A deliriously batshit mess of pop-art spectacle—spray paint, glitter, lipstick, neon, and blood, that’s not without some value— including a funhouse mirror third act of cartoonish, murderous pandemonium that’s quite entertaining if you surrender to the mayhem, Warner Bros.’ cheeky, unapologetically brassy “Birds Of Prey” is super overwrought and sometimes exasperating. But at the very least, there’s never a dull moment in the colorful chaos.
Heavily indebted to an adrenalized version of the mix and match, collage-y time structure of “Pulp Fiction”—which the movie feels like it leans on whenever possible—borrowing the smash-and-grab titles sequence ideas and incessant needle drops from “Suicide Squad,” while throwing in a little Joel Schumacher-era “Batman & Robin” absurdity and campy flair in for good measure, “Birds Of Prey” is hyper affected, and a little more than obnoxious in its first half. Somewhere along the way, it’s insane bananas energy—fairly tiresome and grating at first, starts to work. As it roller skates up the ramp to its bonkers climax, wall-to-wall soundtracked by a brassy bitch-pitched beat, “Birds Of Prey” starts to find a danceable rhythm. Or rather, your never made to feel very invested in the stories, or the characters (for the most part)—but you’re on this crazy, kaleidoscopic carnival ride and its ridiculous, over-the-top pageantry begins to entertain and win you over. But it’s a rough ride getting there.
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Driven by Harley Quinn’s (Margot Robbie), ADD-ish, expository, over-explainy, fourth wall-commenting-on-the-action, often interrupting, annoying narration, ‘Birds Of Prey’—obviously, in lieu of including Jared Leto as the Joker, opens with a slightly janky animated sequence basically retelling the entire Harley Quinn origin story, recalling the events of “Suicide Squad” and ending on a note of heartache. The Joker and Harley Quinn have broken up which means it is open season on the once-untouchable Maid of Mischief who made a lot of enemies in her day.
Aside from the “John Wick 3”-like story of everyone all of a sudden free to kill Harley Quinn, the thin plot—such as there is one to discern with all the interruptus rewinds, origin story flashback tangents, asides and live remixing of the story— is essentially about recovering a much-sought-after diamond that a young thief possesses (Cassandra Cain played by Ella Jay Basco) and the evil, sadistic crime lord that covets it (Ewan McGregor as Black Mask).
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Whether it’s a relentless Gotham City Police Detective (Rosie Perez as Renee Montoya), a vengeful assassin (Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Huntress), or a singer who’s found herself unwittingly working for the bad guys (Jurnee Smollett-Bell as Black Canary), all roads lead to the diamond, and eventually, protecting the teenage Cain from the vainglorious psychopath on her trail.
Reminiscent of “Deadpool“—much of the same wisecracking quips, smarmy attitude, and brutal AF hard-R violence—your tolerance for its relentless sass and vicious mien will vary. Shaped a lot like an irreverent, music video and the with brassy boss bitch energy, the stylistically bombastic movie—which even features a brief musical sequence, because f*ck it, might as well throw the whole kitchen sink in there—“Birds Of Prey” is often hyper-violent, sadistic, and bordering on something that feels like Tarantino-lite without enough of the chops to back it up. Where it at least differs from “Suicide Squad” despite many of the surface similarities of style, violence, and flippancy, is “Birds Of Prey” is more mischievous and never takes itself too seriously.
Directed by Cathy Yan (“Dead Pigs”), her style is big and bold and certainly comic book-outsized, but the movie is often just a little too maddening in its try everything and anything-at-all-times approach.
Depth eludes the film too. At some moments, and when it’s at its best and slows down for a second, “Birds Of Prey” appears as if it’ll take its “(And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)” subtitle to heart crafting story about freeing yourself from abusive relationships and the shackles of toxic men. Christina Hodson’s screenplay possesses some of that texture, but it’s ultimately too insubstantial and too obligated to its flamboyant riotousness, to ever have any meaningful impact.
Shot by cinematographer Matthew Libatique—who helps Yan pull off the unlikely feat of making the movie feel both gritty and glossy— some of the action early on, feels like it’s ripped out of the DC playbook of speed-ramping and contrived “badassness.” However, in the last act, when the trivial story is over and all there is to do is enjoy the set-pieces, “Birds Of Prey” finally starts to rip with some terrifically choreographed action sequences that begin to lift off the film’s spirit. These sequences, a little zany and manic in tone—a mix of Joel Schumacher ‘Batman’ films and the stunt orchestral bedlam of a “John Wick” movie—are nevertheless really enjoyable, even leading to a little section that feels nicked from the gothic pages of Tim Burton.
There are some worthwhile moments in the film to be sure, McGregor as the deliciously narcissistic Black Mask is amusing, as is his deranged serial killer sidekick/boy toy Victor Zsasz (Chris Messina). Likewise, Robbie is charming, Winstead is splendid as the humorless cutthroat, dispatching baddies and Smollett-Bell is a real standout that we need to see more of. But as a movie overall, it’s really choppy. Rarely does “Birds Of Prey” have much to offer beyond the actors, the action, and a few moments of levity that work. The soundtrack, on its own, for example, is killer, yet the soundtrack as sonic splatter unremittingly pumping into the speakers, however, is another story and indicative of its method and problems throughout.
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At its worst, “Birds Of Prey” is as loud, noisy and agitated as any other busy superhero movie, it’s just candy-coated and provocatively vulgar in a way that would make Ryan Reynolds proud. The opportunity to say something about female agency, liberation, and sisterhood squad goals is there, but it’s a shame it’s not as pronounced as some of the sillier, excessive elements.
As a comic book movie writ large, as an adaptation of an imaginative, gonzo, frenzied, devilish graphic novel not meant for kids, “Birds Of Prey” is arguably perfect as a blast of that kind of feverish dynamism. However, as a movie, “Birds Of Prey” can’t really break free from the cage of quirky insanity it is so content to nest in. [C]