REVIEW: Django Unchained

Django Unchained (2012): Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. Starring: Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kerry Washington and Samuel L. Jackson. Rated R (All the blood and racial epithets you'd expect of the antebellum South and then some). Running time: 165 minutes.

2 stars (out of four)

The genius of Quentin Tarantino has always been his ability to pull off scenes that should never work. Take for example Kill Bill, that sprawling two-part tribute to his favorite exploitation flicks and a one-stop deposit for all his craziest ideas. In Kill Bill, he drags his characters through one extravagant set piece after another and indulges in all sorts of ludicrous action. Yet somehow, miraculously, he makes them feel human. He convinces us they are worth rooting for and we actually feel invested in his lunacy.

Watching his work in recent years – both Kill Bill films, Inglourious Basterds, and now his latest, Django Unchained – has often felt like watching a man juggling live sticks of dynamite. At any moment, it seems, he could trip and the whole thing would go kablooey right in his face. To top it off, his style is wildly brash and self-assured, as though he never doubted anything less than the complete and total success of his manic creations.

His most recent creation is a rescue-the-girl western set in the Old South two years before the Civil War. A slave named Django (played with grim, one-note determination by Jamie Foxx) is trudging through the Texas wilderness on a chain gang when a traveling German dentist appears out of the darkness. Dr. King Schultz (a delightful Christoph Waltz) introduces himself to the two slave traders escorting the chain gang.

Like so many Tarantino characters, Schultz has a large vocabulary and a flair for theatricality. He dances around the subject a while but eventually makes his intentions clear. He is going to buy Django from them whether they agree to it or not. This opening scene, cheerfully overwritten and crackling with tension, is a thrill. Quentin Tarantino neatly lays out the stakes and has fun letting the situation slowly play out.

Django and Schultz soon ride off in a carriage that has a large white tooth on its roof bouncing on a spring (a wonderfully goofy and inspired sight gag that, judging by how often we see it in the film’s first act, Mr. Tarantino is clearly very proud of). We learn that Schultz is not a dentist but a bounty hunter. He needs Django to identify a trio of wanted men who previously worked on a plantation where Django was once a resident.

What follows is a series of amusing, if needlessly drawn-out, episodes that feature Don Johnson as a mustachioed plantation owner and Jonah Hill as Ku Klux Klan leader. There are some good nyuks had over the Klan’s homemade white hoods but this leg of the movie doesn’t quite have that Tarantino magic and the movie plods along for a while until it finds its real story.

Django wants to rescue his wife (Kerry Washington), who is currently a house slave for the wealthy and debonair Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio having a lot of fun with a Southern accent). Candie runs a profitable business pitting slaves against each other in fight-to-the-death matches at his manor – named Candyland (nyuk, nyuk) – so Django and Schultz devise a plan to dupe Candie into selling them Django’s wife by posing as slave traders interested in buying one of his prize fighters.

Django Unchained is on more sure footing in the scenes at Candyland, largely thanks to Mr. DiCaprio’s effortless charm and a fine turn by Samuel L. Jackson (under some fantastic old man makeup) as Stephen, Candie’s head slave. Stephen, it turns out, is actually the most interesting character in the film and the whole third act turns on the keen observations of this loyal family servant.

Quentin Tarantino is a master at crafting plots that gradually build in tension and complexity, and for a while Django Unchained seems poised for some last unexpected turn to resolve Django and Schultz’s crafty bait-and-switch scheme. But instead, Mr. Tarantino opts for a lazier ending. In the final half-hour, the movie devolves into a gratuitous and numbingly uninventive bloodbath that cheapens everything that came before it.

Quentin Tarantino, usually such a smart writer, embraces all his worst impulses here. The violence is bloody and over-the-top but the final product resembles something a Tarantino imitator might have churned out – stylized and violent but devoid of anything thematically substantial.

The cast is also noticeably lacking in female roles. Sure, the worlds of Mr. Tarantino’s characters are typically male-dominated but he is usually good about writing at least a few strong women into his films. Kerry Washington, however, is relegated to playing the weeping damsel in distress and the other women in the film are little more than pretty faces.

