Joker: Folie à Deux flopped because making it a musical stripped away the grit and intensity that made the original a cultural hit.

The first Joker worked by being a grounded, raw exploration of Arthur Fleck’s descent into madness, captivating audiences with its psychological depth.

But Folie à Deux confused fans by introducing surreal musical sequences, clashing with the dark, grim tone that made the original so impactful. Instead of expanding on Fleck’s dark psyche, the film veered into flashy, out-of-place spectacle, alienating much of its core audience.

While Lady Gaga’s casting as Harley Quinn brought excitement, it couldn’t save a film so confused about its identity. The romantic subplot, paired with lavish musical numbers, undercut the psychological tension that had defined Joker.

Fans who were expecting another deep, character-driven narrative found themselves watching a movie unsure whether it was a musical, love story, or psychological thriller.

Adding insult to injury was the film’s massive $200 million budget, which created unrealistic financial expectations. Folie à Deux opened at a disappointing $50 million, well below the original Joker’s $96 million. The film needed strong legs to cover its costs, but its disjointed storytelling and alienated audience made that difficult.

The comparison to Cats is inescapable. Like Folie à Deux, Cats suffered from trying to impress with spectacle over substance, failing to resonate with audiences. Both films were expensive gambles, banking on visuals and star power to cover a lack of coherent, compelling narrative, and both missed the mark.

Folie à Deux lost sight of what made the first Joker resonate with audiences. It tried to be bigger and flashier but forgot that Joker succeeded by being dark, intimate, and unsettling. Instead of building on what worked, it sacrificed grit for spectacle—and the box office proved it.

Grotesquerie is an unsettling dive into the macabre, but it risks falling into the same over-the-top melodrama that has plagued some of Ryan Murphy’s past projects.

The series opens strong, with Niecy Nash-Betts playing Detective Lois Tryon, a hard-drinking cop investigating gruesome murders tied to religious symbols. Nash-Betts brings depth to Tryon, a character unraveling as she navigates her failing personal life and a case that seems to grow darker by the day.

Sister Megan, played by Micaela Diamond, adds an unusual energy as a nun obsessed with true crime. Her partnership with Tryon avoids feeling like the typical detective pairing, adding tension and intrigue.

Together, they navigate a world filled with grotesque crime scenes and questionable morality, with each murder more shocking than the last.

Murphy builds atmosphere well, using grim visuals and eerie soundscapes to keep the tension high. The show doesn’t shy away from disturbing images, pushing viewers into a brutal world that’s both fascinating and horrifying.

It’s here that Grotesquerie excels, keeping its audience on edge through suspense rather than cheap scares.

However, there are already signs that Grotesquerie could suffer from the same flaws that have hurt other Murphy shows.

The intense focus on shocking visuals risks overshadowing the story, and some critics have expressed concern that the series might descend into melodrama as it progresses. The balance between character-driven drama and horror could easily tip too far, leading to narrative chaos.

For now, Grotesquerie intrigues with its strong performances and eerie world-building.

But if it falls into the same traps as Murphy’s previous work, this promising start will be nothing more than a stylish descent into madness.

Killer Heat arrives on the scene like a detective noir desperately trying to pretend it’s still 1940.

It’s got all the ingredients: a booze-soaked PI with personal demons, a femme fatale you can’t trust, and a murder mystery that reeks of cover-up.

But this film is about as hot as a damp washcloth.

Directed by Philippe Lacôte and based on Jo Nesbø’s short story The Jealousy Man, Killer Heat offers nothing new under the sun—whether that sun is shining down on Crete or burning away any sense of intrigue this film hoped to muster.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt tries his best to channel the disheveled, morally ambiguous private eye Nick Bali, but you can practically hear his inner monologue cashing the paycheck. You know things are bad when the most thrilling part of your noir thriller is realizing you’ve seen the twist coming since the opening credits.

Shailene Woodley, bless her, plays Penelope Vardakis with all the subtlety of someone reading a Greek myth off a cue card. The whole “jealousy between brothers” schtick is delivered with such leaden seriousness that you almost expect to see “Icarus” scrawled on someone’s forehead. And yet, even with a classic love triangle and a suspicious climbing accident, the stakes in Killer Heat feel about as high as a midweek matinee.

Let’s not forget Richard Madden playing twins—because who doesn’t love a tired dual-role gimmick? Unfortunately, the only thing distinguishable between the brothers is that one of them dies, and even that fails to stir much drama. Madden is capable, but here, he’s stuck in a narrative so predictable it makes Scooby-Doo look like Agatha Christie.

The pacing? Glacial. The tension? Nonexistent. You can practically feel the actors waiting for something interesting to happen, while the audience checks their watches wondering if they’ve accidentally tuned into a travel documentary on Greece.

Sure, the scenery is beautiful, but when your mystery’s primary twist can be spotted from a mile away—on foot, not even free-climbing—no amount of sun-drenched cliffs will save you.

To call Killer Heat a slow burn would be to suggest there’s any burn at all. If you’re looking for actual heat, I suggest you turn on the stove.