Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Last night I saw Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt.

This was the most fun I've had at a Tarantino film since Pulp Fiction.

The year is 1969 and Rick Dalton (DiCaprio) is a has-been television star that is struggling with the reality that his best days are behind him. Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) is his stunt double and best friend who has a tarnished reputation in the entertainment industry for allegedly killing his wife. They are both very "Hollywood" in their own right.

Rick lives next door to Roman Polanski (Rafał Zawierucha) on an affluent Benedict Canyon street. He hopes to connect with the famed director, but has yet to encounter him directly. Booth lives alone with his trusted dog and keeps a positive attitude despite his entire existence being dependent on Dalton's success.

We explore Dalton's pain—and hubris—through a series of meetings and parts he's won as he struggles to stay relevant. We understand just how much of a badass Cliff is based on his ability to protect himself in any given situation (even coming face to face with the Manson family on the abandoned ranch where they reside).

They're both hilarious in their own ways, sad as their situation may be, and as we watch them each navigate their self-imposed drama, we become distracted by following the idyllic life of rising star Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), who is married to Polanski and also lives next door.

Tate hangs out with friends, goes to see her own film at a nearby theater and generally seems like a lovely human being. Anyone who knows the real history of what became of her will feel a sense of dread as the summer progresses in the film.

It would be spoiling everything to go any further, but I will say that the "controversies" (Tarantino's treatment of women and representation of Bruce Lee) in this film I find to be silly. Every thing he does to every woman and the famed Asian star are part of the storytelling that's needed to shape his anti-hero (Booth). The laughs and gasps and reactions from the audience work because of this writing and I for one don't think he needs to apologize for it—he's not making a documentary, after all.

And men did call women "honey" in the workplace in the 1960s (for God's sake in some workplaces, they still do). As for the violence? Well, I knew what I was getting into when I bought a ticket to a Tarantino movie.

What a joy to watch DiCaprio and Pitt on-screen together, clearly having a great time; and what a thrill to see footage of the real Sharon Tate spliced in with Robbie's elegant portrayal of her.

I may just have to go see it again.

~~~

Django Unchained

Yesterday I saw Django Unchained, starring Christoph Waltz and Jamie Foxx.

Django (Foxx) is a freed slave helping bounty hunter King (Waltz) search for a few select fugitives, who coincidentally are the same jerks who ripped Django and his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) apart. Django is hungry to reunite with his lost love.

In typical Tarantino fashion, the conversations (and speeches) are lengthy (yet clever); characters have catchy, memorable names; good guys and bad guys engage in ridiculous amounts of violence; and black culture plays a big part.

In this case, the main bad guy is the always-brilliant Leonardo DiCaprio (Calvin Candie), who is slimy and charismatic all the same (without chewing scenery). Sparks practically fly off the screen as he and Waltz exchange their tension-filled pleasantries and negotiate business.

In fact, everyone here is good—Waltz definitely deserves his Oscar nod (though I probably would've placed him in the Best Actor category); DiCaprio an Foxx should've received them as well.

That said, what everyone is saying is true: this is far too bloody and far too long. I like seeing where QT will take us next, but I like seeing it without losing an entire day doing so.

When I think back to the first Tarantino film I enjoyed, Reservoir Dogs, which comes in at a trim 99 minutes, I remember wanting more, not shifting in my seat or looking at my phone for the time.

That's how all films should be.

Inglourious Basterds

Tonight I saw Inglourious Basterds, starring Brad Pitt and Christoph Waltz.

I was the perfect age to fall for Quentin Tarantino's magic when his first films hit the big screen. Reservoir Dogs happened in high school and Pulp Fiction defined college. I distinctly remember all of the "men" in my circle going to see Pulp Fiction opening night; then my polite boyfriend at the time taking me alone the following night, worried for my reaction. I apparently laughed harder than any of them had.

We could quote the 'Madonna' scene from Dogs in our sleep and the soundtracks of both films played constantly for the next four years throughout our apartments in Columbia, Missouri.

Now the most famous Missourian—Brad Pitt—is the star of QT's new flick about a Jewish-American group of soldiers (nicknamed the 'basterds') who, of course fictionally, terrorize Nazis who are occupying France (did I mention it's 1941?), scalping and killing them as savagely as they did their victims.

Pitt is intentionally funny as southern Lieutenant Aldo Raine. With a mustache like Hitler's and an accent that sounds as if Sling Blade and Dolly Parton had a child, he mugs throughout the movie pausing for laughs as often as we'll offer them (which I'll admit, is sort of frequently). Christoph Waltz who plays the Nazi Colonel Hans Landa, however, steals the show. His balance of slime, refined politeness and revolting evil comes out in a charming way that's somewhat difficult to explain, so I'll just say this: when the camera is near him, your focus is nowhere else. Not even on the former Sexiest Man Alive.

And of course, there is a damsel in distress by way of Shoshana (Melanie Laurent), the young Jewish girl who escaped the Colonel's wrath only to encounter him years later at her cinema in Paris. Her expressions and mannerisms play the role perfectly with minimal words and maximum intention. An especially great scene takes place over dessert with the Colonel.

Truthfully, there is a lot to like about this movie. With Ennio Morricone and David Bowie both appearing on the soundtrack, there is a distinctive flavor that accompanies each scene and beat almost perfectly, and the bold reds and blacks that paint the canvas of most Tarantino films are also present and effective.

But while his earlier hits and even the more recent Death Proof had a palpable pace, Basterds drags in many places that are intended to infuse tension.

There are also many 'shocking' violent scenes, but once you've gasped through the first bloody few, the remaining 15 or 20 seem glib. I dare say...they're gratuitous.

All in all, it's not really a war film or a crime caper or a black comedy. True to Tarantino's style, it's a wondersalad of all of the above without the major elements that make any of the genres work.

Clever dialog, superb actors and bad guys everyone wants to see 'get theirs' will go a long way, but unfortunately don't add up to a victorious directorial return to form.

Grindhouse

Today I saw Grindhouse, directed by Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino.

It is the topic of Cinebanter 27, which you can download free of charge here.