In the past few years, the term superhero has undergone a lot of changes, from recognition at the highest level to a sort of social deconstruction. Enter Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), the gritty, neon-splattered 2020 action movie directed by Cathy Yan.
It features fight choreography that flows like dance, a timeline that stops and starts with the same thrumming energy of its pumping soundtrack and, most noticeably, a stellar and immersive performance by Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn.
It opened to a $33.2 million box office weekend, with a budget of $97.1 million USD. Business Insider calls it as a “disappointment,” Variety describes it as “underwhelming,” and many were quick to label it a flop. Yet as one viral tweet pointed out—Ford v Ferrari, with a budget of $97.6 million USD, is described by Business Insider as “trouncing” Charlie’s Angels and “dominating the box office” with its “strong” $31 million opening. An explanation could be that Birds of Prey was projected to earn more, yet the celebration of Ford v Ferrari dominating against a female-led movie, and all the differences in wording between it and Birds of Prey, a film with almost the exact same budget and opening revenue, still seems less than coincidental.
Birds of Prey is by no means perfect, but with a female-led cast and crew, the women in this movie are as down to earth and real as they come. Harley is exuberant, lonely, and a terrible decision-maker, whereas Canary is self-sufficient, focused, and level-headed.
The female characters were given the attention they deserve, and they feel real—they all have unique traits, goals, and defined aesthetics. We are given our fair share of action fun, but the film discusses the real threat of how women are constantly forced to give up their autonomy, whether it be mental or physical. Women are constantly forced to choose success or comfort, respect or safety.
Although the film discusses this in a critical, self-aware way, there is no perfect representation. At one point the film does use a woman losing her bodily autonomy to cement our main villain as being more than just a campy mobster. In essence, the aforementioned scene is as tasteful as possible, narrowly side-stepping the more fetishistic auras of other films, yet it’s still tiring to watch women be used like this over and over, from the original Blade Runner to Rosemary’s Baby.
Coming from a film industry that is historically controlled by cis, straight, white men, it’s all a little tongue in cheek. Even with recent progressive wins in the film community, places for women, especially marginalized women, seem scarce. From the films on screen, to the people behind it, to the films that win all the awards, it seems that women are continuously left out of the picture. It’s never allowed to be about women, about us.
From our films to our music, to our relationships, we are never allowed to simply exist as we are. If a woman loves a woman, it is because she hates a man. If a woman exists in a film and her appearance, or her actions, do not cater to men, it is so often harshly critiqued. We deserve badass movies about women, we deserve to exist as ourselves, for ourselves, as men can do historically with almost every film. Women exist too: so, let us.
Featured image provided by IMDB.
