Tarantino’s Wet Dream
The problem with reviewing a film like Inglourious Basterds lies in the conceit of the auteur and, simultaneously, the reviewer. Tarantino has made such a broad epic about movies with so many inside jokes and obscure film references that anyone who doesn’t get it is perceived as a (insert Uma Thurman drawing a box in the air). So many of the rave reviews of this film I have seen read like a film school essay paper, the reviewer striving to show just how in the know he or she is by praising the subtleties of the soundtrack, camera angles and homages. Just like Sasha Baron Cohen, half the battle in enjoying the ride is realizing the joke is also on you. If you can’t take it, it just shows how little you know.
Hey, I’m a film school graduate and I left feeling like I got maybe half of what I was supposed to see. Judging by the reaction of the audience around me, I was well above the average. For them, most of what is remembered will be the startling (if not cathartic) bursts of brutal violence including iconic images of heads being scalped, necks being slashed and Hitler’s face being pulverized by machine gun fire. Oops, hope I didn’t reveal too much there. Funny that; revealing too much about a film which is pretty much an exercise in revealing too much. Except, unfortunately, when things get a little more serious as when he cuts away much to soon from a crumbling Melanie Laurent who has managed to keep her composure during a congenial exchange with the man who killed her entire family and loses it after he leaves the room.
Tarantino is, in my opinion, better when he isn’t revealing as much. Or when he allows his reveals to come via a mish-mash of time defying storytelling. Here he obviously thinks his exposure of suspenseful bits of information is knock on, but the most brilliant scenes (the opening sequence; the basement bar; the theater during the premier) are put off by trickery and reveals that are just slightly too early. This is the sense of the entire movie: Just when you want the film to play out with its amazing story line, brilliant acting and intense camera work, Tarantino slams himself into the middle of the epic, pounding you on the head with reminders that this is HIS MOVIE!, DAMNIT! A completely dopey introduction of one anti-hero negates the brilliant portrayal of the true villain of the film; a brief interruption to allow explanation of an obscure, but vital, plot point is something that would be “jumping the shark” in anyone else’s movie; in spite of all the other violence, a completely gratuitous, slow-motion shooting in the projection booth betrays all hipster chic and is Tarantino’s most conventional death to date, et. Al.
The story is pure pulp fiction (though not nearly as good as that); a rewrite of history all of us wish were true. The fate of Nazi’s in his world is horrible and spectacular. Those responsible are subject to a gruesome end. And yet, given the real horrors of the war known to us now, the death of the elite is hardly delightful and really more wistful and depressing. In Tarantino’s vision, violence and death are the ultimate revenge, which is surprisingly subtle from a guy who graphically told us how to “go midevil” on somebody’s ass and let us listen in on a torturous ear-ectomy once upon a scene. We don’t get to revel in their fear or revelation even pain in the midst of this ultimate revenge. Just dead Nazi’s, dispatched far more painlessly, probably, than the horror they inflicted on the world in their time.
I still recommend it. For one, the high points outweigh the lows and are worth the price of admission. Second, the acting is outstanding. Brad Pitt is allowed to go a little nuts and he’s much the better for it. Christoph Walzt (as one of Taratino’s greatest characters, played with brutal Nazi truth from wink to punch) and Diane Kruger (as a actress with the resistance who brilliantly portrays the most heart wrenching moments) are the highlights from a very solid cast.
And third, you can chat with your friends for hours about the representations of the Nazi Propaganda, the wry insertion of his favorite actors – or characters – in fanciful moments throughout, the implications of the strudel or why he used the theme music from a 1973 southern trash Burt Reynolds film for his opening credit sequence. Just don’t take it too seriously, even though the director sure does.
Comments
Nice write up. I consider it worthy as I’m stilling thinking about it and wondering what others have to say. I went back and read the New Yorker review by David Denby (http://tinyurl.com/qq3nsp) and he echoes some of your thoughts.
Big bonus for me was being able to go with you.
Write a Comment