You can barely make out what the accessory looks like because it’s out of focus. There’s a moment where Harley steals a purse from a busted window display. One need look no further a scene from a Suicide Squad trailer. When these two variables are at odds in the earlier film, the latter consideration consistently wins out. In Birds of Prey, as opposed to Suicide Squad, the camera follows what Harley is doing, not how good her ass looks in the process. And the villain Harley has to outwit? A crime lord who lives in an apartment where the wallpaper is patterned with bound, naked women in repose. It is pervasive in the telling, in her character narrating the film, in the gleeful scrambling continuity, jumping back and forth, starting and stopping. This authorship is present in the film’s full title, with (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) scrawled in what is clearly supposed to be her own handwriting. It is not merely a story about Harley, but hers to tell, not muse but author. The film puts its money where its mouth is in ways that reverberate through all aspects of production, from the sets to the costumes to the cinematography. It is in the subtle, thoughtful details reinforcing the concept of Harley’s self-ownership throughout Birds of Prey that ultimately speak the loudest. Birds of Prey is refreshingly aware of its identity as a story from a lineage and being told in a medium that has overwhelmingly, intentionally or otherwise, objectified women, and engages directly with that troubled history. While prior female-helmed, female-led superhero films - namely, Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel (co-directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck) - have already said a good deal on the subject, none have been so thorough in their deconstruction of the components that contribute to the male gaze. But when viewed as commentary on agency and the nature of authorship, Birds of Prey is something far more remarkable. It’s colorful fun with minimal substance, like a blast of confetti in story form. The plot of Birds of Prey isn’t necessarily innovative - scheming crime boss Roman Sionis (Ewan McGregor) seeks a special diamond, teenage pickpocket Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco) pinches it off one of his goons in transit, a manhunt ensues, the newly single Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) gets tangled up in the mess. Ryan Gosling Says He Doubted His "Ken-ergy" Before Signing on for Greta Gerwig's 'Barbie' Female authorship is prominently and proudly on display in the film, both in how it was made and in the evolution of Harley’s character. Birds of Prey acknowledges the existence of this gaze and adamantly rejects it, providing an entertaining but still thoughtful alternative. From director Cathy Yan, screenwriter Christina Hodson and star and producer Margot Robbie, Birds of Prey is one of the more cognizant and thorough deconstructions of the male gaze to hit recent mainstream cinema, particularly as it relates to the superhero genre.īoth films and comic books have a long history of being dominated by the male gaze, a term coined by film theorist Laura Mulvey in the 1975 essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” to describe how the male viewpoint in cinematic storytelling, both behind the camera and onscreen, directly correlates to the consistent objectification of female characters. Birds of Prey is a comic book film that is quietly yet profoundly different, not in the story it shares but in how it is told.
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