With the Joker movie coming out, some worry that the origin story will only further the radicalization of some viewers.

Joker, scheduled for release on October 4, is already plagued with controversy. Initial screenings had reviewers concerned about the movie’s potential to “inspire” terrorists — such as “incels” and other white supremacy groups — and these fears have not been assuaged.

The FBI and the US Military have issued warnings about potential shootings in theaters during premiere dates. The victims of the Aurora shooting are protesting the film, and more and more people seem to be choosing not to go to the movies next weekend out of fear.

Joaquin Phoenix, who plays the Joker in the upcoming movie, was so upset at the idea of terrorists drawing inspiration from his movie that he walked out on the interviewer who asked a question about it… later citing that the idea “genuinely hadn’t crossed his mind before.”

Director Todd Philips, meanwhile, disagrees entirely with the idea, pointing to John Wick: “He’s a white male who kills 300 people and everybody’s laughing and hooting and hollering. Why does [Joker] get held to different standards?”

All in all, the storm of controversies surrounding Joker has proved bigger than anyone could have predicted. While many movie reviewers have brought up issues with sympathetic depictions of entitled, lonely male villains — such as Kylo Ren — the wider discussion in Hollywood has never been so focused on its dangerous undertones of violence and toxic masculinity (in its many forms).

(Although we did have some conversations about The Punisher here on Hypable: we covered why some of us weren’t happy about it, and what it could teach us about responsible viewership.)

With Joker, all these issues seem to have come to a head. And it raises the question: Are villain origin stories good for us as a society?

Complex villains help us understand real people

There’s a reason good writers try to stay away from generic, one-dimensional villains: They’re boring, and they aren’t scary. The scariest villains are the ones we understand, even if we hate them or fear them. We understand why they do what they do, and can empathize with at least some part of who they are, so we feel a more complicated set of emotions.

Drawing from the MCU (sorry for doing that in a DC-related article!): We felt pain on Kilmonger’s behalf for the injustice he suffered, even though we were certain his actions were wrong; we also understood Thanos’ motivation for the Snap, even though we entirely disagreed with it. Even more powerful is the thought that maybe, had we gone through the same experiences in our lives, we, too, would have become like them. These villains make us think about who we are, and make the heroes’ choices all the more interesting… so when we walked out of the theater, we felt like we’d learned something.

Complexity is also more realistic. When The Force Awakens came out, we were all stunned by how different and how interesting Kylo Ren was from Darth Vader. Yes, he’s winy and entitled and violent… but the reality is many of the villains in real life are like that.

We empathize with Rey and feel invested in Han’s journey to redeem his son. We want Ben Solo to be redeemed because we can see the potential in him. And that potential gives us hope.

Do we want to understand villains?

Humanizing villains does have a dangerous history. When reporting on crimes, journalists will often focus on the suspect’s origins, feelings and achievements, rather than on the victims’ lives. This effect is particularly common in shootings, where article after article about the shooter creates a kind of morbid “celebration,” which in turn inspires copycats.

If the news thinks villains are more interesting than anyone else, then why should we think any different? And why should an impressionable boy feel any different?

Compassion has its place — but it’s not always helpful. With the shooting and white supremacy epidemic spreading, and few ways to keep it contained, we have to avoid glorifying violent men or unintentionally encouraging their behaviors.

The Joker has always been a fascinating villain because of his unhinged violence, which is what makes him such an excellent adversary for Batman. He’s so idolized that many have even romanticized his relationship with Harley Quinn — including DC itself, as seen in the regrettable Suicide Squad — even though the original story depicts it as horribly abusive, more a warning than “couple goals.” The adoration for the couple normalizes domestic abuse, and a film or series that doesn’t explore the toxicity of their relationship is doing far more harm than good, keeping the victims quiet and legitimizing cruel behavior.

For the same reason, many Star Wars fans fear what The Rise of Skywalker holds in store for Kylo Ren. They question the need for a redemption arc (which seems to be where the story is going). How can a character who has killed so many people not pay for his crimes? Why should Kylo Ren be celebrated more than Rey, Finn or Poe? Redemption should never be easy for someone who’s so far gone… and it feels like movies, especially genre films, often don’t even try to capture that complexity.

Where do we draw the line?

So, what should we do? Boycott Joker, a film that is very well made, is the product of the amazing work of many Hollywood professionals, and probably doesn’t intend to lend any real credibility to the main character’s values?

Or should we go see Joker, and sustain that fiction is fiction and reality is reality, and the two never influence each other?

The truth is that there’s no way to predict when a terrorist will act in the name of white supremacy. Even the Aurora shooting took place during a screening of Dark Knight Rises, which didn’t give Bane (its main villain) nearly as much screen time as other movies have. Should we really live in fear of movies when we have no way of knowing the meaning they could have for potential shooters?

Is it worth it to sacrifice good storytelling with compelling characters that push boundaries, all in the name of fear? Maybe it’s good to exercise the muscle of compassion for the most difficult fictional characters because it might make us more likely to reach out to the real difficult people and steer them away from radicalization. Maybe it’s more dangerous to not tell their stories.

But then again, you can’t underestimate the gravity of the situation we’re in as a society.

These are difficult questions with many complicated answers. And I don’t know if I’ll go watch Joker in theaters. Actually, I probably won’t; I am afraid of going to the movies and being exposed to that one-in-a-million chance of being shot. But then again, maybe that’s exactly what the real villains of the world want from us: our fear.