Quentin Tarantino's INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS
There's gonna be a red carpet premiere of Quentin Tarantino's latest work at the Scotiabank Cineplex next Wednesday night and I'll be there.
QT and Eli Roth will be there in person.
Hella yeah.
Maybe I can get an autograph, photos.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Sometimes fate extends a hand...
I went to the Canadian Premiere of Inglourious Basterds last night. (I'm not telling you how I got two passes- that's my little secret) and Quentin Tarantino and Eli Roth were on hand to introduce the film, which packs one hell of a wallop!
I was late in getting there (I got there ten minutes before showtime) and Quentin was outside the Scotiabank theatre, on the red carpet, talking to reporters. It was a nice little gala- army camoflage nets up, vintage WWII ammo boxes everywhere, "extras" in vintage uniforms and ladies dolled up to look like Miss Hammersmarck? And a deuce-and-half army truck parked right near the entrance. It was awesome, and of course, I decided not to take any pictures because I wanted to get into the theatre and I figured I'll be able to get shots with QT and the setting outside after the movie. Not to be. Security was INSANE.
They took my camera. They took everybody's camera. Everybody's cell phone. Any suspicious looking backpacks- not going in. You get the airport screening with the metal detector, the whole nine yards. I was waiting for the body cavity search.
They were not fucking around with the recording of the movie.
No twittering no nothing.
This was one sold-out capacity crowd that I didn't mind being in.
Even though I was in the very first row, looking straight up the whole time, it kicked ass because I was five feet from Quentin and Eli as they introduced the film onstage.
They were introduced by the host of Canada A.M. and Quentin came out first, to a roar of applause. He looked great, black suit jacket with a t-shirt that had some kind of cartoon character on it, black slacks and the coolest pair of dress shoes I've ever seen. They were black, with silver melded into them and they were really shiny. I want to know where he got them.
He said he loves Toronto and that he was first here to promote Reservoir Dogs in 1992, was back in '94 for Four Rooms, was back again for his girlfriend Mira Sorvino's premiere, and other times since. He said he's been in many of Toronto's bars. Awesome. He introduced Eli Roth (to another round of applause) and Eli said he loves Toronto too because at the premiere screening of Cabin Fever two ambulances were summoned.
He praised "working with this man" and pointing to Quentin, saying We're all fans, right?.
Then Quentin got the audience to shout in unison:
ELI ROTH YOU'RE A BASTERD!!!!
Then he introduced the movie shouting: GET READY FOR INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS!, while throwing the microphone down like a gauntlet, so hard it bounced and rolled off the stage to the floor.
I couldn't believe I was actually there.
I'd give you a review now, but Chris is waiting for the opening next week to say anything and so will I.
New topic, with a big more about the Top 20 List
Violent reactions to INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS
The erudite Jonathan Rosenbaum, never a QT fan to begin with, goes positively bonkers over INGLOIURIOUS BASTERDS, primarily for the obvious reaons -- the movie's lack of solemnity or reverence in approaching WWII history, and its violent re-imagining of Jewish opposition to the Nazis. QT's now movie is even "morally akin to Holocaust denial," he says, "even though it proudly claims to be the opposite of that. It's more than just the blindness to history that leaks out of every pore in this production (even when it's being most attentive to period details) or the infantile lust for revenge that's so obnoxious. ..." and so on. So Rosenbaum recommends we all read "'When Jews Attack' by Daniel Mendelsohn, a two-page spread in the August 24 & 31 issue of Newsweek." It's obvious many would find INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS offensive, and QT's application of his methods to the sacred topic of WWII is destined to arouse greater outrage than usual. I think this was one of the main motives behind negative reactions at Cannes. It's hard to bring a sense of humor and Tarantinoesque camp to a movie about WWII. And you have to do that to appreciate the film. JR decided to dislike INGOURUIOUS BASTERDS from scene one. Indeed he can hardly conceal his contempt even for the title (" [sic sic -- or maybe I should say, sic, sic, sic]") After all, in his Movies As Politics book, he wrote "You won't find any serious discussion of art, literature, or philosophy or any serious technical innovations in Tarantino's PULP FICTION.'
