Inglourious Basterds Movie Review

Inglourious Basterds

Movie Review

Having done his version of a heist movie, blaxploitation flick and revenge drama, Quentin Tarantino's latest film is a World War II epic with a difference. A war movie told in the filmic language of the spaghetti western, Inglourious Basterds is a quick return to directing for QT following Death Proof's disappointing reception. But whether it is as good as film's past is a debate I'm ill equipped to lead.

I saw Inglourious Basterds ten days ago. And after ten days of mulling, evaluating and considering, I have yet to form a strong opinion on Tarantino's latest offering. I like it, damning as that sounds, but beyond that tepid sentiment I'm still as unsure as I was when I left the cinema. I know it's not de rigeur for someone who fanices themselves a film critic to say - or type - this, but before I can be more sure about this film I think I'll need to see it again on DVD.

The narrative follows a small group of American soldiers dropped behind enemy lines in an attempt to disrupt and sabotage Nazi operations. Or as Brad Pitt's character, Aldo Raine says “we in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'”. A subplot follows Shosanna Dreyfus, a French Jew who finds herself owning a cinema in Paris after the execution of her family by SS officer Hans Landa (Cristoph Waltz). The paths of these two sets of protagonists begin to coalesce when they find themselves in positions to bring the war to a premature conclusion.

I think the primary reason I didn't get to grips with Inglourious Basterds is that I can't decide whether it crosses the line into self-indulgence. Actually, it's not so much self-indulgence as a lack of tightness in the script. The opening scene is a prime example of this. The scene itself, involving a French farmer and Hans Landa, is stocked to the hilt with tension and suspense, but takes an oh-so rambling route before docking at it's resolution, teetering on the brink of flabbiness throughout.

I would have preferred if the movie concentrated solely on the Basterds, because their initial antics and unveiling was where the movie peaked. No sharp decline follows, but the moody and unenthralling Shosanna segments would have been better left on the writing room floor in favour of more Inglouriousness.

However, the plot does take enough Tarantino-esque left turns to still periodically lift the movie into better than good territory. The final ten minutes are a revisionists wet dream, and when an interrogation scene turns deadly the urge to shut at least one eye is hard to resist. Narrative structure apart, the director's usual calling cards litter the screenplay. Movie-reference studded dialogue (in the form of Leni Riefenstahl name checking and a discussion of Chaplin's The Kid), fetishistic shots of female characters feet, and an increasingly vivid streak of cruelty which the director seems to harbour towards his creations make themselves apparent throughout the production. Never one to hold back on unleashing bodily claret, Tarantino must have felt like he was back on the set of From Dusk 'til Dawn at times.

As usual though, the director's aural sensibilities are faultless. The music is exquisite, and opens up the vista of a movie mostly shot indoors. And even if it a large portion of it shouldn't belong in a WWII-era movie, you're left wondering why it wasn't attempted before, which is exactly as it should be with a Tarantino production.

Cristoph Waltz deserves most credit for imbuing his SS Colonel with the spirit of a devilish Sherlock Holmes, a role which landed him the best actor award at Cannes and a role in the upcoming Green Hornet. Brad Pitt is in usual fine fettle as the leader of the Basterds. It's already been proven, but endlessly worth repeating that he is as adept with comedy as with drama, and can gear change seemlessly between the two. Eli Roth (he of Hostel directorial infamy) is similarly engaging as Donny Donowitz aka The Bear Jew. In a casting mis step, Mike Myers cameos as a British General. I just couldn't take the SNL alum seriously as a non-shagadelic Brit.

Maybe I had a better handle on this movie than I thought. Inglourious Basterds is middling Tarantino; certainly not as good as his early work, but head and shoulders above vast swathes of his contemporaries. Ah, nothing like a good – scratch that, above average – review to clear the mind.

7.5/10