![]() ![]() ![]() Her unlikely future allies in blockbuster intersectional feminism include Renee Montoya (Rosie Perez), a disgruntled Gotham cop who’s hot on her trail, and Helena Bertinelli, a.k.a. Harley introduces all the relevant parties with a playfully scatterbrained voice-over, merrily hopscotching across time frames and tying together a convoluted story that has neither the desire nor the need to cohere. Because she’s a lousy planner and doesn’t really like other people, this happens largely by accident, and occupies most of the movie’s swift 109-minute running time. Consciously uncoupling yourself from an abusive psychopath might sound like a healthy life decision on paper, but the opposite may be true for Harley: Absent the protection of her beloved “Mister J,” she finds herself at the mercy of every two-bit thug she ever crossed, maimed or injured, of whom there are almost too many to count.Īnd so, with her blond pigtails cut short but her roller skates and Louisville Slugger still at the ready, Harley Quinn does what any star of her own standalone brand-extension exercise would do: She gets herself a posse, a dream team, a league of her own. At the beginning of “Birds of Prey,” in a blur of bright-colored animation and fast-chattering voice-over, we learn that the former “king and queen of Gotham City” have abruptly called it quits cue shots of Harley slurping cheese out of a can and commiserating with her newly acquired pet hyena (named Bruce, as in Wayne). These differences - the careful separation of themes, tones and styles - seem both deliberate and a little refreshing. Light on psychology and devoid of prestige, it’s a slab of R-rated hard candy that refuses to take anything, least of all itself, too seriously. “Birds of Prey,” directed by Cathy Yan from a screenplay by Christina Hodson, is an impudent blast of comic energy. “Joker,” indebted to the sweatily atmospheric New York crime pictures of Martin Scorsese, is a bleak and brooding character study, thick with doomy portent and disturbing psychological undercurrents. ![]() Whether we will ever see Robbie and Phoenix team up for a Harley-Joker reunion is unclear, though personally I hope not it is hard to imagine their characters occupying the same Gotham City, let alone the same movie. You might say that the whole movie - a fast, cheap and carefully controlled distraction from the bigger, heavier goings-on at the DC Comics blockbuster factory - has successfully emancipated itself from the dead weight of Leto’s Joker, a cinematic non-starter that was recently eclipsed by Joaquin Phoenix’s superior, soon-to-be-Oscar-winning upgrade. Mercifully, the Joker is nowhere to be seen in “Birds of Prey,” a sleek, diverting, hyper-violent new caper that arrives bearing the cheeky subtitle “(and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn).” She isn’t the only one who’s been emancipated. Clearly, not even the most irrational mind would want to go home with this joyless, juiceless excuse for a super-villain. It’s an unusually strained moment, and surely no fault of Robbie, a versatile actress with a Cheshire cat’s grin who was always a good match for Harley’s brand of lunacy. “Puddin’!” she squealed at the sight of her green-haired paramour, though if you watch that scene again, you may find her delight more forced than persuasive. The last time we saw Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), in the very last scene of “Suicide Squad,” she was happily reading a book and sipping an espresso behind bars, only to find herself suddenly freed by her boyfriend, the Joker (Jared Leto). ![]()
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