These days, I feel the word "genius" gets thrown about with far too much regularity - so much so that the word seems to have lost a significant amount of prestige. You know, kinda like the words "hero," "miracle," "incredible," and others. Maybe I just watch too much sports - a forum wherein exaggerated usage of these words is about as prominent and ludicrous as Chris Berman's combover - but I really feel like members of the broadcast media/journalists need to take it down a notch in this regard. I mean, while they're entertaining and all, LeBron James is not a legitimate hero, Santonio Holmes' Super Bowl catch was not really miraculous, and Donovan McNabb's resemblance to a horse is not...okay, that might actually be incredible ('I thought you loved that guy?' I do, and unconditionally so. But he is nonetheless just as much of a horse-face as Sarah Jessica Parker).
But I digress already. This post isn't even about sports. I only mention this misuse of vocabulary because I want to make it clear that when I use the word "genius" again three sentences from now, I want the word to carry the supreme weight it deserves, which is to say "of exceptional intellect, especially as shown in creative and original work," and nothing short of that... I went to the movies again recently. I saw "Ingluorious Basterds." Quentin Tarantino is a genius. With this movie, not only does he simply rectify the clusterfuck of wrongdoings that his previous effort,"Grindhouse," proved to be, but he reminds the movie-going universe that he is one of the most (if not THE most) uniquely gifted minds Hollywood has to offer as he showcases his style that is a deliciously irreverent as the spelling of the movie title itself. If that sounds more like an over-the-top, ringing endorsement moreso than a premise to a movie review, that's because it was supposed to. And when it comes to all things Tarantino, "over-the-top" is only apropos...
And while a good deal of "Basterds" does indeed feature a brand of violence that zips beyond gratuitous and stops somewhere around voracious - watching a Nazi get literally clobbered to death by a "basterd" wielding a Louisville Sluuger and witnessing a gunfight in which the two primary assailants shoot directly at each other's testicles are just two examples - this movie actually proves to be much more substantive, immersive, and intelligent than it's marketing campaing/previews let on. In fact, the most intriguing scenes are the several lengthy ones that feature very little violence (and sometimes none at all), but instead focus simply on the quick, sharp dialogue between a just a few characters or the provocative monologue of one. Tarantino's writing in these scenes is masterful as he consistenly toys with his audience, always dropping apparent hints as to how the conversation will end / how the scene will resolve itself or play out only to suddenly and shockingly change direction several times - an impressive feat that many times left me leaning forward in my seat, hands clasped as if I were praying over my mouth, blissfully ignorant of the annoying fucking teenagers with their cell phones incessantly jibba-jabberin' about their favorite Jonas Brothers songs and other miscellaneous gay things teens talk about in movies seated two rows in front of me, helplessly anticipant of the scene's outcome. In other words, the most memorable quality of "Basterds" is not the "naaat-zee" ass-kicking, but much moreso the nearly tangible tension that is created via the rhetoric of the characters - typically the Nazis.
As the fantastically dispicable Nazi Colonel Hans Landa (or "the jew hunter" as the basterds and others refer to him), Christopher Waltz turns in a remarkable performance as he constantly tinkers with the strings of his puppets - the audience members, the very epitome of the aforementioned thick tension prevalent throughout the movie. One particular scene finds a poor, terrified Jewish woman at a fancy lunch with several prominent members of Hitler's Third Reich (terrified because they don't realize she's Jewish), the very context immediately providing a wonderful discomfort palpable enough to make you squirm in your seat, and you're led to think the scene just might thankfully end without further worry when in stomps Colonel Landa, accompanied by a particularly fascinating and ominous bit of soundtrack (another of Tarantino's quirky talents), and brandishing the shit-eating smile as big and proud and identifiable as the swastikas on his uniform, and no less awful either. The Jewish woman recognizes him as the same son-of-a-bitch who butchered her entire family four years earlier at the dairy farm where they were hiding, but who inexplicably allowed her to escape. So when the rest of the lunch company goes his separate way, leaving just Landa and the Jew sitting at the table, he staring at her with ostensible but transparent pleasantry and delight and she staring back, desperate to hide her anger and terror, you can't help but actually feel the hairs on your neck stand up and perhaps even say "Ooooooh shit" to yourself (as I did) before either of them even utters a single word.
