Beauties and Beasts -- Justice for Harley Quinn

We interrupt your regularly scheduled horror reviews for the rantings of a disgruntled Batman fan.

Last summer's release of Suicide Squad introduced the masses to Harley Quinn, the effervescent pig-tailed female counterpart to the Joker. Frankly, it's surprising anyone even vaguely familiar with Batman hasn't picked up her movie rights before now. Since her debut into the canon via the comics and The Animated Series, Harley has been an object of fascination among Batman fans and think-piece writers alike. As she should be, since she's a total peach. She's fun, spunky, and more than a little unhinged. She's got that adorable Brooklyn accent, fantastic fashion sense, sick gymnastics moves and a big ol' heart of gold. She's the patron saint of broken dolls, a funhouse Ophelia in clown makeup, an icon among misfits and self-professed psychopaths. Yet, despite everything there is to love about Harley (and there is a lot to love), the caveat is compromising her problematic relationship with the Joker.

It's no big secret that the Joker and Harley have a twisted relationship, though you wouldn't know that from DC's latest cinematic misfire. So much attention was focused on Harley during the marketing phase, it appeared that a great deal of the plot would revolve around her--and the Joker--which for me and many other people was the prime selling point. For all its hideousness, Harley's saga with the Joker is ripe for juicy plot development, and the promise of seeing her wreak a little havoc of her own was enough to get asses in seats. But that, like so many things in this movie, turned out to be a shallow grab for attention--if not for a pre-existing fanbase, then for the blatant sex appeal.

Strong Female Character alert!

The final product turned out to be less of a fun grimy shoot-em-up than just a mess of poor choices, with the highly advertised Harley Quinn stumbling along with the rest of the slapdash ensemble. The movie portrays Harley's complex psychological troubles as simply falling in with the wrong crowd due to a weakness for bad boys. Crippling co-dependence and deep seated trauma is replaced with "My bae is the greatest!" The least they could do was make her psychotic--which could still be poorly done but fun to watch--and they couldn't even manage that.

Thanks for the flashbacks to everyone I hated in high school.

But all of this I can forgive. After all, the movie on a whole isn't very good and many characters remain underdeveloped, if not fall off completely. For what it's worth, Margot Robbie is a talented enough actress that she's a joy to watch even when she's spouting this hot nonsense. What I take issue with is the film's portrayal of her relationship with the Joker.

In the comics and the cartoon show, Harley is a beautiful amalgamation of the Doormat and the Woman Scorned. Not only has the Joker systematically and repeatedly ruined Harley's life since the literal moment they met, but he's regularly hostile, manipulative, and dismissive of her, both emotionally and physically. Harley swallows this constant abuse and feeds it back into her crazy-cannon, attempting bigger heists and causing more destructive mayhem in order to appease her beloved. The few moments of mutual affection we see between them are so scarce that when you do see Joker give her a squeeze or a peck on the cheek, it actually seems sweet (if only because we've learned to brace ourselves for something awful). The times she's managed to get away somewhere safe, even prison, she's haunted by his memory, pining for him despite all his cruelty, only to sooner or later, fall right back into his arms.

This roller coaster of a relationship speaks to the nature of both these characters. The Joker is a sadistic sociopath, and Harley's a blend of romantic delusion, codependency and classic battered housewife. For him to be viciously cold and for her to be blindly devoted makes sense in context to one another. She unleashes her insanity on behalf of or in spite of him, and he reveals his own weaknesses when he inevitably comes back for her. Their individual personalities are more complex just for being together. Harley's ability to keep her bubbly disposition through it all is both an extreme portrayal of the abuse victim's need to keep a happy face, and her inescapable kinship to the Joker.

You get none of that here.

Ahahaha! You've never punched me once!

Suicide Squad is not quite the disgrace that reviews made it out to be, but its biggest flaw comes from trying to emulate other superhero movies. You can see shades of other films plastered all over this movie, from the disaster imagery of the latest Superman movies to the Avengers formula of a ragtag team squaring up against a vengeful god. For our reasons, let's turn our attention to Deadpool. The romantic subplot of that movie could have easily been a tasteless pull for the Valentine's Day crowd, but it turned out to be one of the more endearing aspects of the film. Wade's relationship with Vanessa feels sincere and heartfelt, thanks to Ryan Reynolds and Morena Baccarin's great chemistry, and what looks like very, very good sex. Their mutual damage is what brings them together, but it isn't all their relationship is about. You believe these two love each other and it makes Deadpool's mission all the more heartbreaking and worthwhile. What the creators of Suicide Squad took from that was the singularly lovely line "Your crazy matches my crazy!" and ran it into the fucking ground.

