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qcpmedia · 4 years

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“Birds of Prey”: A Crisis of Infinite Harleys

by Chris Clay

Ok-- let's get this part out of the way first: I love Harley Quinn.

Have done since her debut on Batman The Animated Series. My mother let my dad take me to see Tim Burton’s brilliant 1989 Batman film (I was 5 at the time) because she was under the assumption that Batman was always the high camp she remembered enjoying in the television show from her childhood. Thanks, Adam West! My journey into comics began shortly after learning to read with classical mythology, so I was totally prepared for all manner of tales about monsters, demons, serial killers, human traffickers, etc. Quickly becoming an avid comic reader, 10 year-old me was a DC & Marvel veteran who spent a lot of mental energy filling in the blanks on the softened-for-cartoons versions of Bats, Spidey & the X-Men.

After years of seeing "versions" of my favorite supers onscreen, I thought this new character, originally the Joker's jester henchwoman, was a breath of fresh air. She seemed like the perfect fit for both the show and the Joker, the first real Manic Pixie Dreamgirl. She was funny but also scary, vulnerable and just overall awesome. Best of all? She didn’t seem nerfed for kids tv. She just seemed oddly... real. And she was contagious. That complex reality bled onto anyone she shared enough screen time with. She helped me to see Poison Ivy as the troubled yet brilliant and sensitive person the show had always hinted she was. Besides Catwoman, no other character tested Batman's rigid sense of right and wrong more beautifully. Even Joker seemed multifaceted when Harley was around. I cheered as loudly as anyone when she ditched that clown, and those Harley/Ivy episodes were some of the best the series had to offer.

OG Harley & subsequent versions over the years tended to show a woman that was preyed upon by a master manipulator who pushed her to the edge of sanity. To the edge, not over it. She was definitely traumatized, but the original portrayals never presented any extreme mental problems. Sure, she was codependent & had a temper. And shitty taste in men. Those traits in moderation are not craaaazy. That's just being human.

Harley continued to evolve over the years, shaped by many creators and performers across multiple mediums. Her look has changed, her status as villain or antihero has vacillated and her relationships have been presented more and more as on her terms rather than something foisted upon her by chance.

The characterization problems started in comics, but David Ayers' disappointing 2016 Suicide Squad film brought this lesser Harl to the masses, along with a version of her *ahem* more revealing New52 costume, seemingly metahuman durability & chalk white skin. I always loved the idea that Harleen had the ability to take her jester clothing & clown makeup off, sit around with an equally dressed-down Ivy and talk about who they really were, what made them tick. This new Harley (like her modern comics counterpart) was always "on", displaying very little of the soulful, mature character many of us comics & animation fans know and love. Despite that, she was definitely the highlight of the film, and there were flashes of brilliance that made me believe Margot Robbie could get to the fundamental truths of the character if given another chance.

And that brings us rather neatly to Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn).

Harley Quinn, last seen in the aforementioned Suicide Squad, has just been dumped by the Joker & is forced to make her own way in Gotham City’s underworld. In short order, she meets Dinah Lance, Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli & Cassandra Cain. All of these ladies have, for various reasons, fallen onto the radar of neat-freak gangster Roman Sionis, played with scenery-scarfing delight by Ewan MacGregor. Forced to band together to survive, they eventually learn that despite their considerable individual talents, they're more formidable as a team.

For some reason I still can’t quite articulate, I remember being slightly underwhelmed when the cast was announced. I liked all of the actors... hell, each of them has had at least one role I absolutely loved them in-- but I still felt they were odd choices for their respective roles in this movie (more on that later). The trailer was where I got genuinely worried that Warner might be climbing back into the hole so many creators toiled to pull the DC film properties out of.

However, as I said in the beginning, I love Harley Quinn. I was definitely going to see this movie. In Margot Robbie, I felt Harley had a champion on par with Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool or Hugh Jackman as Wolverine; an actor who would work tirelessly to get their character right, on the page & onscreen, however many tries it took. Plus she was saying some interesting things about what she thought the the film & the character should represent during the rollout (and I know the movie isn't the trailer), so I was at "cautious optimism" by the time I sat down to watch the film.

I was totally wrong about one thing: the cast is the best thing about the movie, and that’s not some backhanded compliment. K.K. Barrett's production design is great, colorful while not feeling cheap or phony, and Cathy Yan has a great eye for fun directing choices that keep things zipping along... but the cast is the real MVP. They’re actually great.

