Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2019)

9. Once Upon a Time... In Hollywood

In the year 2019, Quentin Tarantino was still, somehow, a controversial filmmaker. Of course, the reasons for why have shifted along with our general cultural woes. The violence in his movies is shrug worthy and the use of racial epitaphs is begrudgingly accepted. Instead, the fallout of Harvey Weinstein's #MeToo moment wouldn't leave Tarantino totally unaffected. Mostly, it's was news that his latest movie, “Once Upon a Time... In Hollywood,” was going to grapple with the historical death of Sharon Tate by the infamous Manson Family that caused concern. The film was even originally intended to be released on the 50th anniversary of the killings. There was plenty of worry that the famously acerbic filmmaker might not handle this real life tragedy with the amount of sensitivity it deserves. While these controversies, among others, have continued to follow the film to some degree, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” has largely been enthusiastically received by most critics, fans, and filmgoers.

Rick Dalton once had a hit TV show, starring on popular western “Bounty Law.” But now it's 1969 and the only thing he has to look forward to is a revolving door of guest spots on shows starring younger, hotter, more upwardly mobile actors. His ego takes its greatest hit when his agent suggest he star in Italian films, which Rick thinks of as hitting rock bottom. Mostly, Rick spends his days drinking too much, hanging out with his best buddy and former stuntman Cliff, and preparing for the next guest spot... And lusting after the life of glamour and success his new next door neighbors, Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate, experience. Unbeknownst to Rick and Cliff, a sinister family has plans of their own for the Polanski household, history the two men will be wrapped up in.

From the fairy tale-evoking title on down, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is a film awash in memories and fantasies. The film takes us inside its protagonists' heads on more than one occasion. We see Cliff's recollection of the events leading up to his wife's death or how a fight with Bruce Lee got him fired from a stunt gig... And these memories clearly favor his side of things, in the way memories tend to. There are flashbacks within flashbacks. When it's mentioned to Rick Dalton that he nearly got the Steve McQueen part in “The Great Escape,” we are treated to a fantasy sequence depicting him in that role, created by seamlessly inserting Leonardo DiCaprio into the classic film. Tarantino then directly draws a line between these mental imaginings with movies – both the ones that actually exist and the ones that were created for this film – by shooting them in a similar style. Because movies reflect our dreams and aspirations too, making “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” the latest in Tarnatino's lines of films about the power of films.

This dream-like, nostalgic approach extends to the way the movie is shot. Tarantino often shoots from a heavenly angle, looking down on his characters in the distance. During a lengthy visit to the Playboy Mansion, we often assume the perspective of an outsider (who just happens to be Steve McQueen) looking in at these young, beautiful people living it up. Rick himself is sometimes that outsider too, admiring the Polanski/Tate household from afar. This is even evident in the voyeuristic moments of Cliff admiring the comely hippy chicks from his car seat. Or the Manson Family spying on people from afar. The visual language of “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is that of a memory, something recalled but not actually happening right now. It becomes especially dream-like in the final moments, when Rick finally receives the acceptance he's been longing for and ascends up into Hollywood heaven. What could be more fitting for a nostalgic love letter to a bygone era?

Tarantino comes in close on his performers often, of course. Most importantly, he fills the screen with his actors' faces and bodies (And, of course, their feet. Because “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is a film hopelessly defined by its director's fetishes.) when they are in an important act: Watching movies and television. A key sequence involves Sharon Tate going to see herself in the Dean Martin/Matt Helm flick, “The Wrecking Crew.” We see the joy on her face as she experiences the dream of seeing herself up on that big, glowing screen. She watches the audience as much as she watches herself, getting high on the joy she feels from their joy at enjoying her. Later, we see Rick and Cliff enact a smaller screen version of this, as they watch Rick on “The F.B.I.” at home. They ideally chit-chat as they watch, the audience becoming privy to their casual thoughts. If these movies and TV shows are dreams, projected big or small, there's nothing more surreal or fulfilling than watching them come to life.

And, sometimes, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” lets us live that dream too. The film often takes us inside the cinematic world. We see the grindhouse war flick Rick stars in, with its shaky camera work and crash-zooms. The brief glimpses we get at “Bounty Law,” in clean black-and-white with sanitary angles, is a perfect recreation of shows like “The Rifleman” or “Wanted: Dead or Alive.” During his guest role as a villain-of-the-week on a new western, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” adopts its most cinematic feeling. Honestly, the intimate angles, atmospheric lighting, and slowly prowling camera movements seem uncharacteristic for late sixties television.   Clearly, this is how Rick is experiencing this challenging shoot: As an elaborate and intense event.

As much as “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is a story of fame and the magic of movies, it is also a self-reflective commentary on the modern world. Rick and Cliff are two toxic men struggling with their upcoming obsolescence. Cliff probably killed his ex-wife, the kind of Hollywood gossip you imagine a fanboy like Tarantino lives for. Rick, meanwhile, heaps scorn on hippies. The world is changing and both men can feel it in their bones. They know they'll have no place in the reorganizing universe. This anxiety is mirrored in the story, where the legendary bro-mance Rick and Cliff share is soon coming-to-an-end as well. It's the end of the sixties too, the impending Manson murders representing a national shift-of-perspective too. Ultimately, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is a last hurrah for this kind of outdated perspective, giving the tough guys – endearing but screwed-up – one last chance to be heroes before the world changes forever. The future belongs to little Trudi Fraser, with her method acting, not to burned-out dudes like Rick Dalton.

But, more than any of that, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is an intentionally shaggy hang-out movie. Long stretches of the film are devoted to just watching Rick and Cliff go about their days. There are long scenes of Cliff driving his car, weaving in and out of traffic. We watch him go about his business in his trailer home, stirring up some mac-n-cheese and feeding his dog. (A delightful dog, a beautiful pitbull named Brandy that is a very good girl indeed.) We see Rick mix up drinks and hang out in his pool. We are privy to their light-hearted conversation as they hang out and drink too much. And, ya know what? It's totally engrossing. Tarantino's movies have always luxuriated in spending time with his characters, always enjoyed their company. Now, he's made a movie largely devoted to just that. And, being a master of dialogue and crafting finely detailed worlds, it's absolutely captivating.

That detail is important. The world of “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is just as invented as the samurai movie/comic book playground of “Kill Bill” or the blaxploitation-influenced western universe of “Django Unchained.” Only this time, Tarantino is building an entire world on the pop culture ephemera of the late sixties. The director's specifically chosen soundtrack this time ushers largely from the radios and record players the characters listen to throughout their day. And it's not just music either, as we hear radio spots and advertisements over the airwaves too. Movie posters, real and invented, pepper the background. Magazine covers, commercial artwork, TV episodes and intros, and architectures of movie theaters and fast food restaurants fill the film. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” builds an entire universe around the most forgotten pieces of the past. This creation even extends into the end credits, when we see Rick Dalton cut a promo for Tarantino's fictional Red Apple cigarette brand or hear real radio spots from back in the day over the credits.

It's not just a world of idyll pleasures. There's a quiet sense of tension rumbling under the surface all throughout “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.” As soon as the Manson Family is introduced, the audience feels ill at ease. We, as outside observers well aware of history, know exactly what their presence means. The camera work becomes askew as we see them dumpster-diving. Later, this tension boils up to the surface as Cliff visits the infamous Spahn Ranch. In a drawn out sequence, we feel the sense of danger grow and grow as Cliff roams through the isolated area, surrounded by people we know are capable of harming him... Which he proceeds to make more nervous, more agitated. At that point, the tension becomes almost unbearable. The filmmaker knowingly uses our knowledge of history against us, ramping up the tension to create a splintering mini-thriller in the middle of his Hollywood hang-out movie.

Of course, the swerve is coming. Tarantino is, after all, the director that killed Hitler at the end of his World War II epic. We can assume that some twist, some sting in the scorpion's tail, is coming concerning the infamous Manson Family murders. Yet the sheer irrelevant ferocity with which “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” attacks the facts is delightfully startling. In its last third, the film shifts into an act of alternative history, Tex, Sadie, and Katie deciding to target Rick Dalton instead. From there, the film explodes into a hysterical shock comedy, deploying increasingly violent – outrageous, gory, cartoonish – retribution against the real life murderers. The camera spins in frenzied ways, the soundtrack swells, and the audience is encouraged to hoot and cheer as the good guys, who really aren't all that good, rain glorious, holy hellfire down on the historical villains. It's amazing.

