Birds of Prey is a film guided by the pleasure principle: the plentiful use of the word fuck, a smattering of colors like glittery teal and cotton-candy pink, and often, a healthy appreciation of food. One of the best sequences involves Harley simply trying to eat a beloved egg sandwich from a local shop. As her hair gently rustles from some unseen fan, her gaze melts into one of unquenched desire, lips parting in anticipation. Before she can take her first bite of the sunny-side-up egg, perfectly buttered toast, and American cheese with just a dash of hot sauce, Detective Renee Montoya (Rosie Perez) decides to chase Harley through the crowded outdoor shops of Gotham. Harley is momentarily distracted by a rainbow-sequined fanny pack, her face melting into awe, until she sees how close Renee is to catching her. Just when she thinks she’s safe — reassuring her egg sandwich, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this” — Renee tackles her, sending her meal flying in the air, landing onto the asphalt in a sloppy heap. Robbie mines this moment for humor, leaning into the character’s natural sense of exaggeration. She crooks her jaw dramatically to the left and cries out, “No!” Her body slams against the asphalt, reaching toward the lost sandwich, looking directly at the camera as her eyes brim with tears. On its face, this moment is hilarious. But it also speaks to Harley’s dedication to the pleasures in life, above all else. The superhero genre is often wildly disconnected from the simple joys of being human. So to witness a female character like Harley eating with abandon and treasuring her desires rather than dampening them feels electrifying. Her unruliness is a potent antithesis to the glossy, never a hair out of place, shallow renditions of female characters in comic-book films.
Much of the scintillating excess of Birds of Prey is thanks to the costuming by Erin Benach. Harley dons a clear jacket with sleeves made of caution tape and confetti, gold leather overalls with a hot-pink crop top underneath, a floor-length coat dripping in silver sequins. Robbie transforms in these costumes, matching their vibrancy and boldness with a sharp-edged physicality that shows little regard for the world around her, constantly wreaking havoc wherever she goes. And the costuming is more than just aesthetically dazzling — it wrests the character from the male gaze that defined her in 2016’s Suicide Squad. In that film, she wore skimpy, sequined hot pants with a thin shirt displaying her torso. The clothing in Birds of Prey doesn’t shy away from showing skin, but rather than objectify, it reflects Harley’s audaciousness. For this reason, it isn’t surprising that a small but vocal contingent of men on Twitter grumbled about the lack of sex appeal in the movie.
Comic-book films and other would-be blockbusters are becoming more diverse by degrees, offering a wider array of female characters. But with this has come a frustratingly hollow, corporate-minded feminism that deems a moment like the “Just a Girl” needle drop in Captain Marvel as progress rather than the cynical ploy it actually is. Yan and Hodson bypass this by interweaving moments and gestures that call attention to the prosaic, misogynistic encounters women face in a way that provides a trenchant framework for Harley’s unruliness.
In a pivotal scene midway through the film, Harley is severely drunk outside of Black Mask’s club with a man who coos in her ear and ignores her pleas to go home. Her body is supine in his grasp, barely able to stand up on her own. He drags her to a van, intending to assault her. But before he can, the singer and future superhero Black Canary (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) saves Harley, effortlessly kicking and subduing the men who planned to harm her. What’s crucial about this scene is that Black Canary and Harley aren’t allies yet. (Actually, far from it — Black Canary finds Harley absolutely annoying.) The moment speaks to the camaraderie among women who must protect each other against the larger forces that shape their lives. The film takes a sidelong glance at the idea that the very quality that makes Harley so electrifying to watch also makes her an annoyance and target in a patriarchal society that wants to destroy that spirit.
The world doesn’t quite know what to do with women’s passions. It’s easy for the vigorous to be seen as the excessive, the passionate to be beaten down. Birds of Prey is in essence a fantasy that offers a different, brighter outlook for women who choose not to play by the rules.