Makes no nevermind to me that Quentin Tarantino thinks the schlock movies he watched until his eyes bled when he was in the early stages of his ongoing arrested adolescence are among the greatest achievements in the art of cinema.
And I don't care if he wants to spend the rest of his life reliving his still unspent youth by remaking those movies. Filmbrain is a little harsher on him about this:
Tarantino needs to find a new source of inspiration that informs his screenwriting. Like a hyperactive child, his desire to share his encyclopedic knowledge of cult and fringe cinema has gone from supplementing and enhancing his cleverly written screenplays to becoming the sole purpose for their existence. Yes, Quentin, we know you've seen every Chia-liang Lu and William Rotsler film. Time to move on.
But then Filmbrain has seen Grindhouse and I haven't and, not that I had any real plans to go, I'm not going to, now that Filmbrain has saved me the trouble.
At any rate, I don't care what obsesses Tarantino. Pulp Fiction is what it is, a touchstone of the pop culture of the end of the last millenium. And I liked Jackie Brown. What bugged me about the Kill Bills was that Tarantino used them to utterly waste the time, talent, and beauty of Uma Thurman.
It’s one thing for Quentin to present us with a bunch of middle-aged guys sitting around a table, hanging out in a hotel room, or driving around in a car engaging in lengthy dialog liberally seasoned with pop-culture references – everything from Like a Virgin, fast food menus, Kung Fu, The Man From Rio, or AM radio hits. These are Tarantino’s geeky obsessions writ large. Yet in Death Proof, black suited guys are replaced by hotties in baby tees and tight pants, and the results come off as little more than male geek fantasy – gorgeous young women sitting around dropping references to Zatoichi, obscure British rock bands, and 70s cult cinema. It’s unbelievably juvenile, and more than a little pathetic.
Oh, well. Their business. And like I said, wasn't on my list and, anyway, Filmbrain's seen it so I don't have to. Filmbrain didn't have much to say about Robert Rodrguez's parts, but clearly there's too much Tarantino in Tarantino's:
Death Proof is too self-congratulatory and self-aware to work as either pure exploitation or even homage – in fact, it's Tarantino paying tribute to Tarantino more than anything else. He seems unable to distance himself from his auteurist self in order to create something worthy of the grindhouse moniker. It's more adolescent than sleazy, and lacks the salaciousness of, say, a Russ Meyer film, whose unique flavor of girl power Tarantino co-opted. Too self-satisfied with the characters he created, he lacks the conviction to gaze upon them the way Meyer did. What we're left with is neither fish nor fowl; too conscious of itself to adhere to the genre, but not clever enough to subvert it.
At least, though, says FB, Death Proof isn't as misogynistic as some critics have said.
Read the whole of Filmbrain's review, Aging SWM director seeks kickass F, great feet a must.