Tarantino's frenzied fictional payback on real life killers has a deeper purpose, other than providing a giddily joyful conclusion to his movie. Having Cliff Booth and Rick Dalton pay evil onto evil with the Manson Family isn't just an amusingly childish act of fictionalized wish fulfillment. Tarantino is re-writing history and giving us the better version of reality. When a still tripping balls Cliff recounts events to the police, he mangles Tex Watson's infamous “I am the Devil” line. Thus, in the world of the film, nobody remembers the Manson Family (attempted) murderers. The killers are denied their infamy, their cultural legacy. The power is taken away from them. If movies are dreams, and this movie is a dream too, then we get to experience the happy ending that reality denied us. (This approach is also evident in the way Tarantino gives Manson himself only a minor role, the cult leader appearing in one brief scene. The film is not interested in adding to the pop culture cult of Charles Manson.)

After “Django Unchained,” Leonardo DiCaprio is now an established part of Tarantino's troupe of actors, which he even refers to as “The Gang” in the end credits. (That Leo is a genuine star that can get movies greenlit probably doesn't hurt.) If Calvin Candy was a childish fraud hiding behind a carefully cultivated image of power, Rick Dalton's true persona is not so easily hidden. He shows a clear stutter during every day conversation. He meticulously memorizes his lines in order to cover up the condition while filming. During his daily life, his insecurities are more evident. He's a neurotic mess, drinking way too much and always puffing cigarettes in an attempt to dull the pain he feels every day. This doesn't do much to keep his discomfort with his own imperfections from boiling over, such as in the volatile meltdown in his trailer after forgetting his lines on-set. Dalton spends the whole movie looking for acceptance, for that fleeting feeling of satisfaction. DiCaprio brilliantly inhabits every twitch and squint, sacrificing all his movie star glamour in the part of an almost has-been struggling to maintain his self-imposed dignity.

As electric as DiCaprio is, the film's most impressive performance is from Brad Pitt as Cliff Booth. Cliff is not a good man, his macho bravado and casual attitude towards murder clearly painting him as the worst of what the film's heroes represent. (That Cliff killed his wife and then delivers extreme violence against women in the movie's climax is pretty clearly QT deliberately fucking with our moral compass.) He's also kind of a loser, a tough guy reduced to his more famous friend's errand boy. Despite, or maybe because of that, Brad Pitt is called in to deliver all his charm. And, boy, does he succeed. Looking like a sun-baked god, Pitt works all his movie star charm to create a character you truly want to hang out with. Cliff might be a good ol' boy scumbag but you also bet he's a lot of fun. Pitt's laconic, smooth appeal is directly responsible for that.

The two lead an extraordinary cast, of course. Margot Robbie's lack of dialogue as Sharon Tate was much contested at the time of release, though ultimately a silly issue. Robbie is the film's source of light, playing Tate as an effervescent angel that makes every room she walks into brighter. No wonder several of the film's characters are in varying shades of love with her. Margaret Qualley is enticing in a whole different way as Pussycat, the Masonite that nearly seduces Cliff. A ball of manic, sexual, and ultimately unhinged energy, she is probably the film's best discovery. Al Pacino gets a colorful bit part as the enthusiastic agent attempting to rescue Dalton's career. The film is peppered with icons of the time, with Mike Moh's pitch perfect impersonation of Bruce Lee being the most notable. When not doing that, Tarantino peppers the cast with his favorite performers and cult icons, filling the margins with Kurt Russell, Luke Perry, Zoe Bell, Michael Madsen, James Remar, Martin Kove, Bruce Dern and Danielle Harris. (And, in an oddball in-joke either about the film's themes of a new generation replacing the old or its atmosphere of Hollywood legacy, a number of children of famous performers are present. Rumer Willis, Maya Hawke, and Harley Quinn Smith all have bit parts.)

In other words, “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is a triumph. It is not Tarantino's most energetic, touching, powerful, or exhilarating film. However, it is surely among the director's most likable. Another love letter to cinema from that great lover of cinema, the film is a richly constructed story full of lovable characters that the audience can't wait to spend more time with. Though it would weather its own controversy – the accuracy of the depiction of Bruce Lee seemed to be the main one, which largely ignored the self-serving fantasy structure of that sequence anyway – I was happy to see Tarantino continue to make his own special brand of art. Yeah, it's self-indulgent. But, whatever. The filmmaker and his characters would certainly never apologize for what they like. I don't intend to either. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2015)

10. The Hateful Eight

Quentin Tarantino announcing that he was working on a new movie would be a bigger deal if he hadn’t announce about a hundred projects over the years he’s never made. When Tarantino is actually writing a movie, with an envisioned production date not far off, that’s exciting. When “The Hateful Eight” was first announced, another western assumed to be a variation on “men on a mission” flicks, the anticipation was already running high. Not long after the project’s announcement, it fell apart, Tarantino canning the whole thing because of a leaked draft. Yet it seems Quentin doesn’t let go of an idea once it grips him. Soon, “The Hateful Eight” was back on track. Seeing how the final film would vary from the leaked screenplay made “The Hateful Eight” enough of an event already. The director’s insistence upon releasing the movie on physical film, in an extra-widescreen roadshow edition, elevated “The Hateful Eight” even further. I drove two and a half hours - slightly less time then it would take to watch it - to see this movie. I have to say, it was worth it.

In the middle of a Wyoming blizzard, a few years after the Civil War, a man sits upon a pile of corpses. A bounty hunter and a former Union Major, he soon comes across a stage coach. Inside, another bounty hunter and his latest target sit. After picking up another stranger, who claims to be the sheriff-in-waiting of the near-by town, the stage coach stops at Minnie’s Haberdashery. Inside is a collection of characters with motivations all their own. As they wait out the storm, tension rises, rivalries are established, and blood is spilled.

“The Hateful Eight” has been described as Tarantino’s most political film. It’s not an incorrect assessment. In the lead-up to the film’s release, the director has attracted controversy for attending a Black Lives Matter rally. In this light, “The Hateful Eight” can’t help but seem like a comment on recent events. Racial tension plays a huge role in the film. The events of the Civil War loom large over the film. The lingering resentment between the North and the South, and the still palpable tension between the races, forms the movie’s backbone. Yet “The Hateful Eight” is about many types of hate. The black characters distrust the Mexican characters. A woman is brutally beaten throughout. An atmosphere of suspicion and loathing characterizes the entire movie. The title is well chosen, commenting on a culture boiling over with resentment between the races, the sexes, and humanity in general.

“The Hateful Eight” has also been compared to the director’s earliest film. The movie does have something in common with “Reservoir Dogs.” Both concern men with ambiguous loyalties stuck in a tight location together. However, there’s very little cutting away or extended flashbacks. Once “The Hateful Eight” arrives at Minnie’s Haberdashery, it rarely leaves it. Instead, the movie focuses on the rising tension among the men. Ordinary events, like boiling a pot of coffee, serving up some stew, playing a piano, or sitting in a chair, are laced with suspense. In its second half, “The Hateful Eight” also becomes something like a murder mystery. Either way, the script’s focus is on tightening the screws and keeping the audience guessing.

Throughout his entire career, Tarantino has had a relationship with violence. The director has attracted controversy for his treatment of bloodshed. There’s no doubt that the mayhem in Tarantino’s movies frequently cross over into the cartoonish or joyous. In “The Hateful Eight,” however, the violence is brutal, ugly and direct. Russell frequently cracks Leigh across the face, blackening her eye, bloodying her nose, and knocking out her teeth. Poisoned coffee results in two characters vomits torrents of blood, an extended and sickening moment. Each gunshot has a visceral effect, the bullets ripping through flesh and bone. At one point, a head is shot enough times it explodes into gore. By the end of the film, every character left alive is covered in blood, in agonizing pain as their bodies’ fail. There’s nothing glamorous or fun about the violence here. This is a vicious story about the wages of hate and the violence reflects that.