And while no one expected this film to be racially sensitive, there is no doubt that a major point of contention for many will be Mr. Tarantino’s overuse of a particular racial slur. Granted, the movie’s historical context does allow him to use the word but it gets tossed around so frequently and with such relish, it’s distracting. It is easily the most said word in the film, which reduces the impact it might have had if uttered less often.

There are moments when Django Unchained clicks and might have held up as a solid, if not classic, Tarantino film. Mr. Tarantino’s comedic timing is still sharp and his love of dialogue is as apparent as ever. But the ending is such a disappointment it nearly ruins the whole movie. Though it pains me to say it, for the first time, Quentin Tarantino drops the dynamite and blows himself up.

- Steve Avigliano, 1/5/13

REVIEW: Carnage

Carnage (2011): Dir. Roman Polanski. Written by: Roman Polanski and Yasmina Reza, based on the play "God of Carnage" by Yasmina Reza. Starring: Jodie Foster, Kate Winslet, Christoph Waltz and John C. Reilly. Rated R (Language). Running time: 79 minutes.

3 stars (out of four)

In Carnage, a new film directed by Roman Polanski and based on a play by Yasmina Reza, two couples meet in an apartment to discuss an incident involving their sons, Zachary and Ethan. Zachary hit Ethan with a stick in the playground and now Ethan needs surgery to replace two missing teeth. But there is no need for these four adults to get embroiled in their sons’ feud, they say. They’re bigger than that. Ethan’s parents (played by Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly) invite Zachary’s (Christoph Waltz and Kate Winslet) over their apartment to have a civilized conversation about how to proceed. The central irony of Carnage is that the parents are no better than their children. Indeed, they may be much, much worse.

Over the course of their conversation, tensions escalate and their talk moves away from cordialities and into a heated debate that touches on their marriages, parenting styles and the specific handling of a situation involving a hamster. Mostly though, the couples verbally tear each other apart until everyone is thoroughly miserable.

This potentially tedious premise is actually a lot of fun thanks largely to the actors, who dig into the material with great zeal. The script, written by Mr. Polanski and Ms. Reza, sometimes labors too hard to keep its characters in one room long after any sane individual would have left. The couples’ discourse has an undeniably stagy quality but the skilled cast is able make the whole affair seem perfectly natural.

Penelope (Foster) and Michael (Reilly), the host couple, are middle class New Yorkers pushing toward the upper middle. Michael has a small business selling furniture supplies and Penelope is an intellectual currently working on a book about “the Darfur tragedy.” John C. Reilly is an absolute joy to watch in the role. He is the perfect picture of geniality and good humor in the face of social discomfort, dispensing pleasantries and lame jokes that mostly fall on deaf ears. As the afternoon wears on, Michael sheds his role as peacekeeper and we see him for the short-tempered, stubborn man he is. Penelope is a little less multidimensional and gets a tad shrill by the end but is convincingly portrayed by Ms. Foster.

Kate Winslet gets the more fun role as Nancy, a stuffy, uptight lawyer who shows her true colors after a few drinks. Her husband, Alan (Waltz), is also a lawyer. He works for a pharmaceutical company that is currently in the midst of media fallout surrounding a drug’s side effects. Alan was able to spare enough time in his schedule to meet with Penelope and Michael but is constantly on his phone conducting business calls. Ms. Winslet plays nicely off Christoph Waltz. Every time the incessant ringing of Alan’s phone interrupts the couples’ conversation, Nancy shoots daggers at him while her lips contradict her with a polite smile. Mr. Waltz is great fun too; Alan is the voice of reason in the group, though his wisdom often comes in the form of condescending, cynical remarks.

Throughout the film, allegiances shift from couple against couple, to a battle of the sexes, and back again. Michael and Alan find common ground in their stubbornly chauvinistic ideas of masculinity and marriage. That is, until Alan makes fun of Michael’s humble business and the war returns to one of social class.