But that is merely the set-up. This is merely Tarantino setting the stage. He's only begun to, ummmm, well let me just say it like it is, he's only just begun to fuck with you, for what follows is a lengthy conversation - dominated by Landa as the Jew stays frightened and nervously reticent - in which you can't help but wait for the bomb to drop, for Landa to call her out on who she is, to perhaps even whip out a gun and shoot her more quickly than he can change his demeanor, which is pretty sudden in its own right. But he doesn't! As they sit there and eat their strudel dessert - he chewing and talking simultaneously in a such a way that makes you hate him even more - he simply probes her for information about who she is and how she came to arrive at this prestigious lunch. He even suggest a glass of milk for her at one point, at which point you can't help but say "Ooooh shit" to yourself again as you're intentionally led to believe this to be sign that he recognizes her from the dairy farm earlier, but he never capitalizes. As ruthless and cunning and downright smart as he is, he never goes after her. But the entire time you can't help but prepare yourself for it. As the scene concludes with Landa walking out, I could almost hear Tarantino laughing at me. And I was grateful for it.
Not to be overshadowed, however, Brad Pitt's turn as the "naaaat-zee" killin', scalp collectin', basterd-in-chief with a comically appropriate Tennessee drawl Lt. Aldo Raine is equally appealing, albeit in a far different manner. The antithesis (and appropriately so) of Colonel Landa, Raine has no time for dramatic build-up, intense interrogation, or any kind of extended conversation for that matter. His character, complete with an underbite that gives him a bit more of a bad-ass style square jaw, is direct and to the point. This, however, does not mean he is not intelligent or witty. With a troupe of vicious and bloodthirsty soldiers at his command, he knows how to get what he wants, and quick. Where Landa will slowly draw what he wants from you using his powers of obersvation and detection, Aldo Raine will simply offer you an ultimatum, and if you do not comply, either he or one of the basterds will, to pay homage to another Tarantino masterpiece, get medeival on y'ass.
This resulting dichotomy between Col. Landa and Lt. Raine yields two effects I found particularly intriguing. First, since the two rarely share the screen at the same time, any time Raine appears seems like a breath of fresh air, or a break from the teeth-chattering Landa scenes. As a pleasant result, Raine's violently efficient and superbly irreverant demeanor seems like a refreshment, and his/the basterds violent methods almost seem funny. Thus, and here comes that phrase again, the "over the top" / cartoonishly graphic violence seems even more fun and exciting than it would have otherwise been - cathartic even, for after Landa winds you up so tight, here come the Basterds to release your angst by either beating the shit out or scaring the wits out of some bad guys. Awesome. That's the best word for it - awesome. Not incredible, not miraculous, not heroic, just awesome...
The second effect, and perhaps even the more gratifying one, comes at the movie's climax when you finally get to see Landa and Raine staring each other down, man to man, face to face, nazi to basterd, eye of the observer to eye fixed with a cross-hairs. For the majority of the scene (SORT OF SPOILERS COMING!) it seems Landa has the upper hand, but when the tables turn and Landa reveals himself as the disloyal jackass that he is, the resulting sense of satisfaction is quite exciting. The man of stature, a pillar of the Nazi regime, a man of supposed steadfast character sitting directly across from the stone-cold, homicidal yankee with all the etiquette and social graces of a guinea pig, has the chance to swiftly prove his dominance, to prove his intellect is a greater weapon than any other man's artillery. But instead, he succumbs to his own greedy wishes, thereby serving as a sterling example of just how hollow, selfish, and ultimately vulnerable the Nazis truly were. How satisfying. I loved it.
While Pitt and Waltz were the foremost representations of their respective parties, Tarantino supplements each of them with a formidable cast of characters, each of whom drive the prominent points home in typical, thankfully exaggerated Tarantino fashion. Eli Roth as "The Bear Jew" and Louisville Slugger wielding basterd is entertaining in his pseudo-insanity when it comes to pummelling nazis (as is Til Schweiger as the slightly more insane basterd Hugo Stiglitz), and Martin Wuttke's version of an obnoxiously loud and red-faced cry-baby Adolf Hitler makes it very easy to look pitifully upon him and the rest of his own group of legitimate bastards in the movie.
Finally, to cap it all off, and staying true to form, Tarantino punctuates the movie with a fantastic soundtrack (which made me personally wonder, "Where the fuck does he find this cool music all the time?") and some fun little voice-over cameos from Tarantino regulars Samuel L Jackson and Harvey Keitel, and some of those nifty little freeze-frames he likes to employ when introducing a character (For example, when we meet Hugo Stiglitz, we see him standing atop a cliff holding an machine gun. Suddenly the camera stops, and next to the character in gigantic bold letters the name "HUGO STIGLITZ" appears as a quick, rough string of three electric guitar chords helps introduce him in kick-ass fashion). Nothing like adding a little touch to an already near-flawless work...