Even in the leaked first draft, Tarantino boasts how the film would be shot in “GLORIOUS 70MM!” In the months leading up to the film’s release, the plan to roll out a “road show” version in the aforementioned glorious 70mm was announced. The super-widescreen format has two affects on the film. The white, snow-choked Wyoming countryside becomes truly rolling and seemingly limitless. A carriage crossing the snow and ice or a small man marching over the hills appear like huge images. It’s all part of Tarantino’s plan to emulate the epic westerns of the sixties and seventies. Yet most of “The Hateful Eight” takes place inside a small building. Thus, the men’s faces become landscapes. The confines of Minnie’s Haberdashery become a country. The director foreshadows this decision in the movie’s first proper shot. The camera slowly zooms out of the face of a wooden statue of Christ, expanding from the very personal to the very wide.

When reading the leaked screenplay, part of the fun was imagining which actors would play which parts. We knew Tarantino had written roles for Bruce Dern, Tim Roth, and Michael Madsen. The corresponding characters weren’t too hard to figure out. Two of the leads weren’t announced but the script provided plenty of clues. Major Warren talked with a candor obviously inspired by Samuel L. Jackson. Chris Mannix, meanwhile, was described as wide-eyed and wiry, two attributes that brought Walter Goggins to mind. In the final film, Mannix and Warren begin as bitter enemies, veterans from opposite sides of the war. Yet of all the eight, they are the two with the clearest motivations, a shaky alliance eventually forming. Jackson is experienced at managing Tarantino’s dialogue. The Major is one of the filmmaker’s most vicious anti-heroes, cruel but skilled at manipulating those around him. Jackson brings the part to life with zeal. As for Goggins, he brings a lot of nervous, quirky energy to Mannix, generating humor during the film’s grimmest moments.

Two names I was surprised to hear announced were Kurt Russell and Jennifer Jason Leigh. Russell, sporting some magnificent facial hair, plays bounty hunter John Ruth. At first, Ruth appears to be the closest thing the film has to a traditional hero. However, the more time we spend with him, the clearer it becomes that Ruth is a sadistic and dangerous bastard. Russell plays the part as a variation on his usual John Wayne tough guy part, bringing that style’s nasty roots to the surface. Jennifer Jason Leigh gives a deeply unglamorous performance as Daisy Domergue. Becoming more and more deformed as the story goes on, Leigh spits back all the hatred the other characters give her. Though a victim, the script doesn’t deny that Domergue is as hateful as the rest. Hopefully, the part will launch the hard-working character actress to wider acclaim.

Though those four roles emerge as the leads, “The Hateful Eight” is still an ensemble film. Smaller but still notable parts are created for its other actors. As Oswaldo Mobray, Tim Roth gets to indulge in all his foppish fancies. Roth is also experienced at spouting the director’s twisted dialogue, turning it into poetry. A nice bit of acting comes when he drops his accent near the film’s end. Bruce Dern, as the old Confederate general, says a lot with a squinting stare or bits of short, barked dialogue. Michael Madsen plays probably the most mysterious of the eight. His character doesn’t say much but, when he does, his scratchy voice makes an impression. Demian Bichir probably gives the least showy of all the actors. He does, however, get to be one half of a great exchange of dialogue in a stable. I also loved Zoe Bell’s brief appearance, which she brings a lot of energy too.

Like many of Tarantino’s films, “The Hateful Eight” is presented as a novel. The film is broken up into six chapters. Only the fifth leaps around in time, Tarantino showing restraint by keeping the story mostly confined to one time and place. The film’s biggest excesses are two moments when the director himself narrates a sequences of events. Though surprising and somewhat funny, it also has the side effect of pulling the audience slightly out of the film. Yet the show reveal of the character’s backgrounds and motivation, the script slowly twisting the screws on the audience, feels like a great book. In its full presentation, “The Hateful Eight” runs 187 minutes long, over three hours. (This includes an intermission.) Yet it zips by very quickly, never feeling bloated or overdone.

Up until it’s sixth chapter, the film version of “The Hateful Eight” follows the first draft relatively closely. Tarantino promised, however, that the final movie would have an entirely different ending. Indeed it does. In the last forty minutes, the writer/director seems to intentionally be throwing right angles at the viewers. Characters previously assumed dead actually survive their wounds. Characters recently introduced die suddenly and violently. Long portions of the last act are devoted to characters debating their loyalties. Or trying to squirm their way out of this grim situation. It’s not exactly tiresome, as the film is still rolling along at a solid clip and the performances are still great to watch. However, the movie definitely looses a bit of steam during this part.

In “Django Unchained,” for the first time, the director worked with a composer to create music for one of his films, instead of solely sampling pre-existing songs and scores. Legendary composer Ennio Morricone contributed an original song. Much was made of Morricone coming aboard to create the score for “The Hateful Eight.” This hype was slightly misleading. Instead of composing an entirely new score, Morricone instead used excerpts from his rejected score for “The Thing.” I’m not necessarily complaining. Both films share a star, a snowy setting, and rising paranoia among a tight cast. Morricone’s music features foreboding, mounting strings which is a good fit for the material. Despite using original music, Quentin can’t resist inserting familiar songs or score snippets. Morricone’s own “Exorcist II” score is memorably sampled. One of David Hess’ songs from “Last House on the Left” makes a notable appearance, adding intensity to a flashback. A song from the Roy Orbison-starring western “The Fastest Guitar in the West” plays over the end credits, a fantastic deep cut.

“The Hateful Eight” has been called nihilistic. Its ending is bitterly ironic, two characters coming to an agreement with death all around them. An important line near the end, “We still have a long way to go,” suggests that relations between the races, genders, and humanity as a whole haven’t improved much since the Civil War era. It’s a powerful message to end on, further marking “The Hateful Eight” as the director’s most political work in years. It’s damn good, a beautifully shot film full of fantastic actors, making a powerful point about the world as it is. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2012)

9. Django Unchained

There’s a lot to discuss about “Django Unchained.” The film manages to be several very different things. To Tarantino’s credit, it’s exactly what he said it was going to be: A movie that handles racism and slavery, not as a serious “issues” film, but instead as an exploitation movie. On paper, that sounds simple enough. It sounds a lot like “Inglourious Basterds,” truthfully. The big difference lies in the fact that Nazism is a mostly dead philosophy while racism is still a very real problem people grapple with on a daily basis. Despite what idiots like to tell you, the US is still licking the wounds slavery left on the country’s collective psyche. Despite its filmmaker’s intentions, “Django Unchained” still comes off as awfully heavy at times. Did I mention it’s also one of the best things Tarantino has done?

Considering the director’s obvious love of the western, it’s sort of surprising this is the first proper whack QT has taken at it. (“Kill Bill Vol. 2” being an improper whack.) Deconstructions are popular when it comes to “low” genres like westerns, horror, or superheroes. Tarantino doesn’t trade in deconstructions. His work wagers less in “This is what would really happen,” and more in “Wouldn’t it be cool if this happened?” He plays with genres, mashes together divergent influences without doesn’t pick apart. Following this template, “Django Unchained” starts by dropping a blaxploitation hero into a spaghetti western story.

The movie blatantly trades in the styles and conventions of the spaghetti western. Early in the movie, the director doubles down on dramatic crash-pans and side-swipes before thankfully dialing that back for the reminder of the film. You’re probably so use to seeing morally ambiguous heroes in Tarantino’s films that you might not even notice its use here is probably a deliberate reference. The surreal elements and religious satire so prominent in those classic films, especially in the wake of the original “Django,” gets a few passing reference. This is most notable in a one-off moment of M.C. Gainey's slave overseer marching around with Bible pages stitched to his shirt, a delightfully off-beat element. The genre’s trademark homoerotic undertones and torture sequences are combined into one of the more blunt would-be castration scenes in recent memory. Characters often lounge around dusty rock formations, a setting that could just as much be in Texas as Spain. The gun training montage is actually less out of Italian western and more of a throwback to classic American westerns, since Sabata and Sartana were the greatest marksmen in the world to begin with. The entire winter sequence seems to owe quite a bit to “McCabe & Mrs. Miller,” at least on a visual level. The “lone hero rides into a troubled town” archetype is re-imagined in the last act, with the town substituted with a massive plantation. The writer even slips in many references to classic German folklore, just for variety.

