A Glourious Tarantino Film

“If you shoot me in a dream you better wake up and apologize.”

“Let me ask you something. When you pulled up to my house did you see a sign outside that said ‘Dead Nigger Storage’?”

“Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits ‘em. I don’t give a fuck how crazy they are!”

“AK-47. When you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherfucker in the room . . . accept no substitutes.”

“That woman deserves her revenge. And we deserve to die.”

It’s the words. It’s always been about the words for me; ironic as being Quentin Tarantino makes his living with moving pictures. If a picture is worth a thousand words than a QT movie is an adrenalin-charged, street-cred, blood-soaked thesaurus. It’s QT’s words that wrap your senses and hold you down; eyes unblinking until his unconventional tip-of-the-hat nod to the old-time Grindhouse closing credits start to roll. In my eyes QT can do no wrong.

I LIKED Inglourious Basterds. I did not LOVE Inglourious Basterds. That pains me to say. I expected more. I wanted more. What I got was good but not great. It was entertaining but not mesmerizing. It was not my Pulp Fiction; a movie that made me want to shoot heroin and stab a spoiled trophy-wife in the heart with a shot or adrenalin. It was not my Reservoir Dogs. A movie that made me want to join a suicide mission with a group of inept, but highly entertaining, black-suit and tie wearing retards. It was my Jackie Brown.

Jackie Brown stands along side with Leonard’s Rum Punch as two entertaining-as-all-hell rides. QT has his finger on the street-pulse with an ear for what REALLY screwed up people REALLY say in REALLY fucked up situations. So the second I left the theater I knew I had to give Jackie Brown another chance. Those same thoughts danced in my head as I walked out from QT’s latest cinematic endeavor, Inglourious Basterds.

The Inglourious from Inglourious Basterds:

It seems like an oxymoron to say a 2 hour and 45 minute movie looked rushed, but it felt that way to me. Rumor has it he was making a strong push in time for Cannes, and it showed.  The picture needed more development in various areas including the relationship between Shosanna and Marcel, Lt. Aldo Raines background, and more Inglourious Basterds unit screen-time. Moreover, the film’s clunky jumps to the French Farmland, to a Nazi Bunker, to a Café, to a movie theater lacked the normally smooth transitions of QT’s “Chapter-esque” writing style. I have the feeling he wanted to give the audience more background and character development but simply did not have the time.

In Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino’s homage to Sonny Chiba’s ‘Samuri Revenge’ and Sergio Leone’s ‘Spaghetti Western’ films were evident and they worked. The seamless shifting between English/ Japanese/ Mandarin/ Spanish and back worked simply because it was not done in the rapid quick-fire dialogue of Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Jackie Brown or From Dusk ‘til Dawn. The language shifts in the Kill Bill volumes were allowed to linger; they were done sparingly. They allowed the film-goer the time needed to absorb the weight of the words. Each instance felt like a knockout punch. This is where Inglourious Basterds falls short. The language jumps between English/ French/ German, matched with the rapid-fire/ dark sense of humor, was lost at times; like having a friend leave in the middle of telling you a joke, only to have him email you the punch line hours later.

Eli Roth Really is a Basterd!

Eli Roth . . . where do I start? Like millions of other people that acted like kids breaking into their parents closet on December 23^rd, I read the Inglourious Basterds script online. The day my buddy forwarded me the script was my Christmas day. Roth’s character, Sgt. Donnie Donowitz, aka “The Bear Jew”, was a character I needed to see transformed from paper to film. There was no more than a paragraph in the script about his background; however within those few words was an explanation of why Donowitz signed up for the Basterds Unit, and why he choose a baseball bat and not a gun to kill Nazis. In the script he was an arrogant, cocky 17-year-old growing up in a Jewish neighborhood in South Boston. He was going off to war and taking his favorite bat with him as a good luck charm. Before he left he went door to door and asked for the names of his neighbors’ Jewish relatives killed by the Nazis and he wrote those names on his bat. And instantly an arrogant, loudmouth, selfish kid turns into a silent, Jewish avenger. In the script, when he is to kill the Nazi commander for not divulging Nazi troop placement, it is terrifying. He is there to do one thing – kill this monster for the pain he has seen in the orphans’ and widows’ eyes back home. He does not take joy from what he is doing, but he has to do it. He cannot be stopped. His conscience will not allow it.