Jurnee Smollet-Bell is understated & surprisingly physical as tough-as-nails chanteuse Dinah Lance, a classic “woman trying to keep her head down in a bum situation”. She gave modern comic book moll vibes & I Stan. Rosie Perez's Renee Montoya brought a dose of realism to the candy-coated insanity swirling all around her while also giving Harley an entertaining foil for the first 2 acts. She has probably my favorite fight scene in the entire movie.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead, the person I went into the movie thinking was the most grossly miscast, is hands down my favorite character in the film. She's equal parts ruthless & socially awkward, a take on Huntress that is somehow both anachronistic & perfectly in step with her comic counterpart. Even newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a unique charm to what could have easily been an irksome reimagining of fan favorite Cass Cain as a sassy teenage pickpocket. MacGregor’s turn as Sionis is less a character than he is a symbol, acting as a stand-in for various brands of broken maleness, but the guy’s clearly having a blast and he has decent enough chemistry with the leads. Chris Messina as Victor Vsasz is an absolute snoozefest, a waste of both character and actor that I’ll give no more space or attention.

Now for the elephant in the room: Margot Robbie's Harley is my least favorite thing about the whole movie.

"But Chris..", I hear you yelling at your computational device, "...you said she was the lone bright spot of SS!"

True, but in a film with clever, unmuddied direction & other actors that actually display some semblance of emotion or charisma for more than one scene a piece, the bar has been raised this go round & Robbie's frantic mugging limbos under said bar by a mile. What’s worse is that she actively takes screen time that could be better spent fleshing out one of the other four characters. Only Huntress (who has probably the least screen time of any of the leads) actually has a backstory, but her origin is a large part of the plot. One could be forgiven for thinking the she wouldn’t have had one at all otherwise. We don’t really know anything about Cassandra Cain, Montoya is literally just Stock Cop, and you could make a whole movie out of how the hell Dinah ended up singing at Sionis’ club. And where the hell is the Joker?! Why is he letting Harley destabilize Gotham’s balance of power or letting Sionis threaten his ex-puddin’ while also claiming to be the the underworld’s top dog? Instead of answering these questions, we get a bunch of throwaway characters attacking the newly-emancipated Quinn and Suicide Squad flashbacks that look even uglier than before when placed side by side with the production design of this film. The fact that most of these characters are so thinly characterized yet still connect is a testament to the performances and chemistry of the central cast.

You get the feeling that a lot of this movie was Robbie as producer, exerting her ideas & energy onto a massive production that needed a lot of moving parts to line up in order to work. It's not easy to have everything riding on you, whether it’s the future of the DCEU, progressive representation of women in film or just your own movie stardom. I understand that and I sympathize. This frantic, flailing movie is the product of some 3 years of rewrites and pitching, shooting on and off for 9 months, plus all the promo stuff. Every interview that I've seen the cast do has basically been Robbie explaining things ad nauseam while Jurnee Smollet-Bell or Mary Elizabeth Winstead kind of quietly nod in agreement, with the exception of the recent season premiere of Hot Ones, where capsaicin finally allowed someone else get a word in edgewise. The real problem with that comes when you see the movie and realize she’s contextualizing so much of the film on other media outlets because the film itself doesn’t really seem to have the time or interest, leaving it’s star to try and explain what we actually see onscreen on the press tour. This leads to a situation akin to Final Fantasy XV, where the player needed heaps of supplemental content to understand what could and should have been included in the story proper. She just seems overworked, similar to when Ben Affleck wanted to perform the Herculean task of writing, directing & starring in the next solo Batman film. Maybe Margot & Harley both need a little break?

The internet is scrambling to diagnose why a well-reviewed movie starring a beloved character played by a popular actress is underperforming at the box office, citing everything from the trailer to the rating to the movie’s title, with many (including BoP creator Gerry Conway) blaming the lackluster box office on sexism, but I think there might be a simpler answer: this version is trying to pull from the entire history of Harley to create a singular characterization from sometimes disparate portrayals. It doesn’t help that Robbie’s Quinn exists in a universe that’s constantly shifting under her feet after every film.

Most comic characters are criticized for being inaccurate to the source material but Harley has arguably the opposite problem; almost a Crisis of Infinite Harleys, where Robbie and Warner Bros. want to stuff the best elements from every version of Harley into every movie she’s in. It’s supposed to be fan service but instead, often feels scattered and tiring. Not to mention the stuff these films just pluck straight out of thin air that don’t work...