Not to mention the glorious, operatic bloodshed. Spaghetti westerns, and the original “Django” in particular, were noted for splashing a whole lot of red into the traditional browns and oranges of the western. “Django Unchained” pushes that even further over the top. Gunshots results in giant clouds of red spraying everywhere. Huge ribbons of bright red gore dance through the air, exploding out of every exposed vein. An entire room is quite literally painted red with blood. The level of cartoonish violence in “Kill Bill” are applied to bullets and holsters gun-play. It’s awesome. A massive gunfight that explodes at the end of the second act is nothing short of glorious.

I’m not intentionally avoiding discussing the movie’s racial content. Many term papers will be written about this, no doubt. The crimes of slavery and racism are portrayed with blunt, vicious honesty. Never before has the slash of a whip been so visceral. The festering, bloody wounds of prolonged shackle wearing are fully seen. A gladiator fight between slaves in a swanky club lacks all the stylized action of the gunfights, instead playing as an intentionally cruel, vicious brawl. In a move sure to infuriate Spike Lee, “nigger” is used constantly and every time it stinks of dripping, awful hatred. No moment is more sickening then when a runaway slave is torn apart by a pack of attack dogs. Any one who has accused Tarantino of fetishizing violence on film should probably watch that moment on repeat. His heroes righteous revenge might be comic book-y in their joyous bloodshed but he takes no satisfaction in this moment of violence. The cruelties of slavery are fully illustrated. It’s horrifyingly obvious that the characters in this film and, sadly, in history, saw other human beings as nothing but objects.

But what is the writer/director’s intention here? The film’s villains inflict horrible things on Kerry Washington and other victims, everything from ‘hot boxes’ to terrifying looking iron mask. I’m not sure if Tarantino is holding up the horrors of history to our modern eyes, begging us not to forget, or if he's establishing that the bad guys are really bad guys. These historical acts of cruelty might just be in service of a traditional, pulpy genre exercise. While never quite disrespectful, the script is undeniably sarcastic at times. In a hilarious scene, the funniest moment in the film, a group of raiding racists, would-be Klansman, bitch about the eye-holes cut into their white bags. The movie’s many, extremely funny moments, like a wobbling giant tooth on a spring, are bound to be overlooked. Is Tarantino playing with these historical cruelties just to make audiences uncomfortable? Or, perhaps, the friendship formed between Django and King Schultz is meant to represent the things that bring us together, not force us apart. Is the not-as-exaggerated-as-you'd think historical content making a wider statement? Or does the director just want us to know that slavery was, you know, bad?

Never the less, the effect is cathartic. Action movies are rarely allowed to have any sort of historical context these days. The most recent example I can think of is “Iron Man,” where a superhero flies over, lands right down in a Middle Eastern battleground, and blows up a group of terrorists single-handedly. The Basterds Swiss-cheesed Hitler. Django guns down hordes of evil racists and slavers. “Wish fulfillment” or “revenge fantasy” seem inappropriate, but “escapism” seems to fit. We wish it could be that way. That a single person could turn the tide of history, delivering swift, tried-and-true justice against the greatest evils of the world, past and present. This is what action movies were invented for, exorcising our cultural pains in big, broad strokes.

Enough about the complicated themes of the movie. Let’s talk mechanics. Our writer/director seems to be making up for the dialogue/action ratio leaning heavily towards dialogue in his last two movies. “Django Unchained” is fantastically paced. While you’ve got long dialogue scenes, of course, it never drags. Frequently, it builds tension, leading up to explosive violence. It’s a long movie but never feels it, running wildly from action scene to action scene. As in his best movies, the dialogue is action. It’s also one of the filmmaker’s most visually arresting films, as the rich colors of the Antebellum South are put forth right in front of us. He tinkers around with the visual language of cinema quite a bit. Flashbacks are shown in over-saturated, scratched-up segments, recalling “Grindhouse.” Instead of just mimicking the aesthetics of the older films, Tarantino actually uses his bag of tricks to further the movie’s tones and emotions.

Some have criticized the use of titles in the middle of the movie, coming at the end of a montage sequence. However, I kind of have to applaud that move. If the writer had included everything that happened during that time period, the run-time of his already long movie would have bloated to something like six, seven hours. Some times you just need to cut to the chase as a writer and trust that you’re audience understands this. My favorite stylistic choice is a sudden fade to black, one that lingers a little longer then usual. The audience is left wondering if the movie is actually over for a minute. It serves the same purpose as the “Missing Reel” gag in “Grindhouse,” of skipping the end-of-the-second act/transition towards the climax fat, but is a more disciplined, effective use. Overall, “Django Unchained” shows Tarantino evolving as a filmmaker, not just a stylist.

Of course, the chosen soundtrack is impeccable. Plenty of songs are taken from classic westerns, spaghetti and otherwise, further showing the originators of the movie’s DNA while indulging Quentin's “Spot the reference!” fetish. These choices, most especially the themes from “They Call Him Trinity” and "His Name was King," are deployed at exactly the right moments. The anachronistic use of modern pop music shows up again, the fury of a 2Pac rap powering a vicious shoot out. The movie also makes the best use of a Jim Croce song ever, as “I’ve Got a Name” is repurposed as an anthem of slavery freedom. A former slave, a man treated as an object, has a true name for the first time, has his own life for the first. Uncharacteristically for Tarantino, original songs are used. "Ancora Qui," composed by Ennio Morricone and sang by Elisa Toffoli, is a haunting Italian elegy. John Legend's "Who Did That To You" is expertly used during a key moment, providing a big musical exclamation mark on the end of the second act. Both of these are excellent and, unless you know what they are going in, you’d probably assume they aren’t original compositions.

Christoph Waltz is good goddamn actor, isn’t he? His effortless charm, used so brilliantly as Hans Landa, is played straight here. Several times, he manages to defuse tense moments simply by being smarter then any one else in the room. He talks his way out of deep shit in hilariously verbose blocks of dialogue. The dumb-founded response of the crowds is always funny. Once again, Waltz proves no actor has been better suited to Tarantino's writing then him. His Oscar win for the part was unexpected but truly deserved.

There was a lot of hype surrounding Leonardo DiCapro’s turn as the film’s villain, the foppish, despicable Calvin Candie. He doesn’t give a bad performance, that’s for sure. But I can’t help but be a little disappointed. Perhaps expecting another iconic character like Hans Landa was too much. There are only two moments were DiCaprio gets to show off his strength for villainous performances. The first involves the conversation with the runaway slave, right before the escapee’s brutal execution. DiCaprio’s delivery underline one of the harshest, most disgusting truths about slavery: That people treated other people like property. DiCaprio’s passive-aggressive, relaxed delivery illustrates that perfectly. The second is the actor’s big, show-off moment, the Oscar clip if he had gotten nominated. It’s an impassioned, yelling tirade about servitude that ends with screamed threats of hammer-related violence. Leo’s intensity was so real that, when his hand started bleeding during a take, he didn’t even notice it. The scene plays off the same intensity Scorsese has used so well in films like “The Departed” and “Shutter Island.”

That I was a bit underwhelmed by Calvin Candie probably plays into the fact that he’s not the real, primary villain of the film. He’s a very bad man, to understate it, but he’s not actually the one in control. That duty falls to Samuel L. Jackson’s Stephen, the head house slave, a man who subtly manipulates those around. Jackson’s initial appearance has him playing the role of a mushed-mouthed, folksy Uncle Tom, with all the “motherfuckers” and “niggas” you expect from Jackson. Slowly, it’s revealed that Stephen notices subtle clues that his master doesn’t. In an incredible moment, Stephen has a one-on-one with Candie, where his façade falls away, and the cold, calculating, observing mind beneath shines through. In a career where Jackson phones it in so often, simply playing up his typical persona, it’s nice to see that the guy actually can act. The casual cruelty in Stephen’s lines and Jackson’s delivery makes him the biggest monster in the movie. You can definitely write a lot, and I expect people will, about internalized racism when it comes to this character.

