But, what I realized, is that it also put me in the correct frame of mind (as much as it's going to be) to write my review for Django Unchained, a film that I loved the first third and then grew to detest the last two-thirds. Now, admittedly, my loathing for the movie has probably grown disproportionately due to its reception (I'm being honest here). It's an R-rated December release that is on track to join the high-grossing ranks of The Exorcist, Beverly Hills Cop, Rain Man, Jerry Maguire, and Gran Torino. And while I don't sign off on all of those films, they've earned their place in the cinematic pantheon, no? But, once you continue down the list you arrive at A Few Good Men, whom not everyone was a fan of, so big deal. Despite everything, it's still encouraging that a director with such a distinct signature style can finance and produce a film to impressive success, no? Still, I'm a bit mystified by the response it's receiving, which seems to have slightly surpassed the positive reception thrown to Tarantino's 2009 Inglourious Basterds, another one of his bloated efforts that was also a revisionist revenge fantasy steeped into historical context.
Both films, while genius at times, ultimately stumble over their own brilliance and are in need of industrial-sized editing clippers. What I loved about Basterds, besides its concept, were the two vignettes involving Mélanie Laurent and Diane Kruger, both of whom were overlooked during Oscar time (which is sad especially considering how many accolades the AMPAS threw in the film's direction; why not two of its strongest elements?). Laurent drove her story, the best of the bunch, and Kruger offered this old Hollywood broad, who was quite smashing. The director got off on those two in all the right ways; Christoph Waltz was, also, of course, worth mentioning for his effective villain. But, then, where Tarantino needed to hold himself back (i.e. the pack of "Nazi hunters," as well as Michael Myer's role), he was given full license to basically soil his own movie (his movie, his right, I guess). But, critics and audiences responded to it alike, so what do I know?
Further Tarantino disclosure: I loved the Kill Bill films. While they were both redundant, they were at least consistent in quality. I also didn't mind the marketing strategy of breaking them into two films. Perhaps it was all the feminine energy, but I slurped them right up. And, while Pulp Fiction is overrated, I was young and willing enough at the time to look over its faults (and there are many). However, I still get why it was success and put the director on the map. And there is no denying that Tarantino had a profound effect on cinema, as Fiction basically opened the floodgates to more crime movies with an edgy personality. Never got Reservoir Dogs, but I'm sure my mind could change with another viewing. And while I don't remember much about Jackie Brown, I do recall thinking how cool it was for someone in his position at the time, had all this power and then decided to write a film about a demographic who barely ever sees the light of day at the cinema. While it may have not spoken to the experience of the black woman, Hollywood certainly wasn't rushing out to make movies with African-American female protagonists. But, I'm not a black woman, so what do I know.
That brings me to Django, a film which tries to reclaim an ugly period of U.S. history. Admirable, of course. Spike Lee has gone on record as saying Tarantino has trivialized black people with projecting the spaghetti Western genre on slavery, without actually having seen the film. I can't disagree. Some say you need to see a film to have an opinion. I agree with this to an extent, however, I think I will lead a fuller life if I never have to sit down and witness The Human Centipede or any of its incarnations to know that I will find them all unbearably distasteful and not worth my time. In fact, I wish my former coworker never brought its existence to my attention. But, where I disagree with Lee is completely writing off Tarantino. Regardless of the final product, I have to believe his motivations were true and genuine. And while the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, I'm willing to give him a pass on this.
Review: Django Unchained
Django Unchained is Quentin's historical revenge fantasy followup to his historical revenge fantasy Inglourious Basterds from three years ago. Instead of World War II Nazi-hunters, we have former slave Django (Jamie Foxx)--"the 'd' is silent" (great line and gimmick)--who shoots plenty of honky-ass pre-Civil War while trying to save his enslaved wife Brunhilda (Kerry Washington). He's freed by German dentist Dr. King Schultz (Christopher Waltz), who has found a more lucrative career in bounty-hunting. They spend the first hour bonding over spilling blood while kicking butt. It's actually Quentin Tarantino at his best: fun, oiled, well-edited scenes pop and are full of tension. There's even a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid chemistry between the two leads (and Waltz is very much a lead, despite the supporting campaign). But, alas, that's not the point of the movie. It's a revenge fantasy and we must get on with things and save the wife (Kerry, whose character is given a nice touch by speaking a tiny bit of German [the promise of which is built up way too thickly], for the most part, is used as a vessel for unnecessary relentless physical abuse and torture).
