We watch as Aquaman cradles a dying pufferfish in his arms and as Bane continuously fails at every little task. Here, every classic superhero is a righteous blowhard, every revered supervillain an impotent buffoon (Harley taunts Batman about how he “fucks bats” every chance she gets). It’s also not afraid to mock the DC brand at large. Harley Quinn juxtaposes cheeky joke-telling against face-melting body horror. (While it’s fun and weird, I don’t recommend the show as a binge-watch - your brain might power surge. In one brief but brilliant sequence, a vintage Growing Pains-style sitcom theme plays mid-episode to introduce you to Harley’s family trauma with images alone. The artists employ a bright, ’90s-retro visual style, simultaneously recalling the rollicking action of Batman: The Animated Series, the blammo inanity of the old Kids’ WB cartoons and the cutting vulgarity of MTV’s adult animation heyday. The writing is frequently uproarious, chock full of millennial nostalgia and cerebral gallows humor (the former may be low-hanging, rapidly-perishable fruit, but at least the show knows how to embrace its audience). “Oh, you got a line, huh?” she admonishes Harley. I mean, she full-on murders Humpty Dumpty for an omelet. Later, she befriends charming villainess Queen of Fables ( Wanda Sykes), only to realize she’s hardcore bloodthirsty and not just your garden-variety heisting baddie. Early on, she finds herself in a cringey nemesis relationship with seemingly-cherubic tween Robin ( Jacob Tremblay, as delightfully profane as in Good Boys), which threatens Harley’s fledgling professional legitimacy. The best episodes are the ones in which Harley must confront her own boundaries as a supervillain. Ivy, an avowed environmentalist with her own plant-based agenda, insists she’s not officially in the crew … but let’s just say she’s not- not officially in the crew. She assembles a new crew, including a #MeToo-disgraced Doctor Psycho ( Tony Hale), shape-shifting thespian Clayface (Alan Tudyk), easygoing fishman King Shark (Ron Funches) and elderly spy-turned-cyborg Sy Borgman ( Jason Alexander). the Legion of Doom) and seeks to establish a ruthless reputation for herself. Then, once her ex is out of her life, Harley realizes how little respect she has in the supervillain boys club (a.k.a. First, her sardonic and husky-voiced best friend Poison Ivy ( Lake Bell, playing the character as a grown-up Daria) stages an anti-Joker intervention for Harley that includes hurling her friend in a vat of neon margarita mix disguised as acid (“It’s still kinda stingy,” Harley whines). Short of being “How Harley Got Her Groove Back,” the series takes its time to deprogram its heroine from the abuse cycle, following her as she slowly builds her nascent supervillain business/brand. Honestly, it’s a refreshing set of vices for a cartoon female lead. She’s a great protagonist because she makes bad decisions and maintains unhealthy goals. Harley, a former practicing therapist, bursts with lava-hot anger, and her addiction to her own temper ends up being her Achilles heel in most episodes. In 13 zippy, violent and irreverent half-hour episodes, we’re introduced to lovesick Harley, a minor sidekick in unbecoming pantomime garb, who soon breaks free from her toxic romance with narcissist Joker ( Alan Tudyk) to branch out on her own (complete with a sexy makeover to embody Margot Robbie’s bat-wielding-in-short-shorts version of the character). (All three were executive producers on the latter.) The show stems from Justin Halpern, Patrick Schumacker and Dean Lorey, who have created another clever postmodern take on superhero lore, à la The Incredibles, The Boys, Watchmen and Powerless.
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