Among these pedigree performances, Jaime Foxx’s lead role pales slightly. Foxx’s Django isn’t a showy display of acterly skills. Instead, it’s an example of a good actor playing the role to the fullest. Foxx imbues the strong, silent spaghetti western hero type with a fury and passion not typical of the genre. As you’d expect, the supporting cast is filled out with cute cameos and call-backs, among them Michael Parks, Tom Savini, Russ Tamblyn and Amber Tamblyn, and a cameo from the director himself, where Quentin sports maybe the worst Australian accent ever put to film. He, at least, has the good sense to give himself the best death scene in the movie. The favorite has to be a bit part from Franco Nero, the man who originated the title character. He shares a knowing nod with Foxx, symbolically passing the torch from one generation to the next, before exiting the film in the exact same hat and duster he wore in the original “Django.”

“Django Unchained” is, at it's best, a perfect balancing act of tone. While most filmmakers sneak social commentary into their genre films, Tarantino instead builds an exciting, invigorating genre pastiche around hot-button social issues, organically weaving the two together in the process. Few other filmmakers could have pulled it off. The horrible reality of slavery is acknowledged before the film blows through it with a bloody bullet. Ah, maybe that's the message? That things change, for the better? For all our problems, America at least figured out that slavery was wrong and corrected it. Look at that, we've come full circle, back to "Pulp Fiction's" theme of change and redemption. It's too soon to tell if "Django Unchained" will endure like that film has but, for the time being, I'm comfortable in saying it's one of the director's best films.[Grade: A]

When I start this Director Report Card, there was no new Quentin Tarantino movie on the horizon. "Kill Bill Vol. 3" had been officially abandoned. The director had mentioned wanting to do something called "Killer Crow," a project that looked to mash together "Django's" inflammatory racial content with "Inglourious Basterds'" World War II setting. However, I sort of suspect that to become another one of those projects Quentin talks about but never makes, like "Double V Vega" or that Mandarin kung-fu movie.

Instead, just a few weeks ago, news broke on "The Hateful Eight." It was to be a proper western, as opposed to "Django's" 'southern,' and was presumed to be a take on "men on a mission" flicks like "The Magnificent Seven." Just as quickly as that project was announced, it fell apart amid personal betrayal and much shouting. Whether the director is overreacting to a script leak is a topic of debate. Either way, it sounds like he'll be back to work on something again soon. Maybe he'll make that giallo I remember him mentioning in a "Fangoria" interview years ago. Whatever winds up being next, I'm looking forward to it. I've really enjoyed revisiting Tarantino's films, confirming him as still one of my favorite working directors.

I also enjoyed wrapping up a Director Report Card within a month for once. First time that's happened in a while. Anyway, next time we see each other, I'll be talking about the Oscars again. Hoo-ray.

Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2009)

8. Inglourious Basterds

“Inglourious Basterds” is a movie Tarantino has talked about making for years now. For years, it was his mysterious World War II epic, named after the more grammatically correct spaghetti combat flick “The Inglorious Bastards.” It was a script he tinkered around with for over a decade and, at one point, was suppose to star Adam Sandler and Arnold Schwarzenegger. At another point, it was going to be a television mini-series. For a long time, I was fairly certain it was never going to actually get made. When Tarantino’s “Inglourious Basterds” finally made it to theaters in 2009, it was preceded by years of hype. How could any movie live up to such anticipation? Apparently it did, as it wound up being the director’s highest grossing film at the time, garnering the most Academy Award nominations of any of his films, and receiving a heaping helping of critical praise.

This is doubly surprising when you consider that “Inglourious Basterds” is a film engineered to play with expectations. The titular squad of bad-ass Nazi killers, plastered all over the trailers and movie posters, are not actually the main characters. They only appear in maybe half of the film. The actual protagonist of “Inglourious Basterds” is Shosanna Dreyfus, the Jewish girl who previously escaped Hans Landa, the notorious Nazi Jew Hunter. The two plots, the Basterds’ campaign of terror against the Germans and Shosanna’s own quest of revenge, exist separately for most of the run time. Even by film’s end, the two never meet. Their stories play out parallel to each other without ever intertwining. Once again, Tarantino is violating one of the first rules of screenwriting with subplots that never meet. However, unlike the split screenplay of “Death Proof,” “Inglourious Basterds” playing with convention works far better.

The film is deliberately paced, balancing impressive moments of suspense before paying them off expertly. The opening sequence, where Landa investigates the farm house, plays out fantastically. The German officer is nothing but civil, charming even. The scene operates on Hitchcock’s First Rule of Suspense: The Bomb Under the Table. The audience knows Shosanna and her family are hiding under the floorboards, even before the director reveals it. The suspense comes from whether Hans Landa knows that and, more importantly, what his reaction will be. Of course, he does know, the character revealing that information as graciously as anything else. Powered by the nervous synth tingle of Charles Bernstein’s score for “The Entity,” the scene builds to a deeply suspenseful climax. Finally, the scene dissolves like ephemeral smoke, Landa laughing into the air. “Inglourious Basterds” impresses right out of the gate.

And it’s a good thing too, since the middle section drags quite a bit. The scenes introducing the Basterds work fairly well. Aldo Raine’s motive establishing monologue worked fantastically in the film’s trailers and works even better in the film. Til Schweiger’s Hugo Stiglitz, with his Samuel L. Jackson provided introduction monologue, certainly makes an impression. Showing Hitler’s reaction to the Basterd’s violence before we see the violence itself is another smart element, mentally stuffing up the characters. After that impressive moment, “Inglourious Basterds” hits a series of bumps. The long scenes of Shosanna meeting Zoller or Michael Fassbender’s Lieutenant Hicox drag. They aren’t without bright moments. Shosanna meeting Landa again for the first time in four years generates some minor suspense. The unexpected appearance of Winston Churchill is a humorous surprise in the latter. Both moments are powered by Tarantino’s trademark dialogue. However, reading Tarantino’s dialogue as subtitles instead of hearing them robs the words of their musical quality. The scene with Hicox and Michael Myers’ General Fenech is loaded down with exposition and plot mechanics. None of those scenes are bad but they lack a certain energy.

The middle act cumulates in a Mexican stand-off in a basement bar. Tarantino usually reverses his Mexican Stand-Offs for the climax. Dropping that sequence in the middle of the movie is somewhat problematic. First off, the build-up is tortuously long. Characters talk endlessly. Attempts by the Basterds to talk with their spy is repeatedly interrupted, first by a drunk soldier on leave and then by a nosy SS officer. The scene winds up coming off as more annoying then suspenseful. When guns are finally drawn and the characters stop talking bullshit, the stand-off picks up speed. The sudden explosion of violence is unexpected, as it cleaves through a large portion of the cast.

That story move is representative of one of the film’s major problems and also, unexpectedly, one of its strength. Spending time developing Lieutenant Hicox and Hugo Stiglitz just to kill them off a few scenes later is frustrating. Why did we invest in these cast members if they weren’t important? From a fan’s perspective, this is frustrating. The coldly, if reasonably, psychotic Stiglitz is fascinating, especially when paired with Til Schweiger’s intense, stare-eyed performance. Michael Fassbender, with his ironic mastery of accents, cuts an impressive figure, like a modern day Errol Flynn. His delivery makes some of the heavier dialogue easy to listen too. So what was Tarantino's purpose in clipping them so soon? Perhaps he was making a point about the wages of war, how any one can die at any minute. Maybe.

