I’m only going to write out this whole title once so enjoy it while it lasts. Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) is a movie that’s as excessive, unedited and utterly ridiculous as its title; a go-for-broke, R-rated, comic-book-inspired joyride through the most colorful, femme fatale-populated corners of the DC Extended Universe. Led by a cutesy head-butt of a performance from superstar Margo Robbie, Birds of Prey is a do-over of sorts for the much-maligned Suicide Squad, preserving its annoying pinball storytelling structure (the editing in this movie often stops momentum dead in its tracks) but delivering on the promise of unruly antiheroes actually being quite a bit of fun to watch.

Think of it as DC’s response to Deadpool; a female-powered, wise-cracking antihero romp complete with knee-cracking John Wick-style close quarter fisticuffs, filtered through the aesthetic lens of Joel Schumacher-era Batman flicks. It’s bright and in-your-face and full of swear words and has no qualms letting that be 90% of the appeal. And though Birds of Prey is rated R, the target audience for this kind of whizzbang rock-em-sock-em super-villain flick is mostly teenage boys (and girls), who may be more forgiving of its razor thin plot and high tally of storytelling sins than the “adults” in the audience.

But who am I kidding? Birds of Prey was designed to tap into those primal pleasure centers – the parts that “ooh” and “ahh” at the pretty lights, pretty ladies, and not-so-pretty knees snapping in the wrong directions – without feeling the need to engage on any deeper level. This is pure anarchistic popcorn entertainment that isn’t embarrassed by its uncomplicated A-to-B plot or its no-holds-barred absurdity. Like Harley ogling the perfect breakfast sandwich, it revels in the simplicity and wants us to just let go and slurp it up too.

Following the events of Suicide Squad, Harley Quinn and the Joker are kaput. Birds of Prey mostly yada-yadas the details, emancipating itself from the memories of that previous failed endeavor of phony bad boi grit. Desperate to prove that she doesn’t need a man to rely on, Harley proceeds to blow Joker the fuck up (props to DC for having the guts to kill off Jared Leto’s Soundcloud Prince of Poser offscreen) as Birds of Prey righteously (and rather symbolically) severs ties with the male-dominated superhero team-ups movies of the studio’s past.

Chinese-born filmmaker Cathy Yan (Dead Pigs) doesn’t extend a middle finger towards the braggadocio of David Ayer’s heavily comic-rooted formula so much as she preens and perfects it like a bird preparing a nest for her offspring. Yes, Birds of Prey is scattershot and fly-by-night in terms of its pacing, scrambling the chronology in what can only be described as annoying fashion, but it gets the heart of the material right; the unabashed joy of it all and the cheeky captivating charm of Harley Quinn.

Screenwriter Christina Hodson (Bumblebee) whips up a window dressing of a plot that has the whole of Gotham hunting down the recently single Harley. After offing her once-beloved puddin’, Harley is public enemy number one, crime boss Roman Sionis (alter ego Black Mask) wanting to peel her face off because of some past grievance or other. Honestly though, he’s just into the whole face peeling thing. Always one to worm her way out of a bad spot, Harley agrees to chase down a five-carat diamond in the possession of pint-sized pickpocket Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco) in a bid to save her skin. More specifically, her face skin.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that the plot is a barren wasteland of ideas (at least there’s no portals and faceless alien hordes) but there’s no denying that it only really exists insofar as to prop a handful of fun characters on top of, wind them up, and watch them go. And when those characters include Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s determined Huntress, June Smollett-Bell’s smoldering Black Canary, Rosie Perez’s tough-as-nails Renee Montoya, Chris Messina’s overtly homoerotic spin on killer Victor Zsasz, and Ewan McGregor’s scene-stealing, scenery-smacking, maybe-movie-MVP Roman Sionis (easily the best DCEU villain yet), the charmed mania and campy cheer of it all is impossible to deny.

If Birds of Prey proves one thing that the DC camp has learned, it’s that action sequences die when they’re done mostly in post, Yan turning to John Wick director Chad Stahelski to help realize practically-driven, in-camera action choreography. There’s a tidiness and vibrancy to the stunt work that has long eluded the vast majority of superhero movies, which historically have relied on massive CGI set pieces to lend the proceedings an “epic” sense of scale. Turns out that winding that back is the way to go, Birds of Prey delivering some of the better ground-level action scenes in a tentpole feature of this kind and doing it in such a way that contributes to the silly, defiant, larger-than-life hyperreality of the movie and larger DCEU universe.

And though the marque reads Birds of Prey, this really is a Harley Quinn movie through and through, the titular badass lady flock not assembling until the final stretch and Harley’s zesty aura sprinkled on near every slab of celluloid. In true movie star fashion, Robbie absolutely owns the role, milking the lawless charm and criminal appeal of the character for every ounce that she’s worth. Through sheer old school A-list allure, she’s made a Harley Quinn movie possible and though it may be pretty mindless Pop Rocks flashy, Hot Topic edgy fare, the girl-powered fun of it all is hard to shake a mallet at.

CONCLUSION: Margot Robbie leads a pack of bad-mannered ladies in the hard-to-dislike cinematic tomfoolery that is ‘Birds of Prey’. Aided by imposing stunt work and a killer cast (including a top-of-class Ewan McGregor), this clownish femme fatale antihero team-up packs all the punch a live action Harley Quinn movie promises.