Glorious Bastard

Just finished watching Inglorious Bastards - Quentin Tarantino's latest. Knowing that it would be past midnight when it's over, I prepared two alternative reviews during my evening run. One in case it was good the other in case it wasn't. You know, like a journalist covering a late night sports event, for example the Champions' League final. One story in case Barcelona wins another in case it is Man U. For Barca, he will have a pre-canned eulogy of Messi, and a bit about how Henry who could not win it with Arsenal. For Man U, the speculation as to whether Fergie would finally retire at the peak of his career.

You see, deep in my heart I was hoping the movie would be great and I could say about Tarantion: " the glorious bastard is back"!

So which one is it? The good review or the other? Unfortunately, neither. On the one hand, Tarantino clearly knows his trade. The first chapter - which reminded me of the famous scene from The Good the Bad and the Ugly in which Angel Eyes treats himself to his future victim's chilli - is a master-stroke of tension building cinema. On the other, the climatic mass killing in the cinema in the scene before last is (and I know I am predictable) a real anti-climax; it is grotesque rather than gruesome.

So, yes, it is probably Tarantino's best film for a while and hence worthwhile watching. At the same time, feels like he still needs to relax a bit. It seems like Tarantino is making too much of an effort to prove himself as true to his own legacy. And that, rather like this sentence (to quote A. A. Milne) is a bit tiring.

Good night.