Or, maybe, he just cut down a huge story to an only big story. After the self-indulgence of “Death Proof,” “Inglourious Basterds” is one of Tarantino’s most disciplined screenplays. Like most of the director’s work, the film is presented in novel-style chapters. Oddly, there are only six chapters. That doesn’t seem like very much. This is a sprawling story with dozens of characters. There are at least ten Basterds to start with. We only spend time with only four or five of them. Shosanna’s story only details some of her history. We know very little about her relationship with Marcel. Zoller’s plot line could have easily been expanded. It’s easy to see how much was condensed, removed, cut, or whittled down. “Inglourious Basterds” is a pretty good two-and-a-half hour movie that would have been an amazing five hundred page novel, ten hour mini-series, or seventy-volume comic book. Though frustrating on first viewing, this is less of a problem on repeat watches. This isn’t the whole story, nearly a small portion of it. Tarantino is adapt at creating sprawling worlds and this is one of his most involved.

“Inglourious Basterds” is plagued with that stop-and-go pacing until somewhere near the film’s hour point. All plot lines come together during an exhilarating montage set to David Bowie’s “Cat People” theme. A song originally about repressed sexual desire suddenly becomes a ballad about Shosanna’s simmering rage, her revenge finally coming to a head. From there on, “Inglourious Basterds” is electrifying. Aldo and company’s attempt to fit in at the film première is hilarious. Hans tearing through their disguise with his polyglot skills is both hilarious while ramping up the stakes. The bullets, fire and explosion are perfectly executed, the chaos bringing way to silence. The resolution to Zoller and Shosanna’s storyline is shocking but weirdly cathartic, mostly thank to the inspired musical choice of Morricone's "Un Amico." Finally, the film’s final step builds fantastically on what we already know. Raine looking directly into the camera and declaring the film Tarantino’s masterpiece might be a bit presumptuous. But as far as final acts go, “Inglourious Basterds” has got one hell of one.

Another sign that this screenplay is the writer at his most efficient is its thematic element. “Inglourious Basterds” is a film lover’s proposal about film’s importance to history. It’s less a war movie then a war movie. The turning point of the war doesn’t take place on the battle field but in a movie theater. Film itself is position as a literal weapon, a pile of nitrate reels re-purposed as a bomb. The characters discuss movies and directors, mentioning “King Kong,” Emil Jennings, “Sergeant York,” and Leni Riefenstahl. The characters prominently feature an actress and a film critic. A huge portion of the plot revolves around a propaganda film. During the climax, Tarantino visualizes the film’s theme when Shosanna’s mad, cackling face is projected onto a plume of white smoke. Never before has the director so seamlessly merged his love of cinema with his script’s theme.

When released, a predictable wave of controversy greeted “Inglourious Basterds.” Critics questioned the taste of casting Jews as bloody avengers against the Nazis. If meeting genocide with further violence was a smart connection to make. On one level, you wonder if such a response was even on Quentin’s mind. Was he making a movie about World War II that wasn’t a “serious issues” movie but rather a simple exploitation flick? Yet then again, the wages of war and revenge are right there in the script’s DNA. The Basterds mow down Nazis, grim-faced and ruthless. The same way SS Officers mercilessly murdered Jews. Nobody in the film comes out clean. Innocent people die in Shosanna’s fire; soldiers who were just doing their jobs fall at the Basterds’ bullets and blades. The avengers are ultimately no better then the perpetrators. War is ugly business and nobody makes it out without innocent blood on their hands.

Despite its interesting construction and intriguing subtext, the most important thing to come out of “Inglourious Basterd” was Christoph Waltz. Never before has an actor been more suited to a director. Waltz’ ever-loquacious delivery is perfect for the director’s trademark double-stuffed dialogue. Waltz is never tripped up by the words, always delivering them in a razor sharp fashion. It helps that Tarantino wrote such a great character for him. Hans Landa is bound to go down in history as one of cinema’s great villains. Landa never betrays his sinister thoughts, hiding every action behind a smile and likable turn of phrase. He is so charming that, when he cooks up a complicated plot at the end, you half-way want to see it succeed. It’s no surprise that Waltz has quickly become Tarantino’s trademark actor as the two are perfectly suited to one another.

The rest of “Inglourious Basterds’” cast is more mixed. Melanie Laurent impresses as Shosanna, packing a lot of intensity under a glance or a word. Her fear and resentment is balanced on her face. Seeing her reap her revenge is truly satisfying. For a character like Bridget von Hammersmark, a charming, internationally beloved actress, you needed a charming actress. Diane Kruger is more then up to the task, lovely and likable, especially during the bullet extraction scene. Brad Pitt ultimately wins the audience over as Aldo Raine. However, his laughably bad Appalachian accent takes some getting used to. At the very least, Pitt adapts nicely to Tarantino’s style. Speaking of bad accent, Eli Roth’s Bahston accent is embarrassing. Roth is hardly a trained actor to begin with and he stretches his limited range to its breaking point. It would have been nice to see more of B.J. Novak or Omar Doom, as both are entertaining in their limited roles.

“Inglourious Basterds” marks a strong return of the director’s style. Some trademark crash-zooms and tracking shots appear during the “Putting Out the Fire” montage. The sudden appearance of Samuel L. Jackson as a narrator is a great addition and works especially well during Hugo Stigletz’ introductory flashback. I like the quick jumps around in time, like a flash back to a machine gunned Jeep. Tarantino even manages to justify his foot fetish, as a missing shoe is a plot-point. His soundtrack selection is typically excellent, Billy Preston’s “Slaughter” theme especially.

Hugely ambitious, somewhat uneven, but propulsive when it works, “Inglourious Basterds” is a distinctly Tarantino production. Some love it a lot, calling it the director’s best work. I wouldn’t go that far. However, the movie’s best moments are spectacular and unforgettable. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2007)

7. Grindhouse
Segment: "Death Proof"

“Grindhouse” was the movie nerd event film of 2007. Quentin Tarantino, the God of the Movie Nerds, got together with his filmmaker BBF Robert Rodriguez. (Who, if not a God of Movie Nerds, is at least a Movie Nerd Disciple.) Two guys who had spent their entire careers riffing on classic exploitation flicks got together to make a proper homage to the genre. Better yet, they were determined to recreate the experience of a 42nd Street double feature, with grainy film reels, vintage bumpers, and trailers before and between. The best part? You were getting two movies for the price of one. In a time when all movie theaters are the same, Tarantino and Rodriguez were determined to make a unique film-going experience.

That “Grindhouse” failed to connect with a mainstream audience really shouldn’t have surprised anyone. It was always a weird, niche product, even with big-time filmmakers like Tarantino and Rodriguez behind the camera. What was more surprising was the harsh reaction the film received from film nuts, especially “Death Proof,” Tarantino’s half. People called it self-indulgent and, worse yet, boring. Most notably, the director himself considers it his worse film. Some still loved it, myself included. I went as far as to call it my favorite film of the year. Would such a divisive film like “Death Proof” hold up, especially separate from the overall “Grindhouse” experience?

It’s definitely my least favorite Tarantino film. Which is to say there’s still things I like about it. However, “Death Proof,” at times, seems designed to defy expectations and test fanboys’ patience. After “Kill Bill,” I think a lot of casual fans got the impression that Tarantino is an action director. He’s not, not really. I mean, his movies have action in them, some times a lot of action. But the meat still is and has always been the dialogue. “Death Proof” has action in it but the ratio widely leans towards the dialogue. I doubt it was intentional but if it is that makes “Death Proof” Tarantino’s “Through Being Cool,” a dismissal towards the hanger-ons and posers.

“Death Proof” was suppose to be Tarantino’s first horror film, a combination of an eighties slasher flick and a seventies car movie. Not so much in actuality. The horror elements take up one major scene and a handful of minor others. What’s “Death Proof” actually about? Girl talk! The first hour or so is devoted to a batch of female characters yakking about unimportant shit. Then they all die. The film then introduces a new batch of women before committing to another half-hour of girl talk. It’s a problematic structure. Switching protagonists mid-way through a film throws the audience off, forcing us to realign after an hour. Tarantino was experimenting with this but it doesn’t work. The film’s biggest flaw is that it completely starts over in that fashion.