{Spoilers ahead for the theatrical cut}

Harley's much anticipated cinematic debut plays out like this: her origin story spirals breathlessly from a promising psychiatrist to a lovesick Joker devotee. With all the reverence of the sweetest seduction, she willingly succumbs to shock therapy and dives into a vat of chemicals, only to be rewarded with the honor of being the Clown Prince's girlfriend/star stripper/bargaining chip. Her role as his partner in crime is displaying herself as a sparkly ornament to dangle uselessly in front of clients while he handles the negotiations and trademark psycho freakouts. She spends her days in Belle Reve Prison practicing her aerial cage routine and cockteasing the guards. When the Squad hits the town, she serves as a series of ass shots, trailer lines and not much else. Occasionally, other characters will call her crazy to remind the audience that she is on this team because of her dangerous, unpredictable insanity.

Admittedly, she does get singularly featured in one of the better scenes in the film. A few henchmen take on Harley and her baseball bat in a glorious glass elevator fight, set brilliantly to K7 and the Swing Kids' "Come Baby Come," one of the few musical selections that isn't obnoxious and naturally isn't featured on the official soundtrack. This scene lasts less than two minutes.

It's revealed early on that Harley's just killing time before her Puddin' comes to pick her up, and several scenes of stealth-texting later, he finally sweeps her away in his super-sweet chaos helicopter. One abrupt explosion not even a full thirty seconds later, the Joker is presumed dead and she returns to the gang, because she literally has nothing else to do. She says the words "normal is a setting on the dryer" with such conviction, you can almost believe she didn't get that from a bumper sticker.

You could say she has a hand in saving the day in the end, but you should be embarrassed for bringing that up. The final scene shows Joker and his goons busting Harley out of prison. The lovers embrace as we smash cut to neon graffiti credits and Twenty-One Pilots attempts to drown out my screams. All of this garbage is prefaced with an introductory scene scored to the immortal girl-power classic, "You Don't Own Me."

Indeed.

Despite the adoring following she has gained over the years and the efforts of more than a few writers and artists, Harley Quinn is still known primarily as "the Joker's girlfriend." No matter how many times she changes her look or embarks on a solo adventure or links up with somebody way cooler and better for her (*cough*  Pam Isley *cough*), it will inevitably come back to her love for the Joker and all the trauma that comes with it. It's a real shame because Harley is a great character. We love her and we want her to succeed, but we so rarely get to see that happen when the Joker's around. He's the worst kind of ex and the deadliest bad habit, yet the idea persists that he is the most interesting thing about her.

If that's so, then fine! Make it interesting! Make it some twisted, bloody, vengeance-fueled I Spit on Your Grave shit! To quote my fiance, "Everyone would have loved a scene with her, the Joker, and her bigass hammer. 'You should have treated me better, Puddin!'" This movie had every chance to do that. If this relationship was so insistent on butting into the plot as often as it does, the least it could have done was give us some kind of complexity to the whole thing. Instead we just get vignettes of two crazy kids in love, the ultimate bad boy and his ride-or-die girl, ballroom dancing on the corpses of all the stupid normies, cackling as they fire their pearl-handled pimp pistols into the night. Because that's a much better message to send to all the disenfranchised youths!

His and hers!

The movie tries to have its cake and eat it too, having all the trappings of a dysfunctional relationship without any of the complexity. They chose not to portray Harley's insanity, and by extension all the icky issues that come with why she is insane, and thus they suck away any point to her being in the movie aside from how great she looks in sequined shorts.

Believe it or not, it's actually possible to portray two psychotic murderers with a love that's half affection, half insanity. In fact, it's already been done, in the unlikeliest of places. Picture it, in theaters everywhere October 1998, the resurrection of a monster by way of his devoted lover only for the two to go on a murderous spree, ultimately leading to their mutual destruction.

America's sweethearts!