Clearly, as implied in the beginning, this has turned out to be much more of an endorsement than a review, but for good reason. This IS the best movie of the summer. It's worth every dollar spent and every second of its two hour and forty minute run-time. This is a must see. Everyone who sees it will likely - if they don't already - refer to it as a miraculous work and will Quentin Tarantino as an incredible film maker, a hero of the film industry, and a real genius....('Didn't you say something about overusing vocabulary words too much..?' Shut up, it's warranted).
Grade: A
Thanks for droppin' in. 'Til next time ya basterds,
DJ
But I digress already. This post isn't even about sports. I only mention this misuse of vocabulary because I want to make it clear that when I use the word "genius" again three sentences from now, I want the word to carry the supreme weight it deserves, which is to say "of exceptional intellect, especially as shown in creative and original work," and nothing short of that... I went to the movies again recently. I saw "Ingluorious Basterds." Quentin Tarantino is a genius. With this movie, not only does he simply rectify the clusterfuck of wrongdoings that his previous effort,"Grindhouse," proved to be, but he reminds the movie-going universe that he is one of the most (if not THE most) uniquely gifted minds Hollywood has to offer as he showcases his style that is a deliciously irreverent as the spelling of the movie title itself. If that sounds more like an over-the-top, ringing endorsement moreso than a premise to a movie review, that's because it was supposed to. And when it comes to all things Tarantino, "over-the-top" is only apropos...
And while a good deal of "Basterds" does indeed feature a brand of violence that zips beyond gratuitous and stops somewhere around voracious - watching a Nazi get literally clobbered to death by a "basterd" wielding a Louisville Sluuger and witnessing a gunfight in which the two primary assailants shoot directly at each other's testicles are just two examples - this movie actually proves to be much more substantive, immersive, and intelligent than it's marketing campaing/previews let on. In fact, the most intriguing scenes are the several lengthy ones that feature very little violence (and sometimes none at all), but instead focus simply on the quick, sharp dialogue between a just a few characters or the provocative monologue of one. Tarantino's writing in these scenes is masterful as he consistenly toys with his audience, always dropping apparent hints as to how the conversation will end / how the scene will resolve itself or play out only to suddenly and shockingly change direction several times - an impressive feat that many times left me leaning forward in my seat, hands clasped as if I were praying over my mouth, blissfully ignorant of the annoying fucking teenagers with their cell phones incessantly jibba-jabberin' about their favorite Jonas Brothers songs and other miscellaneous gay things teens talk about in movies seated two rows in front of me, helplessly anticipant of the scene's outcome. In other words, the most memorable quality of "Basterds" is not the "naaat-zee" ass-kicking, but much moreso the nearly tangible tension that is created via the rhetoric of the characters - typically the Nazis.
As the fantastically dispicable Nazi Colonel Hans Landa (or "the jew hunter" as the basterds and others refer to him), Christopher Waltz turns in a remarkable performance as he constantly tinkers with the strings of his puppets - the audience members, the very epitome of the aforementioned thick tension prevalent throughout the movie. One particular scene finds a poor, terrified Jewish woman at a fancy lunch with several prominent members of Hitler's Third Reich (terrified because they don't realize she's Jewish), the very context immediately providing a wonderful discomfort palpable enough to make you squirm in your seat, and you're led to think the scene just might thankfully end without further worry when in stomps Colonel Landa, accompanied by a particularly fascinating and ominous bit of soundtrack (another of Tarantino's quirky talents), and brandishing the shit-eating smile as big and proud and identifiable as the swastikas on his uniform, and no less awful either. The Jewish woman recognizes him as the same son-of-a-bitch who butchered her entire family four years earlier at the dairy farm where they were hiding, but who inexplicably allowed her to escape. So when the rest of the lunch company goes his separate way, leaving just Landa and the Jew sitting at the table, he staring at her with ostensible but transparent pleasantry and delight and she staring back, desperate to hide her anger and terror, you can't help but actually feel the hairs on your neck stand up and perhaps even say "Ooooooh shit" to yourself (as I did) before either of them even utters a single word.
But that is merely the set-up. This is merely Tarantino setting the stage. He's only begun to, ummmm, well let me just say it like it is, he's only just begun to fuck with you, for what follows is a lengthy conversation - dominated by Landa as the Jew stays frightened and nervously reticent - in which you can't help but wait for the bomb to drop, for Landa to call her out on who she is, to perhaps even whip out a gun and shoot her more quickly than he can change his demeanor, which is pretty sudden in its own right. But he doesn't! As they sit there and eat their strudel dessert - he chewing and talking simultaneously in a such a way that makes you hate him even more - he simply probes her for information about who she is and how she came to arrive at this prestigious lunch. He even suggest a glass of milk for her at one point, at which point you can't help but say "Ooooh shit" to yourself again as you're intentionally led to believe this to be sign that he recognizes her from the dairy farm earlier, but he never capitalizes. As ruthless and cunning and downright smart as he is, he never goes after her. But the entire time you can't help but prepare yourself for it. As the scene concludes with Landa walking out, I could almost hear Tarantino laughing at me. And I was grateful for it.