As for the "lust for revenge" being "infantile," perhaps JR should tell that to the Israelis when they retaliate ten-fold against Palestinian attacks. And that may be cause for reflection that macho Jews are ot the monopoly of Mr. Tarantino.
There is going to be tons of debate and fur flying over INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS, and for now there is an excellent summing up of debates so far with multiple links on The Auteurs , which I've only just begun to follow up on. This incidentally gives a link to SPOUT blogger Christopher Campbell's rundown of "a zillion responses" to Tarantino's Top 20 movies list.
There is all this debate going on. But the best answer I can ever give is my own review of a film. I am, however, still going to hold off and wait till release day Friday (it opened in England today and Borys Musialak of FILMASTER said he's going to see it today). I started this thread to post my review, but since the distribution reps at the press screening requested that we hold our reviews till opening day, I will wait till Friday before putting up my review here.
INGLOURIUS BASTERDS (Quentin Tarantino 2009)
Quentin Tarantiino: INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (2009)
Review by Chris Knipp
With its wealth of almost-themes and lush production values, amazing cast, stomach-turning spectacles, and morally dubious Jewish revenge theme, Quentin Tarantino's movie about movies about World War II is shocking, controversial, and a must-see.
W A R N I N G: S P O I L E R S
Tarantino's World War II feature Inglourious Basterds shows the director's best and worst features, but in a wholly new setting. Here is his propensity for sectioned films (there are five "chapters") with disparate plots with neat but wildly implausible interconnections. His love of elaborate extended set pieces where the dialogue takes over, sometimes at excruciating length. His playful, ingenious, and sometimes career-rehabilitating casting, which provides actors with irresistible opportunities to memorably strut their stuff. His mastery of old-fashioned camera-work, with bold and traditional uses of big close-ups. Jumping at the challenge of his subject, he tries out some pretty fancy production pieces, notably gun battles and a classic old movie theater rigged up for a Nazi gala, and these are never less than colorful and delightful eye candy. And also his indifference to reality or good taste and his moral blindness.
The new twist is the swing to Europe -- German-occupied France -- with tons of subtitled French and German dialogue, and even translating back and forth between them. A big question is this: can we really stomach a partly comic, partly grandiose, partly grind-house version of the war that is the most tragic event in modern European history? Can World War II be the basis for a movie about movies so fanciful that it seeks to resolve the war in that old Paris cinema with a host of Nazi bigwigs all on hand for a propaganda film? Besides the unbearably, cartoonishly brutal Dirty Dozen team of American Jews headed up by Brad Pitt's southern redneck and charged, as viewers of the movie trailer will well remember, to bring back "Nazi scalps" (a hundred each, in fact) -- something a little in the vein of Samuel Fuller's 1980 saga Big Red One, once planned in this long-contemplated project as a 16-episode TV series -- there's a not-so-secondary dual theme of concealment and identity. And the "Inglourious Basterds" story gets sidelined by the cinema story. But Tarantino has never been linear. And good taste or a firm hold on reality have not been his long suits. This is, no matter what, some splendid filmmaking, and however much it offends or annoys or tortures you to watch, it's a work of unquestionable proficiency, a reveling in the art of moviemaking.
Events begin without ceremony or prelude at a French dairy farm with a visit from the movie's most impressive and despicable character, Col. Hans Landa (played with relish and equal linguistic skill in French, English and German by Austrian-born actor Christoph Waltz), whose nickname is "the Jew Hunter." The farmer, Perrier LaPadite (Denis Menochet) is hiding Jews, and Landa finds them -- but it all happens in dialogue, followed by a violent rain of bullets. One of the hidden family escapes alive, Shoshanna Dreyfus (a touching Melanie Laurent), who reappears improbably several years later as the proprietor by inheritance of a Paris cinema, having taken on a French Christian name.
This dairy farm sequence is excruciating enough, but less so than the central set piece, a long and nerve-wracking scene in which an English OSS officer's posing as a Nazi officer, Lt. Archie Hicox (Michael Fassbender), is gradually smoked out in a cellar bar. At a certain point in this sequence the excruciating becomes hard to separate from the tedious -- till all hell breaks loose. Central here is the German actress Bridget von Hammersmark (Diana Kruger), undercover for the Allies, who's caught out later like a doomed Cinderella, by a shoe that fits.