The Child's Play series. It terrified all of us at least once, right? I've previously mentioned my earliest encounter with horror, going to the video store with my mom when I was seven only to run into Chucky's murder face propped up on the front counter. That single image burned so brightly in my nightmares for so long that I purposefully avoided the movie until my 20's (also steered clear of Spencer's Gifts around Halloween).

When I finally felt prepared to take on the series, I found the early films...fine. Brad Dourif is brilliant, the effects hold up for the most part, and the continuation of the story through Andy Barclay over the course of three consecutive movies is something sort of unique to most horror franchises. But on the other hand, the pacing is slow and the (child) actors are often hard to watch. Sweet relief comes when you see Chucky's tiny shoes scuttling along the floor, promising a few good kills and some enjoyable one liners, but they come and go too quickly before getting back to the molasses plot. You can get just as much out of the first Leprechaun movie.

I realize this is blasphemy in some circles, especially given what I'm about to follow up with. Bride and Seed of Chucky, the sequels the horror community has tried to forget since their premieres in 1998 and 2004, are my favorites of the series. Chucky is the best part of the movies, so it only makes sense to center the film around him instead of hiding him in an air vent. Even better? Pair him up with his old girlfriend, and cast the sexiest woman alive: Jennifer Tilly.

Also known as #3 on Rylee's Top Ten Movie Girlfriends.

Chucky's managed to resurrect himself out of a jam more than once before, but Bride takes a different route in bringing him back to life. Turns out Charles Lee Ray maintained a social life during his heyday, and his old flame Tiffany has finally come to claim her man. She rebuilds his ruined body out of the many doll parts she has collected over the years (talk about devotion--one wonders if she was into dollmaking before or after she heard about what became of Chucky in that toy store). Whipping up a little voodoo ceremony in her fabulous sparkle-goth trailer, she manages to wake her beloved's spirit and after so many years apart they can finally build a life together.

Tiff's joy is short-lived when she realizes Chucky isn't interested in settling down and enjoying the domestic life with her. He's eager to assume a new human form and get back to his old tricks. Her happy ending, so gleefully planned for so long, falls apart before her eyes as she realizes she's hooked up with the same old creep. She responds to this devastation by indulging a few brief tears before locking him a playpen and carrying on with her life being trailer park fabulous.

Tiffany is the kind of girl who has presumably suffered a lot of disappointments in her life, but she seems to know how to pick herself right back up onto her stilettos and keep moving, even if she has to dump a few corpses along the way. She's a "grow where you're planted" kind of gal. Even when Chucky does the unforgivable in removing Jennifer Tilly from her spectacular body (not to mention interrupting the best part of Bride of Frankenstein), she adapts to her new plasticine look quite easily while adding her own personal flair. My girl can make it anywhere, so long as she has a tube of black lipstick and a pack of smokes to get her through.

Tiffany is the perfect girlfriend and partner in crime for Chucky because her love for him doesn't make her blind to his faults. She calls him on his shit, and she's willing to retaliate, often brutally. Mutter something disrespectful, prepare for a doubly poisonous comment right back. Insult her cooking, be sure to duck for that plate sailing for your head. Chucky is the wisecracking ham, always quick with the joke or sneaking in the last word, but Tiffany is actually up to the challenge of trading barbs with him. Not to mention, trading blows.

She is just as much of a killer as he is, sometimes even more devious and creative than he could hope to be ("What would Martha Stewart do? Improvise!"), often outdoing his stunts on tenacity alone. Bride ultimately ends with Chucky being shot by the good guys, but not before a passionate showdown with Tiffany wielding a shovel twice her size. She even has the honor of (literally) delivering the last scare of the movie, bursting to screeching life as she births a monstrous baby in a final shot that gloriously sets up the next film.

Seed of Chucky spends even more time getting to know the dolls as Chucky and Tiffany come back to life once again to meet their child, a gender-confused sweetheart they dub Glen/Glenda (Billy Boyd). We hang out with the happy family in their downtime between stabbings and voodoo plots and this is where the film shines--we get to see Chucky indulge in his softer side and wonder at his potential to raise a protege, while Tiffany revisits her affection for glamour and her set-aside homemaker dreams. She is delighted to wake up in Hollywood and positively star-struck when she realizes she's in the presence of the actual Jennifer Tilly. (The idea of the actress Jennifer Tilly playing herself while sharing scenes with a character voiced by Jennifer Tilly may be crossing some unspoken line in meta humor, but I find it adorable.) A glimpse of a better life and the chance to have a family serves as a wake up call, and Tiffany vows to "sober up" for the sake of her daughter/son. Her honest try at living clean quickly breaks with Redman's steaming guts spilling out onto the real Jennifer Tilly's nice hardwood floors.