Not to be overshadowed, however, Brad Pitt's turn as the "naaaat-zee" killin', scalp collectin', basterd-in-chief with a comically appropriate Tennessee drawl Lt. Aldo Raine is equally appealing, albeit in a far different manner. The antithesis (and appropriately so) of Colonel Landa, Raine has no time for dramatic build-up, intense interrogation, or any kind of extended conversation for that matter. His character, complete with an underbite that gives him a bit more of a bad-ass style square jaw, is direct and to the point. This, however, does not mean he is not intelligent or witty. With a troupe of vicious and bloodthirsty soldiers at his command, he knows how to get what he wants, and quick. Where Landa will slowly draw what he wants from you using his powers of obersvation and detection, Aldo Raine will simply offer you an ultimatum, and if you do not comply, either he or one of the basterds will, to pay homage to another Tarantino masterpiece, get medeival on y'ass.
This resulting dichotomy between Col. Landa and Lt. Raine yields two effects I found particularly intriguing. First, since the two rarely share the screen at the same time, any time Raine appears seems like a breath of fresh air, or a break from the teeth-chattering Landa scenes. As a pleasant result, Raine's violently efficient and superbly irreverant demeanor seems like a refreshment, and his/the basterds violent methods almost seem funny. Thus, and here comes that phrase again, the "over the top" / cartoonishly graphic violence seems even more fun and exciting than it would have otherwise been - cathartic even, for after Landa winds you up so tight, here come the Basterds to release your angst by either beating the shit out or scaring the wits out of some bad guys. Awesome. That's the best word for it - awesome. Not incredible, not miraculous, not heroic, just awesome...
The second effect, and perhaps even the more gratifying one, comes at the movie's climax when you finally get to see Landa and Raine staring each other down, man to man, face to face, nazi to basterd, eye of the observer to eye fixed with a cross-hairs. For the majority of the scene (SORT OF SPOILERS COMING!) it seems Landa has the upper hand, but when the tables turn and Landa reveals himself as the disloyal jackass that he is, the resulting sense of satisfaction is quite exciting. The man of stature, a pillar of the Nazi regime, a man of supposed steadfast character sitting directly across from the stone-cold, homicidal yankee with all the etiquette and social graces of a guinea pig, has the chance to swiftly prove his dominance, to prove his intellect is a greater weapon than any other man's artillery. But instead, he succumbs to his own greedy wishes, thereby serving as a sterling example of just how hollow, selfish, and ultimately vulnerable the Nazis truly were. How satisfying. I loved it.
While Pitt and Waltz were the foremost representations of their respective parties, Tarantino supplements each of them with a formidable cast of characters, each of whom drive the prominent points home in typical, thankfully exaggerated Tarantino fashion. Eli Roth as "The Bear Jew" and Louisville Slugger wielding basterd is entertaining in his pseudo-insanity when it comes to pummelling nazis (as is Til Schweiger as the slightly more insane basterd Hugo Stiglitz), and Martin Wuttke's version of an obnoxiously loud and red-faced cry-baby Adolf Hitler makes it very easy to look pitifully upon him and the rest of his own group of legitimate bastards in the movie.
Finally, to cap it all off, and staying true to form, Tarantino punctuates the movie with a fantastic soundtrack (which made me personally wonder, "Where the fuck does he find this cool music all the time?") and some fun little voice-over cameos from Tarantino regulars Samuel L Jackson and Harvey Keitel, and some of those nifty little freeze-frames he likes to employ when introducing a character (For example, when we meet Hugo Stiglitz, we see him standing atop a cliff holding an machine gun. Suddenly the camera stops, and next to the character in gigantic bold letters the name "HUGO STIGLITZ" appears as a quick, rough string of three electric guitar chords helps introduce him in kick-ass fashion). Nothing like adding a little touch to an already near-flawless work...
Clearly, as implied in the beginning, this has turned out to be much more of an endorsement than a review, but for good reason. This IS the best movie of the summer. It's worth every dollar spent and every second of its two hour and forty minute run-time. This is a must see. Everyone who sees it will likely - if they don't already - refer to it as a miraculous work and will Quentin Tarantino as an incredible film maker, a hero of the film industry, and a real genius....('Didn't you say something about overusing vocabulary words too much..?' Shut up, it's warranted).
Grade: A
Thanks for droppin' in. 'Til next time ya basterds,
DJ
