By now there are a thousand different takes on Joker  — I’ve read dozens, capping it off with “A Lacanian Reading of Joker,” which seemed like a good time to quit. Such a wealth of varied responses indicate that this film is the Rorschach test of our day. But that’s a good thing. That means, love it or hate it, we have an interesting and relevant film on our hands for once that compels people to head to the theater, see it, and offer a public reaction.

What I haven’t seen discussed yet is Joker’s heavy emphasis on its chosen narrative genre, which, for most of the film’s running time, isn’t “comic book movie” at all but melodrama. Joker, born Arthur Fleck, is an endlessly abused victim of cruel familial and societal tyrannies whose suffering is finally recognized by the community that, in the end, celebrates him. This is a model melodramatic plot that would’ve been familiar to audiences as far back as silent cinema. Here, it’s made bleakly ironic because of the chaotic, violent means of its hero achieving recognition in the end. Fleck becomes Joker by refusing to play the part of melodrama’s innocent victim, who almost always upholds society’s professed values and is egregiously punished for it. It’s a good move on Fleck’s part, since the innocent victim often dies and is wept over by people who only learn to appreciate them posthumously.

In Joker, the title character repeatedly wonders what kind of story he’s caught in. The film opens with Arthur Fleck, in full clown makeup, using his fingers to push the corners of his mouth up to resemble the comedy mask and down to resemble the tragedy mask. Later, he says, at a crucial turning point of violence that changes him from Arthur to Joker, “I thought my life was a tragedy. But now I know it’s a comedy.”