To be fair, he was a kind of a dick.

All this violence certainly doesn't suck the romance out of the relationship. Despite their differences, Chucky and Tiffany genuinely enjoy each other's company and make a very effective team, both on and off killing sprees. Their fights, despite their volume and viciousness, are often quickly resolved, and even when they catch each other in a lie, they can still understand and empathize with each other. Even the sex is great, plastic parts and all. "Your crazy matches my crazy" actually applies here in the most wonderfully demented way. Given the right circumstances the two of them could settle down in a nice playhouse somewhere. But then again, we all know as well as Tiff that Chucky will never be husband material.

It has done wonders for his self-esteem.

It is at this point--when Chucky in no uncertain terms declares himself murderous bachelor for life--that their relationship reaches its most interesting and most tragic peak. Tiffany knows Chucky is a virus upon the world, and despite all her love for him, in that moment she realizes she can never tame him. Therefore, he must be destroyed. (It's arguably the same revelation she had in Bride but then again, if we didn't all give our shitty exes a second chance now and then, we wouldn't have sequels.) She and Glen/Glenda kill Chucky and chop his body into pieces, ensuring he won't be coming back any time soon, and start their lives again in new bodies.

I feel Tiffany gets the only true happy ending in the entire franchise, easily acclimating to the life she always deserved: living as Hollywood superstar Jennifer Tilly with her adorable twins, Glen and Glenda. Sure, Chucky's still out there and he's probably coming for them once he can get all his parts stitched back together, but for now they have their squeaky clean celebrity life in a beautiful home with bizarre family secrets kept tightly under wraps. And, knowing Tiffany, when the time comes, she'll be able to hold her own. After all, she doesn't mind a little bloodshed getting in her sunshine now and then.

In another world, we would get a Harley/Joker movie with a deliciously twisted dynamic more like Chucky and Tiffany's, with all the darkness and humor and romance and countless other shenanigans that any relationship between two fictional psychopaths deserves. Sadly, the most disliked Child's Play sequels may be the closest we ever get to seeing that kind of relationship onscreen. For now, we can at least take comfort in the fact that this is merely the beginning of Harley in the movies, and lord knows we can only go up from here.

Ahahahaha not likely!

Period Pieces -- Movies to Watch When You're on the Rag

(Disclaimer: The following contains candid references to menstruation.)

It's that time of the month, ladies! I'm talking cramps, bloating, mood swings! I'm talking a typhoon of hormones and phantom baby rage let loose upon your uterus, with your own personal crime scene to admire every time you go to the bathroom! That's right, it's your period, and it's happy to see ya!

Despite the week-long maelstrom they bring with them, periods really are an amazing phenomenon. It's our uniquely feminine connection to the earth, the will of the tides, the waning of the moon. Even in such an unpleasant state, I can't help but get a sense of my feminine energy being recharged, this pain representing a sort of rebirth. My time of the month is when I feel most female, and that in itself is a beautiful thing.

All that being said, it still really fucking sucks. For me, the first day is always the worst. It's like a vampire is literally draining me dry from my most vulnerable place, taking all my energy with it. All I'm good for that horrible first day is curling up with a heating pad and watching some movies. And since I tend to watch stuff that fits my mood, this monthly celebration of womanhood deserves female-driven films dripping with blood. Here are some of my recommendations for your next camp out in the Red Tent.