The film’s other biggest problem is that first batch of chicks aren’t very likable. Arlene, Shanna, and Jungle Julia are introduced complaining about weed. They start bitching about boys in petty, small ways. We spend the next hour with them and the characters never really drift out of that bitchy mode. The story gets very small, contained briefly within a Mexican restaurant but mostly within a noisy, crowded bar. The dialogue between the girls and the other bar patrons are meant to be charming. Arlene makes out with a random guy in a car. Shanna complains to some dude about how her name is pronounced. The three girls share shots with the bartender, played by Tarantino himself in his most mugging, self-aggravating mode. They come off like a group of mean girls. Unlike the director’s best characters, we wind up spending more time with them then we’d ever want too.

The script tries to give us peaks inside the girls’ minds. Julia gets sad about a guy who won’t text her back. Arlene has her doubts about lap-dancing. All of these humanizing bits come off as deeply superficial. The actresses are not charming enough to carry their ugly characters. Vanessa Ferlito’s Jersey accent is grating. The actress isn’t bad. You can easily see her doing better with different material. The depth just isn’t in the script. Sydney Poitier's best attribute is that she can easily navigate Tarantino’s arch dialogue. Some of the words and references are ridiculous, like an out-of-the-blue shout out to Zatochi or a repeated mantra concerning taste in men. Poitier’s tongue is quick enough to handle these words. They’re never realistic but at least they sound good. Jordan Ladd, who is talented, is given little to work with. Most of her performance comes from playing off of Eli Roth... Who is as obnoxious an actor as Tarantino is. The horny teen character doesn’t do the guy any favors.

What does work about the first half of “Death Proof?” Mostly Kurt Russell. You imagine Russell was on Tarantino’s list of actors he wanted to work with. Kurt spouts the director’s trademark dialogue with ease. A monologue about Stuntman Mike’s history as a stuntman is especially entertaining, Kurt making a list of old TV references sound natural. Stuntman Mike is, naturally, a despicable human being, a misogynistic serial killer and a total sleazeball. However, Kurt makes him likable. He winds up being more relaxed and humble then his female victims. Was this intentional, a possible comment on slasher conventions? Maybe. Kurt’s fourth-wall busting glance at the viewer certainly suggests it. But if so, why do we spend so much time with the girls? For the record, Rose McGowen’s Pam is more likable then her peers and McGowen, comatose in Rodriguez’ half, is likable and quick-witted here.

You know what else works about the first half? The fucking crash. Mike’s sinister intentions are hinted at, his car lurking in the shadows. When Pam’s face smashes into the dashboard, “Death Proof” starts to lumber to life. The crash is brilliantly orchestrated. Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich’s propulsive garage-rock classic “Hold Tight” powers the scene with its thrashing guitar beat. The flashing lights and shrieking sound effects add a layer of shock. The collision is shown four times, the effect on each girl focused on. The violence ramps up with each shock, a simple shattered neck elevating to a tire peeling out on a face. The scene climaxes with a car flipping repeatedly, real metal smashing against concrete. It’s amazing.

And then the movie starts over again. Which is frustrating. Tarantino is at least smart enough to make the second batch of ladies far more likable. Much of that has to do with the actresses involved. Zoe, Kim, Lee, and Abernathy talk about the same shit as the original girls did. They discuss guys, sex, work, and movies. The dialogue is on the same level, artificial but poetic in its own way. However, the cast is much more likable with a visible chemistry. The film is largely a vehicle for Zoe Bell, playing herself, proving to be immensely charming. Rosario Dawson’s infinite charisma takes Abernathy a far way and it helps that she’s the most down-to-earth of the girls. Flighty Lee adds some levity, provided mostly by Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s all-smiles appeal. Tracie Thoms’ Kim is the thorniest of the girl but still proves humorous. Are the long scenes of the girl sitting around a table talking still tedious? To a degree, yes. Are the “Vanishing Point” and other references too on the nose? Oh yeah. They certainly go on far too long. Still, the far more interesting cast helps makes the ride easier.

Finally, in the last third, “Death Proof” gets really good. The slasher premise is abandoned entirely, the film transiting into a car chase flick completed. The action proves bracing and exciting. Metal smashes on metal, the chrome twisting. The car weaves around traffic, innocent bystanders occasionally paying the price. The direction frequently puts us right in the action, careening around tight corners and through debris. The cars leaping off an inexplicable mound is a great stunt. When the Dodge Charger comes off that ramp, smashing into Mike’s car, flipping it… Man, that’s satisfying. Tarantino set up to pay homage to and top the carsploitation classics of the seventies and more then succeeded. From that perspective, the film is hugely successful.

Even then, there are issues. “Death Proof” is a revenge movie too. However, this time, the heroes are on the wrong side. The audience knows Stuntman Mike is a serial killer. Zoe, Kim, and Abernathy don’t know that. As far as they know, Mike was just some asshole who tried to run them off the road. Their reprisal seems somewhat disproportional. Had the girls just thrashed Mike, that probably would have been fine. But Abernathy collapsing his head with her boot? Too much. Should one of the girls been murdered? Should Mike and Jasper, the hick who probably rapes Lee, been combined into one character? Reason is sacrificed for a flimsy girl power message.

I mentioned that “Kill Bill” is considered the start of Quentin’s self-indulgent period. Maybe “Death Proof” is the actual marker of that change. The bar’s jukebox is filled with the kind of music that the director loves, sixties soul and classic garage rock. “It’s So Easy” from “Cruising” and “Chick Habit,” probably a reference to “But I’m a Cheerleader!,” are prominently featured. There are repeated, lascivious shots of the girl’s feet, legs, and asses. This is especially notable in the extended cut, which features a scene of Mike all-but licking Abernathy’s feet. Not to mention the excised lap-dance scene, which is all about Vanessa Ferlito’s ass. I mean, it’s a nice ass but the director is bordering creepy old man territory on that one. And what about the convenience store that stocks “Fangoria,” “Video Watchdog,” and has SOTA’s Johnny Cash figure on the counter? I don't think such a place exists. Stick with the “Grindhouse” cut if you can, a leaner version of a film that desperately needed more editing.

My biggest problem with “Death Proof” is that it flatly explains its own themes. In the connecting scene between the two stories, Sheriff Earl McGraw explains that, for Stuntman Mike, murder is sex. This is especially egregious since the pseudo-feminist themes are fairly apparent. Maybe the movie needed more shots of Mike sitting on his car hood, the duck hood ornament from “Convoy” nestled between his legs. That’s comparatively subtle. I also have a problem with text messaging being such a plot point. The movie keeps up the grindhouse aesthetic, with grainy film and weirdly looped audio. Yet the modern phones and references really takes me out of the setting.

I tear “Death Proof” down but, really, the film is enjoyable. When it works, it’s fantastic. The problem is there’s a lot of bullshit to wade through to get to those memorable moments. It is, without question, the director’s most inessential film. When combined with “Planet Terror,” it proves more manageable simply because the “Grindhouse” presentation works so well. Those fake trailers and bumpers help a lot. On its own, “Death Proof” is the first Tarantino movie that is skipable. [“Death Proof:” B-, “Grindhouse:” B+]

Director Report Card: Quentin Tarantino (2004)

6. Kill Bill: Vol. 2

At first, many fans, myself included, were annoyed that “Kill Bill” was split into two halves. This was before the “Harry Potters,” “Twilights,” and “Hunger Games” of the world made such behavior all too common. Being forced to wait a year for the end of the story was ridiculous. It came off like Harvey Weinstein being his Scissorhanded self, clipping a film in half to double his profits and chances at Oscar gold. Of course, the decision was motivated by those things. However, in retrospect, the split worked in the film’s favor. A complete “Kill Bill” would run just over four hours. That’s fine for home video but would probably be asking too much of theater audiences.

Moreover, the two halves have wildly different tones. “Vol. 1” is big, bold, bloody and action-packed. “Vol. 2” is more reserved, conversationally paced, with a melancholy heart beating under it. Packed, clever dialogue is traded more frequently then fists. If volume one showed what the Bride was capable of, the second volume explores her motivations more fully. Packaging such different parts together might have led to some tonal whiplash on the audience’s behalf. Part two doesn’t start with a rowdy knife-fight. Instead, it begins with a slow-paced series of conversation, shot in soft black-and-white, concerning not samurai swords but wedding arrangements. 