And than . . . well, there’s the scene in the movie.

Donnie’s background? Gone. It’s just a short, hairy troll cruising out of a tunnel and bashing in a guy’s head and then jumping around like a has-been ball player who just took an 8-year-old pitcher deep. Eli’s portrayal made it appear that all a Nazi needed to save his own life was to know what Ted Williams’ lifetime batting average was, chat it up a little bit about the “Green Monster”, Fenway, and how much the Yankees suck. Eli’s cartoonish portrayal destroyed what could have been one of the most memorable QT characters ever.

The Glourious From Inglourious Basterds:

Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo “The Apache” Raine. Just a good ‘ol Boy from the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. Brad Pitt gets labeled as too good looking to act. Never understood that. The man can act his ass off and he gives QT’s words the dark humor source for the majority of “Inglourious Basterds’. Lt. Aldo has only one mystery: the noose scar around his neck. No mention of where it came from, who gave it to him and why they gave it to him. The who/ what/ why is completely irrelevant. The Good ‘ol Boy has a bone to pick wit’ some Gnatzes . . . and that’s all you need to know. Whatever caused the scar may have fueled it, but like the “Golden Case” of Pulp Fiction, QT leaves it up to the viewer to decide what it is . . . he lets your mind wander about his character . . . he draws you in to help build up the psychosis . . . he allows you to take his character and run wild with your own possibilities that leave you thinking about them long after the theater fades to black.

"The Jew Hunter" Has Something Up his Sleeve

Christopher Waltz as Col. Hans Landa “The Jew Hunter”. There was talk that Leonardo DiCaprio was up for this role. I didn’t join the collective groan of disapproval when I heard it. I thought he would have been good. I thought, that is, until I saw Christopher’s potrayal as “The Jew Hunter”. I think it’s safe to say that anyone reading this has never . . . EVER . . . met anyone as evil as Hans Landa. If you had, you’d be dead. Col. Hans Landa’s villainous character ranks up there with Max Cady (Cape Fear), Harry Powell (Night of the Hunter), Hannibal Lector (Silence of the Lambs), Anton Chigurh (No Country for Old Men), Jack Torrance (The Shining), Amon Goeth (Schindler’s List) and Tommy DeVito (Goodfellas). It’s impossible for me to pick a more evil character, or pick a favorite among them just for the simple fact I’m scared shitless of each and every one of them. And although fictional, these mean-spirited fuckers would haunt me in my sleep if my subconscious ever decided to name my favorite psychopath, this I am sure of. Col. Hans Landa establishes exactly what he is and what he’s capable of within the first 10 minutes of the film. His smiling face stops just short of his eyes. The body and words are that of Col. Hans Landa. The eyes are those of “The Jew Hunter”. It is the Good Cop/ Bad Cop, with the Bad Cop sitting behind a one-way mirror pointing a 50. Cal. sniper rifle at your face from four feet away; watching, waiting, WANTING to snuff you out. Amused by the good cop who gets you to open up and fall for the smile because it knows you’ll ignore the eyes. Like all good villains in film, you cannot wait until they’re on the screen. You wonder aloud when they’re going to show up and when they do, it’s a sick joy that turns into fear, for you know without a doubt that someone is about to get F.U.B.A.R. Col. Hans Landa delivers every second on screen. I do not expect him to win, but if the Academy ignores Christopher Waltz’s performance in Inglourious Basterds it’ll be a bigger colossal fuck up than Shakespeare in Love taking home the award for Best Picture over Saving Private Ryan.

I can give those historian hating celluloid snobs that write off the movie for the sole reason of not being factual millions of reasons as to why Inglourious Basterds fictional take on Adolph Hitler’s demise is better than the factual one. The descendants of those reasons, both past and present, can do a much more convincing job than I ever could. If ever there was a period in our short, violent history where a “What If” scenario was more deserving, I do not know of it. And to those of you that disagree with me, your KKK membership renewal is in the mail; along with your funny white hat, and the marriage certificate you and your sister have been holding out for to make it ‘Fer Real ‘dis time, y’all!’ Quentin Tarantino’s take on World War II is original, deserving, and honorable. Perfect.

Until Next time,

Slyone

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