Birds of Prey

Céline Sciamma began with a trio of films about adolescents navigating through various phases of puberty, learning all on their own how to find their own identities (and genders). Among these films are some of the finest performances from non-professional actors I’ve ever seen.

     Yet without detracting from the quality of Water Lillies (2007, Sciamma), Tomboy (2011, Sciamma), and Girlhood (2014, Sciamma), after seeing Sciamma’s latest release, they resemble something like a sound check in preparation of what follows.

     Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019, Sciamma) is a period chamber piece romantic drama that sublimely invokes the very essence of our individual responses to art through its many forms—specifically from the perspective of woman, as both subject and agent of the feminine gaze.

     The best thing about Portrait of a Lady on Fire is that it made me see through the point of view of someone else—the other—and adapt my perception to theirs. And what makes Portrait of a Lady on Fire so thoroughly feminine is its gentleness. But also, formally speaking, the bonfire set piece is the core of the film; and what’s so transcendent is the way it becomes the language of cinema. Images say things without words. The women’s choir expresses emotions we share with the characters on screen. That sequence is art. It’s isolated from all around it narratively. It explains everything.

     Another motif that resonates profoundly is the repetition of images. The recurring portrait is continuously abandoned, modified, reconsidered, resurrected, destroyed, and yet again repeated. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is both artistic and speaks of the subject of art, expansively, reflexively, and conclusively.

     I cannot say enough about how much I enjoyed this movie. There’s so much to take from it. And some stuff I’m still wondering about. Like, there’s a scene where a housemaid gets an abortion and an infant frolics innocently and helplessly beside her face as it’s happening. Easily one of the coolest movies set during the eighteenth century since Barry Lyndon (1975, Stanley Kubrick) and Marie Antoinette (2006, Sofia Coppola).

Mission: Shogun Bagworks

Like most people, I think the best kind of robot is the kind whose chest opens up so it can shoot missiles or energy beams at its enemies.

(Shogun Warrior Dangard Ace deploying that chest-based what-for.)

Also, like most people, I have long said "But there could never be a backpack that reminds me of the best kind of robot".

(And lo comes Mission Workshop to prove me unimaginably, and consequentially, incorrect. Gaze upon the Mission Rhake, with its chest gawping and its payload imaginable. Image from Zdnet.)

So that's 400 wing-wangs I'm gonna have to spend, I guess. And that's a big pile of yua!

What's weird is that I can't quite tell at this late remove how / why I knew / know that Shogun Warrior Dangard Ace can open its chest to shoot missile laser things and that that's an incredibly cool and important thing to do. It took me metric forever to find an image of the chest-blasting fromthe only issue I had (issue 9), and that image is one tiny panel of two missiles launching that, spoiler: the big monster shrugs off like nothing. So why did I then spend a couple years drawing giant robots (that I was careful to identify as "ancient"), most of which had opening chest plates that revealed neat weapons?

The world may never know.

(I mean, it's not like I saw this rad attack, cropped from here. Anyway, this slightly radder attack.)

Side note one: man, the comics I grew up on sure were turbo-ruined by bad coloring printed cheaply on awful paper. Check out this great Herb Trimpe art and believe me when I tell you the color version of this that I had looked substantially less good than this. That monster design is exceedingly odd, though, with teeth and tongue coming out of what appears to be eyelids...and the whole thing breathes fire?, and it's extremely pleasing in its oddness. Also pleasing is that I could not explain why its name is "Starchild" with powerful telescopes and substantial computing power at my disposal. Also I very much appreciate the least unsuccessful giant robot attack being a head-first tackle that causes the monster to "whump".

Side note two: one of the pitfalls of buying your comics off a spinner rack is that you might only have one issue of a book, and that issue might mostly focus on a character that ... turns out not to be a good one. The issue you pluck might well in fact focus on a character that somebody could even say ... "sucked". (The summary of his career is not the most exciting read.)