Part two is different in another way. The first half of Tarantino’s epic kept Bill off-screen, the man represented by his swaying voice, discussed in hush tones by other characters. The second film has Bill present within its opening minutes.  The conversations between Thurman and Carradine shed light on the characters’ relationship and attitudes. The Bride and Bill loved each other, in a way. How couldn’t she, when Carradine makes Bill so effortlessly charming, a coolly mysterious man? The two actors mute their emotions but the attachment shines through anyway. The wedding chapel scene perfectly captures the hand-in-hand affection and resentment old lovers feel for each other. The chapter’s ending is expected but still comes of as shocking because of the emotions invested in the characters.

Bill had to be given a proper introduction. The film’s entire emotional resolution revolves around Beatrix and Bill’s relationship. We discover that the Bride suddenly abandoned her assassin life-style because she discovered she was pregnant. In turn, Bill’s violence and revenge was motivated by a wounded male ego. She left without telling him. Bill collects women, controlling them, feeling ownership over them. This information brings the film’s feminist subtext into sharper reflect. “Kill Bill” is all about an independent woman struggling against male entitlement. In this light, Beatrix’s alter-ego of the Bride becomes more then a Truffaut or Vicente Aranda references. The heroine is cast in the traditional role of bride and mother, to contrast against her defiantly nontraditional personality. She owns her womanhood in a battle against warped male egos. (This reading explains the Esteban Vihaio sequence which otherwise probably goes on too long.)

The mother part is especially important. “Vol. 1” ended with the revelation that the Bride’s daughter survived. She continues her Roaring Rampage of Revenge up until the moment she steps through Bill’s door and is confronted with her daughter. The expression on Uma’s face is heartbreaking, a thousand emotions washing over her. From here, the direction of “Kill Bill Vol. 2” shifts again. Bill isn’t a cookie-cutter bad guy, his motivations instead being all too human. He loves his daughter and is so warmly personable that you almost can’t believe he shot her mother in the head. Yet Bill owns up to his crime, even telling their daughter about it. The movie becomes a battle of parental rights. Both Bill and Beatrix were determined to raise their daughter a certain way. Their conflict was born out of this difference in opinion. Considering Tarantino was raised by a single mother, you can’t help but read into the film’s story decision. The final title card refers to the Bride as a lioness which is all too correct. Her power is tied directly to her feminity and her rights as a mother.

While addressing such complex issues, “Kill Bill Vol. 2” still functions as a fantastically entertaining action film and thriller. The film features perhaps the greatest catfight ever put to celluloid. It’s the film’s sole major action beat and one that makes a serious impression. Despite brief screen time together up to that point, there’s a fabulous rivalry between Beatrix Kiddo and Elle Driver. The two were rivals in combat and for Bill’s affection. Daryl Hannah gives a venomous, captivating performance. Her note pad inscribed monologue not only drips with malevolent intent but a wry sense of dark humor. Tarantino rather brilliantly sets this battle between two expert killers in a tiny, in-closed, shitty trailer. The two demolish the building, smashing through walls and over counters. Their combat is close and personal, smashing chairs, pulling hair, with cunt punts aplenty. Some of my favorite moments involve both actresses kicking each other down at the same time and creative uses of snuff-spit and TV antennas. The battle cumulates in a truly satisfying move, one that is unexpected at first and eagerly anticipated with repeat viewings. It’s a fabulously entertaining sequence and, considering the film’s climax is centered around dialogue, really stands out.

Though low on death-dealing action when compared to the first half, “Vol. 2” makes up in other ways. The first “Kill Bill” was mostly influenced by Japanese cinema. The second half shows more varied influences. Most notable is when the Bride is buried alive. The extreme-close ups on eyes and the stylized shots of nails hammered in the coffin lids recall the films of Lucio Fulci. The entire sequence, from its music to the shaky, dark camera work, all recall Italian horror. It’s a genuinely thrilling moment, invoking the audience’s claustrophobia while successfully playing up the Bride’s vulnerability. In that moment, it seems like her mission has failed. The live burial moves into the film’s second-most entertaining sequence. Pai Mei, a legendary Chinese character, proves massively entertaining. His dialogue, though cruel, is hugely quotable and memorable. Watching the Bride improve and prove herself is as satisfying as any other eighties training montage. Of course, with his focus on gritty detail, like bloody knuckles or the Bride striking a wall in her sleep, Tarantino dispels any clichés.

Despite its many fantastic attributes, “Kill Bill: Vol. 2” is not as consistently satisfying as its predecessor. Budd is not a problematic character. Michael Madsen plays him fantastically, making Tarantino’s thick dialogue sound like natural, redneck speak. Madsen’s mumbly delivery fits perfectly with the character’s personality. Budd is shaped as a tragic character. Despite being written as nothing but a white-trash loser, he comes the closest to finishing the Bride. More ironically, he’s the only one of Deadly Viper Assassination Squad Beatrix doesn’t finish off herself. So he’s a character worth spending time on. Having said that, did we really need to see so much of his shitty job? Did we need an extended scene of Budd getting chewed out by his boss or told to unclog the commode by a trashy stripper? Maybe it adds to the character, maybe it doesn’t. If “Kill Bill” had been one film instead of two, I suspect they would have been clipped either way. The scene in the chapel has some of the same problem, including a few too many unnecessary moments simply for the sake of local color.

The final act proves powerful, making up for any of the middle section’s small issues. Thurman and Carradine have such a natural chemistry together. I’m on record as a David Carradine fan here at Film Thoughts but few films gave him such an opportunity to show off his talent before. Bill fits the actor’s built-in charm so well while exposing him as a cool, thoughtful actor more then capable of delivering Tarantino’s dialogue. The film’s melancholy undercurrent comes to the surface near the end. As Uma Thurman walks to meet her fate, scored to the mournful tune of “About Her,” a deep sadness comes over the film. In most any other action epic, the story climaxing with a conversation instead of a sword fight would be disappointing. Because the audience is so invested in the characters, and because Tarantino’s dialogue has such a power to it, the viewer doesn’t feel cheated at all. “Kill Bill’s” emotional conclusion proves powerful and deeply satisfying. 

Given the more introspective tone, “Vol. 2” provides fewer opportunities for the director to indulge in stylish visuals. Save for a few. How about the tracking shot on Uma’s feet as she kicks Elle through the door way? It’s hilarious and imaginative, enough so that you can overlook Quentin’s creepy foot fetish. The director perfectly captures the sun-washed look of spaghetti westerns throughout when he isn’t capturing the washed-out color of Hong Kong kung-fu flicks. Aside from a few tracking shots and creative angles, the film’s visual presentation is more relaxed.

Taken as a whole, “Kill Bill” is an impressive accomplishment. The director has perfectly captured what he loves about drive-in cinema and combined them into one massive film experience. This is the kind of movie where kung-fu action scenes are set to music from a blaxploitation flick. It simultaneously invokes westerns, Asian action, Italian horror, Sam Peckinpah, and French New Wave. At the same time, it remains a weirdly personal film, invoking themes that are important to the director. Tarantino also manages to get career-best performances from Uma Thurman, David Carradine, and Daryl Hannah. Even if the second half is less seamlessly paced, it winds up being an intoxicating, massively engaging film experience.

Enough so that I’m sort of glad Tarantino doesn’t plan on making that third volume anymore. The Bride and B.B. have earned their peace. But you know what I do want to see? A prequel, those most maligned of cinematic installments. Where does Bill get all these girls? How did he come to know the Bride? Why was Beatrix such an adapted killer even before Pai Mei’s training? Am I the only one who would love to see the DiVAS working together, doing their thing, killing people? That would be awesome, right? A good sign of quality is when the audience doesn’t want to leave the movie’s world. Other people can stay in Hogwarts or MiddleEarth. I want to exist in the grindhouse afterglow, where beautiful women chop dudes apart with Hattori Hanzo swords, the sun always beats down on the desert like in a Sergio Leone flick and Isaac Hayes or Goblin are always playing on the jukebox. [Grade: A]