The DC Universe version of the character chose to leave the Joker on her own terms and I thought that was a brilliant and socially relevant writing choice, so it was strange to then see the more mainstream (and arguably more popular) version of Harley be dragged out of Joker’s hideout, kicking and screaming. In a film who’s title was purposely made ridiculously long to accentuate the character’s supposed newfound self-sufficiency, For all of the things that do work well, Birds of Prey just doesn’t feel like what’s explicitly promised on the tin.

I still love Harley Quinn, and I still think Margot Robbie’s the right person for the job. No need to Pattinson her or anything... just put less on her plate and give the character and the movies she’s in a clear, singular direction. Pretty please, puddin’?

#birds of prey #harley quinn #dceu #margot robbie #ewan macgregor #jurnee smollett bell #rosie perez #dc comics #black mask #renee montoya #batman #ben affleck #robert pattinson #movies #essay

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robbieinterviews · 5 years

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Tarzan’s Margot Robbie on Why She’s No Damsel in Distress, 2016

When Margot Robbie popped up in The Big Short last year for a 60-second cameo—by definition, playing herself—to explain what “shorting” a bond means while drinking Dom Pérignon in the bathtub of a billionaire’s Malibu condo, I subconsciously shorted her. Here, it seemed, was that girl who invites you to stare and then tells you to fuck off if you stare for too long. The fact that just two years prior she so ferociously inhabited the role of the hottest gold digger in the history of cinema in Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street, permanently lodging herself in the collective male libido, served only to reinforce my concern that she might be some new breed of high-maintenance superpredator. Thankfully, the cameo turned out to be a clever little lie in a movie all about big fat ones. This was Margot Robbie playing her caricature—the retrograde Playboy fantasy in permanent soft-focus.

It comes as a surprise, then—a relief, even—to meet Robbie in April on the Santa Monica Pier and discover that she’s not remotely like the manipulative sex kittens she’s been so eerily good at portraying on the screen. It’s Robbie’s idea that we take a trapeze class together, and so here we are, smack dab in the middle of an amusement park over the water. Robbie, in yoga pants and a white tank top, her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, goes entirely unrecognized, which has something to do with the fact that, dressed for a workout with no makeup, she looks like every third person you pass in Southern California—but prettier. She is smaller and more compact than I had imagined, and has the athletic mien of someone who played sports in high school, along with the graceful gait and natural poise of a woman who’s used to moving through the world on the balls of her feet like a dancer.

I assumed Robbie had taken up the trapeze for one of the very physically demanding roles she plays in two big studio movies coming out back-to-back this summer—Jane in The Legend of Tarzan, costarring Alexander Skarsgård and directed by David Yates, in July, followed by the cultishly beloved psychopath Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad, based on a task force of characters from DC Comics and directed by David Ayer, which comes out in August and seems bound to turn her into a household name—but I had assumed wrong. When Robbie was growing up in Australia, her mother sent her off to circus school—she received her “trapeze certificate” when she was eight. She hadn’t given it a thought in years, though, until she began having a recurring dream not long ago in which she was flying through the air, high above the net under the big top. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid dream,” she says, and so she found this place and took a few classes. “I feel like I missed my calling.” She chalks her hands and gets ready to climb up to the platform.

One of our instructors, Kenna, a daffy redhead wearing comically large yellow sunglasses, remembers Robbie from her last visit. As Kenna is buckling us into our safety harnesses, she asks Robbie what part of Australia she’s from. “Gold Coast in Queensland,” says Robbie, her accent thickening at the mere mention of her homeland. “I watch a lot of really trashy TV,” says Kenna, “including Australia’s Next Top Model, and the girls from Gold Coast are definitely not respected by girls from Sydney and Melbourne.” Robbie laughs knowingly and says no, but because she has just slipped into full-on Australian-accent mode, it comes out as neeerrroh! “I had no idea I was living in a state that gets laughed at until I moved to Melbourne,” says Robbie, “and then someone was like, ‘Ohrrr, yar from Queensland, eh? You put “Eh?” on the end of your sentences because you’re all a bit slow.’ And I was like, ‘Is this a thing? That Queensland is the dumb state?’ It’s so embarrassing.”