(Man, that is some action of the old type. I actually still really like this way of telling a story.)

And yet something about this stuff still makes me happy. And I don't think it's exclusively nostalgia. The Trimpe art is fun, and there's some energy and weirdness to the giant-robots-fighting-monsters genre that translates pretty well to the comic format. I don't know if it's enough to get me to join the backpack brigade, but it's at the very least the closest I've come for a long time now.

—Fat, ever ready to drive a giant robot (as long as it's not a stick)

Fun

Is there a difference between art and commercial product in cinema? What is it? In the 1950s when the auteur theory emerged, from Sarris to the Cahiers du cinéma group, aren’t most of the directors they’d singled out essentially mainstream? 

     I can’t even say that my personal experiences connecting with high art through film excludes superhero movies because of Ichi the Killer (2001, Takashi Miike), arguably the finest example of the crime genre I’ve found in any movie. And I realize it might be a stretch to call Ichi the Killer a superhero movie, but that seems to be the standard label used in terms of genre, even though I find comic book (or manga) more accurate.

     In my last post I attempted to express my view of a subcategory of films I group by their shared tone I deemed “depression.” Here I will now add “fun,” again, as a tone, not necessarily a genre. Coincidentally most of the movies I can think of that spring from my connotation of fun are based on a comic book. Most of the movies in the Marvel ECU, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010, Edgar Wright), Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017, Luc Besson), and Alita: Battle Angel (2019, Robert Rodriguez). Then there are the Burton films, not based on comics: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Alice in Wonderland (2010), and Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (2016). 

     But this brings up a point about year of release. All the movies I can think of were released in the 2000s. See, I’ll add all of the Star Wars movies made after the original trilogy. For me these fun movies are about not really having to think, being colorful, simple, imaginative. Yet the films in the original Star Wars trilogy really do make me think, they’re impressive; or maybe the distinction is that GOUT is too good for me to consider cult or kitsch.

     Birds of Prey: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn (2020, Cathy Yan) is an R-rated action crime superhero comic book movie that delivers heavy on the action and combines traditional Hollywood formulas with a non-linear narrative on Adderall full of subjective devices like VO and on-screen titles, text (and emojis), to keep up its excessive pace. And I loved it. Gotham hasn't been this fun and colorful since Schumacher.

     Hollywood formulas are clichés that probably avoid the risks of alienating broad audiences. Cazart, maybe that’s the difference between an art film and commercial product! But what I’m alluding to here is HARLEY QUINN (Margot Robbie) begins the film having to escape every underworld character in every crime syndicate in Gotham, and the police, and then a bounty on her own head; but also rescues an orphan, and that most typical of all Hollywood formulae: grows and becomes a better (or “less terrible”) person while experiencing a life affirming catharsis in the end.

     So why do I love it? Because of the character Harley Quinn. In Birds of Prey: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn, beyond an opening introduction outlining her dark past, “my dad traded me for a six-pack,” throughout the movie she’s treated like “an asshole and that’s why nobody likes you.” That’s when the movie won me. It’s this outsider, independent, strong, smart, coolness of her. 

     Robbie can cry and project vulnerability, pain, and emotions in a consistently believable manner. That’s tough. And I never get tired of that Brooklyn accent. Harley is fun. Also I’ve been on the set of The Suicide Squad (2021, James Gunn) since September 2019 and obviously I signed an NDA, but I will hint that one of the biggest things I’m looking forward to is hearing some of the music that will be in the finished work.

     The music in Birds of Prey: And the Emancipation of One Harley Quinn goes a long way in creating its feel. It’s manic eclectic blend of female artists like Halsey and Ke$ha are beside mostly electronic and rock adrenaline soliciting tracks from the score. Maybe the highlight of the movie is a fight scene where a pallet stacked high with cocaine in an evidence locker is shot with machine guns that Harley snorts, then goes on an aluminum baseball bat spree to a techno remix of “Black Betty.” 