Meanwhile there are brutal scenes of the "basterds" bashing Nazis, Jews belying the stereotypically "meek" Jewish identity by becoming comic book superheroes, foremost among them Sgt. Donny Donowitz (Eli Roth of Hostel and Deathproof), "the Bear Jew," who kills Nazis by smashing in their skulls with a baseball bat, preferably in front of their comrades. And there are several Germans who pose as Nazis while their real aim is to kill them. And there is young German war hero Fredrick Zoller ( Daniel Bruhl), fluent in French, and in love with Shoshanna as well as with movies -- and he becomes a movie star, like a German Audie Murphy, beginning by playing himself in a propaganda film, but becomes increasingly detached from the image he's identified with and finally unable to bear watching the reenactments his own famous deeds. The ingenuity and parallelisms of altered or reversed identity are so fascinating one might wish identity were made more consciously resonant as a theme.
Tarantino also makes ample use of his fetish for ritual deal-making as a motor behind scenes and action. Col. Landa makes a tough deal with the dairy farmer in the opener. Lt. Aldo Raine (Pitt) is ready to bargain with Nazis, letting them keep their lives and their scalps if they'll give up German military information. At the end, Landa makes the biggest deal of all -- his life for, well, the Third Reich, basically.
A big element is the celebration of movies, not only by the climax in a movie house, but in the constant references to old ones, to the point that Inglourious Basterds, the title itself a deliberate corruption of the English title of a schlock Italian WWII film, Enzo Castellari's Quel maledetto treno blindato, becomes more than anything a war movie about war movies. At times the whole effort threatens to get mired in material that is too familiar -- the nasty Nazis, the drinking scenes, the face offs, the suspenseful plots -- tropes executed often and with more gravitas, if less panache, elsewhere. Though inherently sui generis, Quentin Tarantino's movies have never been about originality, any more than they're about "reality." They're ingenious fantasies, built up out of cinema, delighting in the magic of what can happen on the screen.
And after all World War II was always movies, too, and propaganda. The "Basterds" -- the team of Jews out to give individual Nazis horrible deaths -- carry out their actions primarily as a propaganda weapon, its effectiveness underlined by the film's moments of gruesome brutality. Propaganda also is the movie "Nation's Pride," made starring Zoller, depicting how he singlehandedly killed 300 men, For that, Tarantino gives us something it's surprising he's not done before, a movie-within-a-movie. Zoller calls himself "the German Sgt. York." Tarantino does not resist the temptation (how could he?) to put his versions of Goebbels (a very juicy Sylvester Groth) as well as Hitler, and even, off in the corner of a scene, Churchill, on the screen.
Also present is the quintessential Tarantino theme: revenge. The "Basterds" are having revenge for the annihilation of Jews. Zoller's insistence that the premiere be transferred to Shoshanna's cinema gives her the idea of wreaking vengeance on a whole auditorium full of Nazis for the brutal killing of her family.
Things get very complicated when three plots by the British, the "Basterds," and Shoshanna -- with her black French boyfriend Marcel (Jacky Ido) -- all converge on the premiere of "Nation's Pride" at Shoshann's theater (with some confusion of the continuity in the lead-up to this event).
Whether or not you buy (or at some points can even stomach) the whole thing, the production is lush, the acting is rich, the set-pieces, however torturous, are impossible to look away from, and there's a fascinating interweaving of almost-themes. This is Tarantino -- and his big team -- working at full-bore. Waltz (who won Best Actor for this performance at Cannes) carries the day, but the film is alive with all the people in it. Brad Pitt, with his down-home shtick, his heavily drawn rustic tough guy and deliberately campy Ozark accent, though his character is not as funny or as vivid as stuff in Full Metal Jacket, is still quite entertaining, the heart of a style of movie in which comedy constantly turns scary and horrifying. Pitt's Lt. Aldo Raine (his name itself a war movie tribute) in turn gets his chance, like so many others, to put on a (in his case comically clumsy) fake identity. There are only two important female characters, played by Melanie Laurent and Diana Kruger, but both are fine and memorable. All in all Inglourious Basterds is troubling, drawn-out, brilliant -- and not to be missed. The answer to whether we can stomach the outrage and irreverence is that we just have to: Tarantino makes his own rules.