Tony (tectactoe)’s review published on Letterboxd:
As always, my opinion re superhero movies should be taken with a grain of salt: I’m not the biggest fan, to say the least, and therefore I’m walk into them with mild hesitancy before the opening credits roll. That said, this is a catastrophic failure regardless of one’s affinity to superhero flicks; I can say that confidently because its most glaring faults—and there are a lot—aren’t as much byproducts of the genre as they are poor filmmaking practices in general. Trying to cram ten storylines into a single two-hour movie = no bueno. Oversaturating the pop-rock soundtrack to lazily imply a mood = no bueno. Littering your script with juvenile lines such as ”What perfume are you wearing, the stench of death?” and "That is just a whole lotta pretty in a whole lotta crazy." = no bueno. Decorating your lizard-guy in a hooded sweatshirt and giving him a stereotypical urban youth vernacular = why? To say nothing of Joker’s entire character design. (Nothing says “attention whore” quite like having the word deranged tattooed across your forehead.) A brutal screenplay from page one until curtains and a hodge-podge shitshow of Too Many Cooks in the Muthafuckin’ Kitchen. So many head-scratching, eye-rolling, and face-palming decisions that you’ll give yourself a migraine trying to wrap your head around what the hell everyone involved in this was thinking. (Favorite follies: Slipknot’s character arc, which lasts all of six minutes, or Diablo’s movie-long distaste for the whole crew only to pull a complete switcheroo during the finale because “[he’s] not losing another family!”) An early indicator of troublesome quality is how steadily the film focuses on verbally reassuring you that these are bad buys instead of actually trying to make them seem bad. It’s all gloriously capped off with a hard-to-watch waltz from Delevigne (plus her line: ”You don’t have the balls” that follows, lol) and a full budget’s worth of undercooked CGI that borders on unwatchable. And here I thought Gary Oldman’s closing lines in THE DARK KNIGHT would go down as the most abysmally forced inclusion of a film’s title within a presumptuously natural line of dialogue, but then comes Mr. Smith with, ”So that’s it? What, we some kindaaa… suicide squad?” Big fat oof.