By The Greek
Colourful, vibrant, flamboyant and… bad. I mean… Transformers bad. No, not even, since this had potential to boot. Jared Leto’s grinning face has plagued us for months. He was everywhere; social media, ads, trailers, tributes, dolls, bobbleheads, posters, clothes — the cleverly marketed, entirely fabricated hype proved successful in its dictation. People had been swept off their feet, the excitement was unbearable. Yes. The Joker was everywhere.
Everywhere but in the actual movie, that is.
Instead, all we get a bunch of juvenile supervillains there to sort of justify Quinn’s provocative presence with an appropriate frame of idiocy. If everyone surrounding her behaves like a trigger-happy, incompetent buffoon then, by comparison, the pig-tailed, skimpily-clad kitten acting like a teenager high on sugar and red-bull will seem more in place and less of, oh, I don’t know… jailbait?
Do not mistake this for anything other than what it truly is. A devoid of any kind of coherent plot or entertainment value of a flick that is blatantly structured with the sole purpose of putting Harley Quinn in front of the camera and monetize on her distorted sex-appeal and demented innocence.