At that, another instructor, CR, appears to teach us the finer points of trapeze. There are moments of weightlessness at the peak of each swing from the bar, which is when you want to change positions, or “throw the trick.” “As long as you make the change at the right time,” he says, “you hardly have to break a sweat. It’s all about timing.”

Robbie (precisely, elegantly) throws one trick after another—the set split, the set straddle, the penny roll—with what looks like little effort. “She’s disgustingly good at it,” says Kenna as we stand on the pier watching her above us, and I cannot help thinking that these exact skills apply to Robbie’s life down here on the ground: She has consistently displayed a knack for making her moves at exactly the right moment, no sweat. At seventeen, with very little acting experience to speak of—a few school plays, some commercials, a low-budget flick she describes as “barely even a student film”—she moved to Melbourne and landed a part on the Australian soap opera Neighbours, the longest-running drama in the country’s history, a gig she had for three years. In 2011—after working very hard with a dialect coach to perfect an American accent—she moved to Los Angeles and immediately got a part on the short-lived TV series Pan Am. A supporting role in Richard Curtis’s coming-of-age rom-com About Time followed, and then she was cast as Naomi—that minx from Bay Ridge—in The Wolf of Wall Street. It was a career-defining performance, one that left people agape: Who’s that?

As Jared Leto, her costar in Suicide Squad, puts it, “She took a role that other people would have had a very difficult time with and elevated it to something spectacular. To be able to stand alongside Leo [DiCaprio], one of the titans of the industry, and be there face-to-face, blow for blow, and not only hold her ground but really shine, was kind of a rare, explosive discovery. It reminded me of Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface.”

At first, Robbie wasn’t even sure she wanted to play such a shrewd ballbuster. “When I first read it, I thought, I have nothing in common with her. I hate her. It was a really tricky one to get my head around. But her motivation was ‘You guys are doing it—why shouldn’t I? It’s this man’s world, and I’m going to get mine.’ And I understand that.”

The things she was doing herself as far as stunts, you wouldn’t believe. There’s only a handful of actors who do that sort of work

David Ayer

Now, two years later, at 25, she’s the girl of the moment, on the cusp of a very big summer. The Legend of Tarzan, as directed by Yates, who brought us the best of the Harry Potter movies, is an A-movie reboot of a B-movie franchise, one that the filmmakers hope will lift the character up out of the swamp of kitsch and into the twenty-first century. When Warner Bros.—having kept a close eye on the dailies while Robbie was shooting Focus with Will Smith in late 2013—approached her about playing Jane, her first reaction was: Not for me. “There’s no way I was going to play the damsel in distress,” she says. But then she read the script. “It just felt very epic and big and magical in some way. I haven’t done a movie like that. The Harry Potter films could have been really cheesy, but David Yates made them into something dark and cool and real—plus it was shooting in London, and I, on a whim, had just signed a lease on a house there.” For Yates, “an unpretentiousness, a real pragmatism, was evident from the moment I met her. There’s something very true about her, and those qualities were very important for Jane—someone who’s open to experience the beauty of the world.”

Naturally, sooner or later, Tarzan meets Jane. “I met her in L.A. about a year before we shot the movie,” says Skarsgård, “just before The Wolf of Wall Streetcame out. She lived in this tiny studio apartment in Hollywood. We were supposed to just have coffee and talk about the project, but we spent the entire day together. I remember being blown away by how cool and down-to-earth she was. And then Wolf came out, and she went from relative obscurity to being the hottest actress in Hollywood.” When Tarzan finally started shooting in London, “she was living in a house with six other people,” says Skarsgård, “kind of a frat-house vibe, and on weekends she would go to Amsterdam and sleep in bunk beds in a youth hostel with Canadian backpackers, or to some music festival in Northern England and sleep in a tent. She’s not precious at all.”

The story of Suicide Squad, meanwhile, is that all of the bad guys in the superhero world who are locked up in prison are offered a chance to do some good—a suicide mission, if you will—to get their sentences reduced. Harley Quinn is both the shrink and the girlfriend of the Joker, played by Leto. “She doesn’t even have superpowers,” says Robbie. “She’s just a psychopath who runs around gleefully killing people—she finds joy in causing mayhem, which makes her weirdly endearing and fun to watch.”

The role, says Ayer, demands “a lot of heavy lifting for an actor. But she’s a tough girl, and she’s incredibly smart and mature beyond her years. She has ridiculous depth, and she’s never been coddled, so she’s very physically courageous. The things she was doing herself as far as stunts, you wouldn’t believe. There’s only a handful of actors who do that sort of work themselves.”

