TV Post-season Review: Harley Quinn

Harley Quinn (streaming on DC Universe)

I never understood the appeal of Harley Quinn.

Oh, I was there from the beginning, when Harley (dubbed in thick Brooklynese by Arleen Sorkin) bounced onto the screen in Batman: The Animated Series. I thought she was a sad character, an intelligent professional woman who threw her life away to be the Joker's personal plaything, investing all her energy into loving a monster who could never love her back. I was also uncomfortable with how comfortable part of the male B:TAS fan base was with Harley's subservience to her "Puddin'": for some male fans, it's as if Harley was wish fulfillment, not cautionary tale.

Even when Harley broke free of the Joker in the comics, I still didn't get it. Her new look was designed to make male nerds drool, and her love of chaos seemed to be a lingering effect of Joker's influence. (She ditched her jailer, but the prison was still standing.) I've read essays about Harley from women writers who love Harley as a feminist icon, rebelling against the male gaze and the expectations of society while forging her own path. Well written, some of those. But I'm not feeling it.

Which brings us to the animated series (hereby abbreviated to "HQ").

Despite my misgivings about the character, when SyFy bought the rights to s1 of HQ from DC Universe, I was curious. The series promised an irreverent, Venture Brothers-style view of the DCU and the cast sounded top notch: Kaley Cuoco as Harley, Lake Bell as Poison Ivy, Alan Tudyk as Joker, Tony Hale as Dr. Psycho, Diedrich Bader as Batman, and Christopher Meloni as a version of Commissioner Gordon who desperately needed a good night's sleep (or a little less coffee).

I haven't completely changed my mind about Harley, but the end result was better than I expected. The smart move by the creative team was centering the season around the friendship between Harley and Poison Ivy. The series posits both as severely damaged women finding a way to trust each other despite their histories. Ivy here is a far cry from Uma Thurman's camp seductress in Batman and Robin: she's emotionally withdrawn and misanthropic, preferring the company of plants to people. (And she's an "ecoterrorist," not a supervillain, thank you very much.) Bell gives Ivy a sadness and vulnerability that's genuinely affecting.

They complemented each other well in s1: Ivy pulled Harley away from Joker's influence and tried to rein in her less-than-reasonable schemes to climb the Gotham supervillain social ladder; Harley offered Ivy friendship and emotional support without judgment.

[Harley/Ivy 'shippers who wanted the lesbian subtext to become text didn't get the payoff in s1.]

As the distant third in the triangle, the poisonous presence of the Joker hung over the season like a toxic cloud. Alan Tudyk has the handicap of Not Being Mark Hamill, but he was perfect for this version of the Joker: not so much the Clown Prince of Crime, but a surly narcissist whose devilish grin turned into a scowl whenever his massive ego was threatened. Tudyk sold the Joker's arrogance and confidence, playing him like a rock star in the supervillain community. It was very easy to believe Harley could fall under his influence (and be tempted to back slide even when she knew better).

Those central relationships carried the season even when other aspects were hit and miss. I got tired of the Clayface-as-hambone-actor bit really fast, and the depiction of Bane--one of Batman's most imposing villains-- as a marble mouthed doofus annoyed me. I was also put off by the unusually high civilian casualties throughout the season. It's hard to root for your (anti-)heroine when her actions inadvertently lead to bloody carnage.

[The Venture Brothers had a similar problem balancing a lightly satirical take on superhero vs. supervillain tomfoolery with an elevated body count. Anybody who watched the end of VB s6 knows what I'm talking about.]

OTOH, a lot of the season was just plain funny. Ron Funches scored twice as both King Shark and Frank, Ivy's Audrey II-ish plant buddy; I liked Giancarlo Esposito as Lex Luthor, playing the leader of the Legion of Doom as the world's most evil middle manager; and Jacob Tremblay was perfect as Damian Wayne/Robin, an obnoxious widdle stinker who drove Harley up the wall.

And as for Harley herself? Twelve years on Big Bang Theory showed Kaley Cuoco has impressive comic timing, and she hasn't lost a step here. I might not buy into Harley, but Cuoco gives the voice the right amount of crazy and manic determination. Here's hoping SyFy optioned s2.

HQ s1: B+

TV Post-season Review: Rick and Morty

Rick and Morty (available on Cartoon Network)

Dan Harmon needs to let it go.

Harmon, the comedic mastermind behind Community and co-creator of Rick and Morty, has railed against internet trolls and the toxic excesses of the fringes of R&M fandom--incels and alt-right snobs who hold up Rick Sanchez as a role model in their battle against softheaded liberalism.

So, some time in the long wait between Seasons 3 and 4, Harmon apparently decided he was going make it absolutely clear that Rick was no role model--even if he had to ram that message down our collective throats.

As you can imagine, that kind of took some of the fun out of Season 4.

For the first time ever, Rick and Morty crapped out for a disturbingly long stretch of episodes: the pointlessly violent season opener, with Morty warped into a white, suburban version of Akira; a dissertation on Rick's inability to form friendships wrapped in an episode about a toilet seat(!); a screamingly dull, one-note satire of heist movies, and a dragon orgy that wasn't nearly as much fun as it sounds. The first half would have been a near-total loss if it weren't for the mid-season finale, a wild First Contact calamity on a planet of sentient snakes that doubled as a parody of Terminator movies--past, present and probably future. (Summer impressing her friend with "snake jazz" is one of those tiny details I love about this series.)

In previous seasons, the writers carefully balanced the sci-fi hijinks with detailed character work. Every episode gave us a new wrinkle in the Smith/Sanchez family dynamic along with the 60 foot mucus monsters and talking butter serving robots. But Season 4 didn't seem to be interested in deepening our understanding of the characters, or in any type of continuity. (In episode 6, Harmon seemed to mock fans for expecting any kind of overall narrative structure.)

Now, granted, this isn't my show. If Harmon and his staff want to do multiple variations of "Rick is a genius, but he's an asshole" or "we're not obliged to follow through on anything if we don't feel like it", I can't stop them. But a long lasting TV series makes its money on the characters, and too much meta-narrative dicking around and too little character/plot progression can kill even the smartest shows.

R&M seemed to acknowledge this in the season finale, which crammed a full year's worth of continuity and callbacks into a tight 22 minutes. We caught up with Beth's clone, the Galactic Federation, Tammy, Bird Person (excuse me, Phoenix Person), and Dr. Wong (the Smith family psychiatrist). Morty and Summer argued the way a teenaged brother and sister do, but they joined forces to save the world. Jerry's stupid puppeteering act saved Rick's ungrateful ass. (Jerry also delivered street justice in an invisible garbage truck.) Rick literally had his guts beaten out and finally admitted to himself he was a shitty father. Both versions of Beth seemed to be happy with her life. There was a hilarious and plot-appropriate bit of product placement.

Sounds great, huh? Why couldn't they do this all season?

The finale gave me hope for Season 5. Maybe Harmon got all the troll baiting out of his system, and we can get down to serious business. Maybe they'll bring back the Citadel, the Council of Ricks and Evil Morty. Maybe Rick will realize he'll have to change to earn back his family's respect.

Or maybe Harmon was screwing with us again, and none of that will happen. Who knows?

Season 4: C+