they’re gonna mow me down, makes me feel insane. I’ve taken to shaming motorists in Los Angeles. I’m like Grandpa Joker: “Young lady, how dare you? Did you see someone crossing the street?” I’m in full pedestrian Joker mode these days.

V.D.: I made most of this movie in my pajamas. I’ve totally stopped caring about passing and passability as a trans woman. I’m dressed pretty conservative today, but it’s just because I’ve got some on-camera stuff later. But I’ve dressed pretty clowny in the last couple years, and I don’t really see that changing anytime soon. I’m just very much in this space of, “Yeah, how I look has no effect on you. But I’m going to force you to look at me and that is how I’m going to embody chaos today.”

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

The People’s Joker is in theaters now.

Get the best of what’s queer. Sign up for Them’s weekly newsletter here.

Originally Appeared on them.