     While I try to avoid commenting on political undertones, Birds of Prey: And the Emancipation of One Harley Quinn is overtly feminist, which is awesome. So, it’s great to have women directing, writing, producing, and starring in this. It’s empowering to see female characters bonding, working together, standing up for themselves, finding themselves, and enjoying life to its fullest. They’re cool. They kick ass.

     I’m just making an observation here about the current climate of acceptable values. Having an ensemble of ethnically diverse women, one of whom happens to be a lesbian (or bi, not that there’s anything wrong with that), and none of whom appear to be in a relationship with a man, all spend the duration of the running time assaulting men is what we all want to see. 

     Hurting women and children is bad. So is racism and homophobia. Throw in intolerance of those with physical disabilities and you’ll win an Oscar, i.e. The Shape of Water (2017, Guillermo del Toro). It’s time for more movies with a panethnic, pansexual, pangender gang going on a killing spree against evil white heterosexual men.
     But back to Birds of Prey: And the Emancipation of One Harley Quinn, I rooted for the anti-heroes. It’s a worthy entry in the crime genre. It’s cool. It’s fun. And the film wisely bookends its most elaborate set pieces, namely the amazingly choreographed opening party scene and Harley's roller-skate chase/fight sequence that caps the Booby Trap. And spoiler alert, the post-credit gag is Harley dishing that Batman fucks bats.

Lovecraft Country

The period between 1977-1986 is what I’ve always considered the Golden Age of modern horror movies. Recently I’ve found myself feeling as though maybe Brian Yuzna’s been unjustly neglected in my acknowledgement of influences. By no means am I an expert on his work, but Re-Animator (1985, Stuart Gordon) produced by Yuzna, From Beyond (1986, Gordon) produced by Yuzna, and Society (1989, Yuzna) have long been among the finest horror I’ve seen. And by today’s standards, they’re even better.

     Color Out of Space (2019, Richard Stanley) is prestige horror. Mom and Dad (2017, Brian Taylor) struck me as a B-movie, and it is. But it was fun and edgy. Mandy (2018, Panos Cosmatos) struck me as a B-movie, but took me off-guard and had me simultaneously fascinated that I’d never seen anything quite like it’s metal/carny/blacklight/druggy airbrushed fantasy aesthetic; in other words, delivered a yield that exceeded its investment or something.

     Color Out of Space finds Stanley in command of his material, along with contributions from the camera operator, boasting a consistently flawless execution of composition through staging and blocking, . This movie’s got style. And it’s this aspect in which the whole thing feels like an A-picture. Next, I suppose it’s the subtle sound design and calmly eeire atmosphere score.

     It’s surprising that the film comes off so well done considering the excessively graphic horror images nestled within the nice peaceful family alone in the woods backdrop. But of course, like the rare exception Lovecraft himself, who wrote quality prose but found subtle ways to get lost off the traditional path and wander into demented stuff you’d expect in pulpier fare, Stanley blends high art with the deranged effortlessly. 

     And speaking of the nuclear family: mom, dad, two boys, a girl, with a cat and a dog, I love how I was unable to get a strong sense of their dynamic. At first, they’re practically so perfect it verges on cliché. But then, they all gradually kind of cuss each other out, which isn’t an error in tone, but the asteroid’s presence beginning to affect them. It's also where the movie really gets fun. Especially with Cage in full-on Vampire’s Kiss filing system mode.

     And, dig the poster art. I’ve been living in Atlanta the past couple of years and listening to trap and, maybe it’s just me, but the whole fuchsia world that manifests seems like the coolest version of the codeine crazy trip with slowly psychedelic visuals melting your face I’ve ever seen.

     So in conclusion, the Lovecraft tone is what makes Color Out of Space strong and most enjoyable, but it’s also got some throwback late 80s Yuzna vibe that made me love horror even more.