CARRIE

The pinnacle of all period movies, Stephen King's Carrie as imagined by Brian de Palma is an absolute classic. But that's not the one I'm talking about. I love it to pieces, but it also makes me cry, and given my delicate state, I'm especially vulnerable to such emotional outbursts. So how do I enjoy the ultimate menstrual movie without weeping? Simply pop in the 2002 made-for-television remake and get ready to have some fun! This movie jazzes up Carrie's powers with bad CGI, beating the 2013 movie to the punch, and threw in a modern touch and a few jokes for extra flavor. The result still doesn't hold a candle to de Palma's masterpiece, but it's more like the Lifetime version of Carrie, cranking up the melodrama and tasking pretty good actors with terrible dialogue. Angela Bettis (May, The Woman) makes a fantastic Carrie, playing it as a true weirdo outcast, all wild hair and jittery meltdowns. Margaret White as portrayed by Patricia Clarkson (The Green Mile, Easy A) is somehow more chilling than ever, all soft soothing tones as she recites archaic verses before throwing a sudden cold slap to the face--plus the horrified way she says "Internet!" is truly priceless. Add appearances by horror alums Jodelle Ferland (Silent Hill) as a young Carrie and Katherine Isabelle (Ginger Snaps, American Mary) as one of the mean girls, and you've got yourself a fine addition to the long line of King adaptations that tried to be truer to the book and ended up forgotten by everyone but thinkpiece writers who grew up with cable.

GINGER SNAPS

Let's see how Katherine Isabelle likes it when she gets a period! Another great film where the plot is kicked off by someone's first blood, Ginger Snaps takes the idea of menstruation and blossoming womanhood and turns it rabid. I don't know anyone who enjoys getting their period, but I certainly didn't know anyone in school who never wanted one in the first place. It's a rite of passage, a sign of growing up, and something every girl wants to experience at some point. From Ginger and Bridget's point of view, becoming a woman and becoming a monster are one and the same. Neither of them intend to grow up, or at least go anywhere the other won't follow. When Ginger is bitten by a werewolf on the eve of her first period and has no choice but to become both, the true horror emerges from how much she likes it. She's suddenly more interested in boys than having suicide photoshoots with her sister. She relishes the power that comes with this body, but when it begins to turn on her, she is powerless to stop it. You could pick apart the parallels between lycanthropy and femininity all day, from a body charged by the moon to a hunger for sex that borders on bloodlust. Ginger Snaps pulls all the humor and tragedy of The Curse together into one sweet package.

TEETH

I think every girl has felt the storm brewing inside her once a month and wondered what her ladybits could be capable of if given the right tools to lash out. Teeth takes a legend as old as time and puts it in the modern day, hilariously bestowing vagina dentata upon a young abstinence advocate. This is another about the geyser of complications that comes with budding womanhood, most of it stemming from the chaos going on in your nethers. Teeth beautifully renders one of the more delicate horrors of being a teenage girl, especially growing up with a Christian identity. You aspire to purity and marriage while the motives of the mystery in your pants invades your every other thought, and should you choose to act on those desires, you face a multitude of risks even more severe than sinner's guilt. Dawn (Jess Weixler) has one of the most satisfying arcs I've seen in a horror film--starting out as a timid girl afraid of the potential of her own body, coming away at the end transformed into a liberated, powerful praying mantis of a woman with one hell of a secret weapon.

EXCISION

What woman hasn't discovered an especially gnarly glob of raspberry jam in her panties and taken a second to marvel at the repulsive wonders of the human body? A polar opposite to the protagonist of Teeth, Pauline (AnnaLynne McCord) is fascinated by her own body, right down to the gory details. One of the unsung heroines of feminist horror, Pauline makes every effort to reject any hint of traditional femininity. She's enamored with blood, purposefully unkempt and gleefully crass, most of her antics in direct rebellion against her prim mother (Traci Lords). When she decides to lose her virginity, she marches right up to her chosen mate and bluntly declares her intentions. What she doesn't mention is that she's scheduled their hookup during the heaviest day of her flow. The tryst that follows is a highlight in a film that's stuffed with amazing moments, cutting between the blood-soaked passion pit in Pauline's head and the squelchy reality in a dingy motel room. The disgusting delights of this film only escalate from there. In an industry that's lousy with flawless hotties being hot for hotness' sake, it's so refreshing to have a female protagonist that is just a powerhouse of gross and flaunts it shamelessly. For once, the outcast girl is not the shrinking violet in need of some gentle soul to notice her, but instead a sexually-charged psychopath who dreams in giallo gore. Definitely the kind of girl I can get behind when I'm feeling a weird mix of profoundly unattractive, inexplicably horny and capable of terrible things.