Robbie was filming the underappreciated Whiskey Tango Foxtrot with Tina Fey in New Mexico just before she went off to Toronto to shoot Suicide Squad. “She had a personal trainer literally following her around the set so she could be ready for Suicide Squad,” says Fey. “She’s very strong. There’s a scene in Whiskey Tango where she punches me and says, ‘We’re going out tonight!’ I had this huge bruise on my arm for days.” Fey is crazy about Robbie. “She doesn’t take herself too seriously,” she says. “And she has that soap-opera background, which I think is great. Those people just make a choice and don’t overthink it. They don’t think that acting cures world hunger in and of itself.”

When our trapeze class comes to an end, we find Robbie’s driver. As we head back to her hotel in West Hollywood, her phone rings. It’s Robbie’s boyfriend of two years, Tom Ackerley, the assistant director she met in 2013 on the set of the World War II drama Suite Française. “Hi, darling,” she says into the phone. “Just mastered a new trick. . . . Yes, I’m very chuffed with myself.” (Later, when I ask about Ackerley—whom she describes as “the best-looking guy in London”—she says, “I was the ultimate single gal. The idea of relationships made me want to vomit. And then this crept up on me. We were friends for so long. I was always in love with him, but I thought, Oh, he would never love me back. Don’t make it weird, Margot. Don’t be stupid and tell him that you like him. And then it happened, and I was like, Of course we’re together. This makes so much sense, the way nothing has ever made sense before.”)

Ackerley is actually calling to talk business: He and Robbie—along with Ackerley’s friend Josey McNamara, who is also an AD, and Robbie’s childhood best friend, Sophia Kerr—started a production company, LuckyChap, a year ago. The four of them all live together in that house in London and are planning to move to Los Angeles later this year. They have already acquired five projects, one of which is the script for I, Tonya, the highly anticipated Tonya Harding biopic that Robbie will star in. (Robbie is a decent skater—she played on an amateur ice-hockey team when she moved to New York City in 2011 to shoot Pan Am.) Their first film, Terminal, a dystopian noir thriller, has just started shooting in Hungary. Robbie plays a waitress whose story line ties all the others together. “We chose the most challenging indie film imaginable—it’s not commercially viable from a financier’s point of view,” says Robbie. “It’s shaving years off my life. It’s really hard work, but so rewarding and much more empowering than just acting. I was starting to feel like a little pawn getting moved around the board: Go here! Do that! Be her!” “This is a very smart thing for her to do,” says Fey, “because otherwise, as a piece of casting, she’s always going to have someone saying, ‘You look amazing—but we’d love for you to weigh less.’ Already at 25 she’s like, You know what? I’m going to opt out of that fuckery and be on my front foot with my career.”

It’s early evening when we finally arrive at Robbie’s hotel. We walk past the bar, and bump into Sandy Powell, the legendary costume designer, who’s having a drink with a friend. As it happens, Powell did the costumes for The Wolf of Wall Street, and Robbie tells me that most of those tight, come-hither getups she wore were Powell’s actual clothes from the nineties. “I would say, ‘Where did you get that?’ and she would say, ‘It’s mine. I used to wear it all the time.’ ”

We pass the swimming pool, and there’s not a person in sight. “I so badly want to go for a swim,” she says. “Do you mind if I jump in the pool?” She runs off to her suite while I make myself at home on a chaise and order a drink. When she reappears, she’s wearing a white one-piece bathing suit with a vaguely suggestive cartoonish illustration of a half-peeled banana emblazoned on the front, and short-short denim cutoffs. She seems blissfully unaware that the suit looks like something that, say, Pamela Anderson would have worn in the nineties. This reminds me of something Cara Delevingne—who plays Enchantress in Suicide Squad—told me about Robbie. “I was having a conversation with her the other night at the MTV Movie Awards,” Delevingne said. “In this world of celebrity and Hollywood, so many people act like they’re being watched all the time—but Margot doesn’t act like that at all. She’s constantly dancing like no one’s watching.”

The whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing has really worked out for me. You can apply that to anything—you just have to hustle

Margot Robbie

She peels off her Daisy Dukes and knifes into the water. At one point, she submerges herself just to the bottom of her nose. Suddenly, with her hair slicked back, I realize who she reminds me of: Margaux Hemingway, in a famous shoot from the seventies by Douglas Kirkland. Robbie gets out of the pool and lies down on the chaise next to me. I mention the resemblance, and she Googles her. “Wow,” she says. “What a stunner.”

