Suicide Squad

Suicide Squad

At one point in this film, after spending roughly 40 dull minutes doing an excruciatingly poor job at setting both the premise and this so-called squad, mostly through what appeared to be several atrocious WWE-like presentations set to the most jarringly scenery-chewing selection of well-known tunes money can buy, a random security authority warns a higher-level peer about an attack at a subway station. Naturally, despite begrudgingly agreeing to green-light the project only subsequently to receiving secret Iranian documents stolen through black magic, his first reflex is to launch the aforementioned gang of wackos to fight the threat he's clearly knows much about.

So far, this specific piece of the presentation was questionable at the most generous best, yet nothing that different from what's seen in any picture that's obviously trying to get to the juicy parts as fast as possible. But then, the latest comic book adaptation dumbfoundingly cuts to an indefinitely long couple of sequences that seem to show, slightly differently than the already shown before, the presentation, recruiting and definite organization of the team of villains that protagonize the film. It's hard to tell due to the ostensibly irrelevance of establishing time-frames to a certain sequence of events in the newly officiated DC Cinematic Universe, but that implies that the Suicide Squad's structuring was realized once again after a practically anonymous exchange between two nameless characters.

This, of course, is less of a pointless attempt at putting the plot of a production like this under a microscope, which would probably reveal countless similarities in both the maligned and revered portions of the hype-fed genre, and more of an assertion of the basic narrative flaw, an essential lack of editing linearity not as blatant as was the case in Snyder's Batman vs Superman, that permeates history's "edgiest" blockbuster.

Each half-thought awkwardly underwhelming little moment is followed by the next, consistently without a proper connective tissue in between, creating a nearly out-of-body experience of total and complete divorce with all content being displayed on screen. This sensation, commonly associated with the somewhat controversial expression of "checking your brain at the door", can be reasonably easily mistaken for an entirely distinct state known as "having fun", particularly when bigger-than-life competent and charismatic performers such as Viola Davis, Margot Robbie and Will Smith manage to rise through the cracks of the text and grab one's distracted mind back into what was previously sold as a high-energy comically violently, and violently comedic, event summer movie to not be missed at the theater.

One star for the bar scene, in which the audience is reminded, for a criminally brief period, that those unidentifiable objects wearing carefully designed costumes, endless fake tattoos and, most of all, an overbearing tireless PR facade of pretending to be doing something actually contrarily somber and risky, here wholly represented by Leto's suicidally misguided take on The Joker, are theoretically meaning to be thought out as human beings, even the ones bordering sociopathy, with credible emotions, instinctive responses and twisted moral codes to justify their acts.

Raul liked these reviews