One article can make all the difference. 2016’s Suicide Squad, the third installment of the extended cinematic universe of DC comics lore, was a blight on not only the superhero genre but also contemporary studio filmmaking as a whole. Gaudy, artificial and utterly incomprehensible, the film was a crippling low point for several different parties and wreaked of being cynically generated by a committee of executives, who exploited their allotted oversight and interfered with director David Ayer’s vision.
The Suicide Squad, though, is an entirely different beast, one of thrillingly singular and distinctive creative conviction. Following his brief termination by Marvel Studios for a years-old Twitter controversy (he was eventually rehired), Guardians of the Galaxy director James Gunn was smartly poached by the competition, Warner Brothers and DC, and given completely free rein to helm whatever type of picture he wanted. The results are resoundingly indicative of Gunn at his most unrestrained and potent: At long last, a cinematic madman is allowed to play with all of his toys in the sandbox at a studio caliber, but instead of, per se, the pail and shovel, it’s all the choice words and gore (lots of gore) Gunn’s beautifully demented heart could ever desire. He certainly could never make Groot graphically rip a man in half like a twig without at least a slap on the wrist.
Government big-wig Amanda Waller (Viola Davis giving the same malicious performance in a better movie), an “I will bleed on the flag to ensure the stripes stay red” type or, moreover, an “I will have other, more disposable people bleed on the flag to ensure the stripes stay red” type, dispatches two teams of incarcerated quasi-supervillains to the South American island of fringe nation Corto Maltese, where a group of military degenerates has staged a coup, to maintain dubious American “peace” and “interests.”
Complete the mission, these baddies get five years off their sentences. Disobey or desert, the nano explosive embedded into the base of their skulls will detonate faster than anyone can say, “Warranted franchise reboot/sequel.” One team is composed of obscure characters like Savant (Michael Rooker), Blackguard (Pete Davidson), Javelin (Flula Borg), T.D.K. (Nathan Fillion), Weasel (Sean Gunn), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), and Mongal (Mayling Ng). Don’t get too attached, though: The immaculately choreographed, deliciously sadistic prologue of structured chaos has some shocking twists in store, which lends the proceeding events palpable stakes.
The second and actual team that propels the plot includes Bloodsport (Idris Elba), the jaded and reluctant leader of the squad whom Waller dangles his delinquent daughter (Storm Reid) over; Peacemaker (John Cena), a violent jester of American depravity under the guise of patriotism; Ratcatcher 2 (Daniela Melchior), a plucky, scarred young woman with rat-controlling technology; Polka-Dot Man (David Dastmalchian), a slightly deranged yet endearing man who can throw deadly polka-dots at people; and King Shark (voiced by Sylvester Stallone), an ancient anthropomorphic shark with soulful eyes and a taste for human flesh. Colonel Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), the team’s field handler, and Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), everyone’s favorite madwoman, freshly liberated following the events of Birds of Prey, also join the rag-tag squad along the way.
A vibrant riot of psychedelic comic splendor, The Suicide Squad sees Gunn entirely unfettered in his creative impulses, embracing the inherent insanity of his film’s nominal medium with surprising cohesion. Stylishly suffused with color, rock ballads and meticulous framing, he has deftly distorted the superhero genre through his skewed prism. It’s somehow winsome yet bloody- a raucously nasty piece of work that straddles the line so precisely between irreverence and sincerity. Why can’t more blockbusters be this inspired?
The humor is gleefully profane and grotesque, but it also serves a deeper purpose. For all his dark, brash bombast, Gunn is subtly painting a nihilistic world in need of even a morsel of compassion, weaving in sophisticated commentary on American imperialism and invasive foreign policy to solidify this setting. Corto Maltese doesn’t need American “heroes” who only seem to beget destruction, especially not the ones Waller deceitfully deploys, but it sure could use some people willing to atone for their mistakes, the bare minimum of morality itself. And if Regan-era politics aren’t your thing, there are plenty of expertly executed, bonkers action sequences to keep you entertained, whether it’s a kaiju-esque galactic starfish being assailed by rodents, Harley Quinn plowing through soldiers as animated flowers and old jazz music crackle in the background or the white backsplash of rain being pierced by a colorful lineup of comic book character iconography.
It’s this underlying commitment to the material-the immense flair and ingenuity- that serves as the backbone for the shockingly tender and endearing The Suicide Squad. At its center, this is an affectionate ode to a disaffected band of misfits capable of doing some good if given the chance. They may not on the first, second or even tenth try, but they can surprise you- and that has value in particularly the most fraught of places. This is what James Gunn does best with his signature scathing empathy: inject pathos, dimension and meaning into a group of outsiders the world has arbitrarily deemed as worthless.
There is a line poignantly uttered by Ratcatcher 2 that truly encapsulates the bizarrely earnest fervor this movie uniquely embodies: “If I die because I gambled on friendship, it will be a worthy death.” She also happens to say this to King Shark after he attempts to gobble her up, explaining he brutally eats people because he’s never had any friends. Gunn’s strange mastery over character is frankly staggering, and though this yields an occasionally unwieldy, indulgent narrative, especially a romantic interlude involving Harley that undermines the momentum of the story and slightly reduces her to some archetypal trappings, it serves as a worthy showcase for this captivating and gripping ensemble. The flexes here all around are earned and indisputable. Melchior’s emotionally layered portrayal of the fierce yet vulnerable Ratcatcher 2 is my personal highlight; she also anchors the most cathartic scene in the film, which itself steeps routine third act spectacle in impressive nuance.
The Suicide Squad is giddily mean and vulgar, but the depth and heart of the storytelling and characters beautifully accentuate and subvert that. Gunn marries these juxtaposing tones for an unforgettable cinematic experience (in a comic book movie, no less) as this desperate, disparate and lovable group of oddballs finds some hope in a seemingly misanthropic world, one vitalized by the delightfully bleak humor and rich aestethic sensibilities. After all, this is what he excels at: finding the humanity and artistry between the inky lines of the panels.
Grade: A-
The Suicide Squad is now in theaters and on HBO Max through Sep. 5.
Photo Credit / Warner Brothers