They hatch a plan that is indeed novel: Schultz and Django concoct a way to get into the good graces of the plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo Dicaprio) who holds her papers. Yet, the execution is so poor and telegraphed, and depends on convenient contrivances, the film loses steam quite quickly. I loved the name of Candie's estate, "Candyland," but Tarantino illustrates matters with brutal telling, but showing flair in all the wrong places. It doesn't help that DiCaprio, as the villain, is not intimidating in the least. Long gone is his teen-friendly babyface, which he quickly craved to dispatch for more adult roles, yet there was something soft-gloved about his Candie's evil streak. He lacked the loathsome presence required for a bloodlust fantasy. There is no underlining insidiousness that makes us want to cheer his shortcomings. This was a revenge fantasy, right? While the stunt-casting gives DiCaprio the opportunity to stretch himself by being directed by someone who isn't named Martin Scorsese, it doesn't work. He's not bad; he just doesn't sustain the second third or so of the film when it's necessary. So, he likes watching two half-naked men fight to the death and, at another point, he produces a skull and hammer. But I can't blame him entirely, as it's clear that Tarantino gives the Candie character a refineness that, considering his knick-knack collection and mannerisms, suggests he's a repressed homosexual, who communicates his confusion with incestuous tendencies toward his sister Lara Lee (Laura Cayouette). In Tarantino's ongoing quest to prop up one minority on the silver screen, it's at the inadvertent expense of another (it wouldn't bother me so much if it was an isolated theme, but it also creeps up in Pulp Fiction's gimp finale, where some have argued "that moment" was unnecessary).
The last third is a pointless bloodbath conveyed rather bluntly and uneventfully (complete with a God-awful director cameo doing an "Australian" (?) accent) that can't hold a candle to one frame from the Kill Bill Vol. 1 finale. While you can fault The Bride's battle with O-Ren Ishii and the Crazy 88s as graphic (hey, it's Tarantino, what do you expect), you can't deny that it was artfully directed with glee by someone who had the audience clearly in mind and in the palm of his hand. In Django, it was as if he felt compelled to give his viewers what they paid for, but no wherewithal to deliver in a visually stunning way. So, he just lets bullets fly. And the sequence of false endings just makes the gore all the more torturous and the directing all the more unforgivable. The fact that the protagonist couldn't give a proper burial to one of its more beloved characters further accentuates how false all those endings were. Some have joked if the U.S. can't waterboard detainees, they should show them the recent Les Mis. May I suggest the last two hours (or what felt like) of Django instead?
[12/31. One thing I forgot to mention--and it's huge--is that Django, for the most part, is an example of Tarantino's linear storytelling. He generally resorts to vignette-style, which helped escalate him to fame. This is one of his only films where there is a traditional beginning, middle, and end. And, how telling it is you can easily break this film up into glaring thirds. Like Alejandro Iñárritu plays with time, both of the filmmakers hide their weaknesses behind shifting around moments, slicing up the narrative, and serving it up in a "fresh, exciting, and new" way. That they've both built their careers on this conceit so much, they've become codependent and flounder when attempting something more straight-forward in presentation.]
They say ignorance is bliss. Awareness is a bit of curse to be able to simultaneously appreciate something while also seeing its glaring shortcomings. Wish I had it in me to sign off completely on Tarantino like so many seem to be able to do (especially after all these years). Part of his genius is that he has the talent for creating these great pulpy stories, but can't quite see them through entirely. Basterds had some cinematically slick chapters, while other plotlines were just gratuitous and/or obnoxious. The same goes for the Kill Bill series, but less so. Tarantino is no doubt a cool filmmaker who can live up to the hype, but, just the same, he often doesn't know when to dial it back ... which includes casting himself in cameos ... and his use of the word 'nigger.' Yeah, we get it, Tarantino. Thanks for nailing it into our dimpled skulls (or whatever) over a hundred times. But, you still haven't reclaimed it from the clutches of the dark past of U.S. history no matter how many times you do.
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