Inglourious Basterds

Quentin Tarantino, genius or overblown indy darling? Nebulon didn't know before he beamed down to take a look at his latest offering, and he sure as hell doesn't know now.

Episodic chapters? Check.
Interesting and quirky characters fleshed out with minute detail? Check.
Endless, navel gazing dialogue? Check.

Essentially this is Quentin's attempt to crate a WW2 exploitation movie in the same mould as the Dirty Dozen et al. It's stylistic, morally questionable and very violent. Is it still OK for filmmakers to use Nazis as staple badguys in the same way that kids TV always uses robots? It's OK if they die, they're not human? Nebulon forgets which side of the debate you earthlings are on this week, but on this score this movie is perhaps more knowing than at first it might appear.

The plot concerns a group of Jewish American soldiers dropped behind enemy lines to terrorise the Germans and generally wreak havoc. There are notable performances from Brad Pitt and Michael Fastbender, as well as a great turn from former unknown Christoph Waltz. Despite what you may have read in the Guardian, no one here really embarrasses themselves and they all seem to do a good job with the characters they've been given. That some of the characters seem something less than fully rounded human beings is more a function of the plot than the actors, Private Ryan this isn't, this world is filled with fantastical monsters not men and women you may be familiar with: Bear Jew, Von Hammersmark, The Jew Hunter, Stiglitz.

The plot is surprisingly linear for a Tarantino joint, but where the film comes undone is Tarantino's tendency to get dragged into dialogue for dialogues sake. He seems to think that as long as some one is talking then the plot is moving forward, it isn't. Occasionally this seems to work, the opening scene is brilliant, but more often than not it falls flat, spending what seems like half an hour playing pub games in a French tavern with German soldiers as a build up to a 20 second fire fight is nothing short of indulgence that a true exploitation film could never afford.

The usual caveats apply in this situation, this is certainly the most appealing thing in the cinema at the moment, and the 18 certificate leaves the screenings mercifully free of kids, but just don't expecting a work of definitive genius. There are elements of genius here, but also sequences which would have been better left on the cutting room floor.

As it stands, if the invasion happened tomorrow, Tarantino would not be amongst the pantheon of film makers I had shipped back to the home world, he'll have to work a little harder and learn a little more discipline before he gets that honour. Until then though I'll keep beaming down for his movies in hopes that one day he manages to reign himself in.

Guardian review
Kermodian rant
IMDB entry
Trailer

Until the next time earthmen.