Review: SUICIDE SQUAD

With each biased, unprofessional, put-the-paycheck-before-any-shred-of-journalistic-integrity, clickbait-y, pretentious, and perfidious review a modern “professional” movie critic writes, he becomes less relevant. And this is a good thing. Simply put, we don’t need the critics anymore, not with the Internet. Moviegoers are perfectly capable of making up their own minds now, thank you very much, without some blowhard telling them how to think, and if a consensus of opinion on any particular film is needed or desired, one can connect with any number of peers with the click of a mouse to solicit said consensus. Critics are an endangered species; they are going extinct. They can’t die off fast enough to suit me.

SUICIDE SQUAD is a blast. Just as with BATMAN VERSUS SUPERMAN earlier this year, the piling-on of negative reviews is largely for show and equally as groundless. The acting here is fine and dandy: Leto brings his own take to the Joker, and while he isn’t onscreen nearly enough he is like a shot of nitrous surging through the narrative engine when he does make an appearance; Margot Robbie is terrific as Harley Quinn, managing to be adorable, pitiable, and scary all at the same time; Will Smith delivers a dead-on Deadshot; and Viola Davis is Oscar-worthy as Amanda Waller. (Frankly she’s Oscar-worthy in anything she does, but still.) I only had one complaint with the film; there is one big implausibility that the script never addresses: How the hell did Harley get hold of a cell phone?