Owing mostly to her surf-tastic teenage years, Robbie seems to prize a kind of athletic comfort above all else (though she does love the red carpet—“I think I enjoy the getting ready part more than the actual event, to be honest”). But her penchant for dressing down is also a tactical measure. Here at the hotel, as at the pier earlier, she goes completely unnoticed. “If I dress like this, people don’t look twice. It’s as soon as I put on makeup and a dress and have my hair done—I can’t get ten meters without being recognized.”

I bring up the various spellings of her name—Margaux, Margo, Margot. “I always said, ‘Mom—there was a really cool way of spelling my name, and you picked the boring way that gets everyone confused. They forget the T or call me Mar-got,’ ” she says, laughing. (Her childhood nickname was Maggot.) “Now everyone’s finally spelling my name right—that’s how I knew I’d made it.”

Robbie was raised with her three siblings by a single mother, Sarie Kessler, a physiotherapist, in a very small house (her parents divorced when she was young). “I adore my mother,” says Robbie. “She’s the most pure-hearted, divine human being.” We get to talking about the similarities in our childhoods: lots of kids, raised in a house with only one bathroom, everyone working to help make ends meet—the kind of setting that can scald one’s heart with ambition. “I went to a school where all of my friends were very well-off,” she says, “and I went to their houses a lot, and so I knew what it looked like to be rich but I didn’t have it, so I was like: OK—I know exactly what I want.” She worked several odd jobs—tending bar, making sandwiches, selling surfboards—which gave her a lot of confidence at a young age. “The whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing has really worked out for me. The more times you do that, the more you realize that no one really knows what they’re doing; everyone’s kind of figuring it out or pretending they know until they do know. And you can apply that to anything—you just have to hustle.”

Robbie’s hustle—her resourcefulness, mixed with ambition and a little naïveté—has defined her career since before it even started. “I was watching TV one day—maybe I was fifteen,” she says. “There was a girl my age doing a scene, and she said her line, and it was just not that good. And I remember thinking, I could have done it better. And then I thought, Well, why is she doing it? Why isn’t it me?”

To a one, every person I spoke to about Robbie pointed out two things: her willingness to try anything and her uncanny ability to be good at everything. A couple of years ago, when there were still eight people living in that house in London, Robbie made a rule: No one can move in unless they get the house tattoo. So they found an artist named Pedro with a shop nearby, and one day, while Pedro was tattooing Ackerley, Robbie begged to have a go at it. “I have a bit of a morbid fascination with needles,” she says. “There’ve been a few instances when I’ve given piercings.” Pedro eventually handed over the gun, Ackerley relented, and, well, she got hooked. As a wrap gift after Tarzan, Sophia—her best friend/housemate/business partner—bought her a tattoo gun on eBay, and soon, between scenes while shooting Suicide Squad, says Robbie, “people would come into my trailer: ‘Hey, Margs—can I get a tattoo?’ ‘Sure—sit on down!’ ” She even gave Delevingne something she dubbed “toemojis”—five emoji faces on the bottoms of her toes. “And then we all decided to get Squad tattoos, David Ayer included,” says Robbie. Now she travels with her tattoo kit everywhere she goes.

We head up to her hotel suite, where Sophia is hard at work on LuckyChap, and before long Robbie has set up her tattoo emporium on the dining-room table. The Rolling Stones are blaring from a laptop, and she’s giving me my very first tattoo. We had discussed it earlier—in theory—and settled on the Roman numeral five (V) because my birthday is May 5 and the V stands for my last name. And, well, why not—anything for a story, no? She sketched out a few ideas in my notebook, and then on my arm, and then, after few false starts, in a matter of minutes, it’s done. I love it, I say. “I’m so happy,” she says. Suddenly, Sophia shouts, “Oh, my God! Look at the moon!” and we both jump up and join her at the sliding glass doors. The three of us stare in silence for a moment at the biggest, brightest, orange-est moon any of us have ever seen. And then Margot Robbie, whose own star is burning awfully bright right now, says, “The moon is glistening. Literally. We’re listening to the Rolling Stones. And I just gave you a tattoo. So perfectly Hollywood!”

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