JENNIFER'S BODY

Ever get to a point in your cycle where you just want to rip a man apart based on the simple truth that he doesn't have to deal with this shit? And does that thought lead to remembering all the other things men don't have to deal with, like catcalls and bra shopping and sneezing right after applying mascara and systematic oppression dating back to time immemorial and suddenly you find yourself staring daggers at your fiance and digging your fingernails into your thigh to keep from scratching his eyes out? Or is that just me? Anyway, Jennifer's Body is a great way to take that fantasy for a walk and have a few laughs along the way. Jennifer (Megan Fox) is the girl we all hated in high school, outrageously beautiful with her pick of any boy she lays her sultry blue eyes upon, her seductive ways hiding a fragile ego and girlish naivete. When a satanic ritual goes sour because she lies about being a virgin, Jennifer develops demonic powers and starts feeding on local boys, working her way toward the one thing she could never have: her best friend's boyfriend. Jennifer's Body has some interesting things to say about the more poisonous aspects of female friendship, despite a few kinks in the flow (I'm looking at you, girl on girl makeout scene that was only included for the misleading trailers and you know it), but like Ginger Snaps it speaks to the little ways girls can grow apart as they grow up, sometimes over something as petty as our own insecurities. At the end of the day, it's just so much fun to watch lovely Megan Fox unhinge her jaw and slurp up boy blood, and it's a lot healthier than taking out those jolts of misandry on the men in your life.

THE DESCENT

Six women go spelunking into an uncharted cave full of dead ends, tight tunnels, deep pools, and unknowable darkness. If you've studied your literary analysis, you'll recognize this as six characters in search of an exit from a giant vagina. (The sheer imagery of the blood swamp at the climax is enough to give any menstrual girl a nagging sense of deja vu.) Make those characters kick ass women--each with a well established personality and active purpose among the group as well as driving motivation based on interpersonal relationships with one another as well as survival--and you really can't get much more girl power than that. Throw some mole people into an already harrowing situation and we've got a wild ride ahead. This film is so intense and definitely the biggest downer of the list, but it's hard not to get jazzed up watching these women dangle over chasms by their bare hands and wriggle through tunnels with little more than a "woohoo!" once they get to the other side. It's not many horror movies that can claim to be more terrifying before the monsters show up, but The Descent understands that the true horrors come from what you bring with you down into the cave. (That's another vagina metaphor for you.)

DUMPLINGS

With all the age-reversal pills and potions on any given skin care aisle, it's enough to drive any woman insane searching for the ultimate product that would return everything she has lost between the lines on her face. It's hard to shake the feeling that maybe the answer lies in a more ancient, infinitely more barbaric solution. Effortlessly cool spinster Aunt Mei (Bai Ling) has a business selling homemade dumplings guaranteed to restore beauty and vitality to the women who eat them. The only catch is that the secret ingredient is a bit hard to come by...aborted fetuses don't just grow on trees. When one of her customers, Mrs. Li (Miriam Yeung), craves a stronger product, Mei tells her the only solution is a rarer variety of meat--one that comes at an unspeakable cost. Dumplings examines the roles women are expected to fill--to be beautiful and to bear children--and wonders what happens when a woman chooses priority of one over the other, and what she would do to keep what she has worked so hard to claim. Feminine fears are in injected into every frame of the film, from the paranoid suspicion of a husband's infidelity, to the profound horror of realizing that you are the source of that strong fishy smell wafting through the room. Plus it's hard not to notice the delicious imagery of fetuses being re-purposed as filling for suggestively shaped pillows of dough. Whether you choose to watch the original short included in Three...Extremes (which I recommend) or the full-length film, this movie is a deliciously uncomfortable journey through the body when we see it as magic, a vessel charged by the power we feed to it.

So how ya doing, champ? Has the storm subsided, or does it still feel like goblins are chasing cave divers through your guts? Pop another Midol and take a hot bath, you beautiful menstrual monster, and never be ashamed of what you're going through. We may not be able to discuss Shark Week at the water cooler, but we can at least feel that female power and inherent understanding through the movies, the bloodier the better. Never forget the ancient power given to you, how it has frightened and fascinated men across the ages, and always remember that if you can withstand this torment from within, you can face anything waiting for you out there. Solidarity, my sisters! Let us not bleed alone!