Sunday, March 09, 2008
What? No Lightfoot?
All right, let's crank out a damn movie review here. Well, now I can see why they only submitted the Death Proof half of Grindhouse to the Cannes Film Festival, because unlike Rodriguez, Tarantino seems to have more of an old-fashioned appreciation for the framing of shots. And the added length here makes it a tome of anticipation on a par with Kill Bill Vol. 2, as we wait to see when Stuntman Mike's gonna strike.
It's kinda like one of those Stephen King short stories that gets expanded to feature length. Not to give too much away, this is simply the story of a ... oh, I hate to use the word psychopathic killer, but I guess that's the term. It's just tossed around so much these days it's lost all meaning! He's decided that he's past his prime and he can no longer have the women he lusts after, the way he used to as a young man, and so he must kill them instead. I guess Kurt had fun with the part. Hard to say, but as with Used Cars so long ago, here he does get a chance to look straight into the camera at one point. QT's still got a knack for dialogue, but careful, ladies! It's not all happy movie references. And I think they went a little overboard on the first car crash. For one, the repetition of it. If nothing else, the violence of it was certainly much more hi-tech than the films they purport to pay homage to. Good Lord!
I'm the wrong guy to review this, really. This is probably too much of a chick flick for me. Lots of female bonding going on here, and in a slight variation on Maureen Dowd's observation, the girls here get in touch with their inner lap dancer. Do the chicks out there identify with this?
All in all, a decent flick, probably the most minimalist thing QT's done, and effective in that sense. However, for me it shoots itself in the foot in the third act and breaks its thriller spell, and gets a little bit stupid, if I may be so bold. **SPOILER** I mean, why wait to use the gun if you're really in danger? They do reference the film Vanishing Point explicitly and implicitly, and try to keep it on the pedestal that some put it up upon, but unfortunately like that film it doesn't completely stave off the boredom of the open road. And maybe it's just me, but I think I've slaked my thirst on the sassy black women saying M.F. all the time. I'll get my groove back though, I promise.
so sayeth the Movie Hooligan