Carnage is a brief film without much of a resolution. Once the two couples have sufficiently ripped each other to shreds, it ends. Roman Polanski and Yasmina Reza manage to keep things light by not making the audience complicit in the vengeful feud onscreen. We are afforded a comfortable seat from which we can laugh at the characters’ indecencies without worrying whether we would fare any better in their places. Before you know it, the movie is over and we have emerged unscathed and entertained from the preceding whirlwind of negativity and anger. Mr. Polanski and Ms. Reza’s approach ensures that Carnage is not a terribly illuminating film but it is an enjoyable one.

- Steve Avigliano, 1/22/12

REVIEW: Inglourious Basterds

Inglourious Basterds (2009): Written & Directed by Quentin Tarantino. Starring Brad Pitt, Mélanie Laurent, Christoph Waltz, Michael Fassbender, Eli Roth, Diane Kruger, Daniel Brühl, Til Schweiger. Rated R (strong graphic violence, language and brief sexuality). Running time: 153 minutes.

4 stars (out of four)

Just two years ago, it seemed as though Quentin Tarantino, in his second decade of filmmaking, had resigned to reviving forgotten cult movie genres. The Kill Bill films, while brilliant in their own respect, emphasize style as much as they do plot, and are essentially pastiches of the many B-movies Tarantino has assimilated through a lifetime of movie watching. Death Proof, his contribution to the exploitation throwback Grindhouse, is trashy fun with a feminist bent, but its ultimate goal is still emulation. There was even talk of him making a kung-fu film to be shot entirely in Mandarin that never came to fruition. Inglourious Basterds too bares the director’s love of movies, but it also allows Tarantino to return to what he truly does best: storytelling.

At first it seems as if Inglourious Basterds is going to follow in Pulp Fiction’s narrative footsteps; the film is divided into chapters that initially seem disconnected. Basterds however, offers a more linear narrative and its structure is not so much episodic as it is patient. Not until the fourth chapter of five does Tarantino begin to pull the separate threads together. By the time we reach the final chapter and all the main players are gathered in one room together, the payoff is even bigger after such a gradual build. Tarantino resists intercutting the storylines, allowing scenes the time to build on their own terms, and giving each scene a greater dramatic impact. Without cutting away to another scene, there is no break in tension and we get to watch a scene slowly simmer before it boils over.

The opening scene is an excellent example this, setting the film’s pace with a long dialogue scene between high-ranking Nazi Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) and a French farmer (Denis Menochet). The dialogue here crackles with tension as Landa takes his time with pleasantries before getting down to business. Also impressive is how this scene, as well as many others in the film, is not only dialogue-driven, but primarily subtitled. As it was in Nazi-occupied France, characters move between French, German and English depending on the setting and company. As the scene gradually unravels, we learn the purpose of Landa’s visit to the farm: to learn the whereabouts of a Jewish family that has been eluding the SS for months. Christoph Waltz, a relatively unknown Austrian TV actor, commands attention from his first moments onscreen, remaining calm throughout his investigation and relishing the tense silence. There is an immediate understanding that this is an intelligent man very good at his job, and his performance retains this foreboding presence throughout the film.

After an impressive opener, the film introduces the Basterds, a rogue troop of Jewish-American soldiers led by Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt brandishing a Southern accent and some fine comedic timing) whose goal is to instill fear in the Nazis by brutally killing every German soldier they come across. Oh yeah, and scalping them too. The Basterds’ storyline is the stylistic heart of the movie, indulging in flashbacks, montages and even a brief narration by Samuel L. Jackson. Though Tarantino pulls out all his best tricks here, the stylization never eclipses the scenes’ intent. He has great fun with the Basterds but never overdoes anything. As for the scalping, it’s all part of Tarantino’s endless cinematic invention. His characters exist in a self-aware movie world where such things are just a fact of war.

Finally, the movie introduces us to the other major player, French cinema-owner Shosanna Dreyfus, and Tarantino’s requisite strong female character (there’s actually two in this movie). Dreyfus is hiding her Jewish heritage under an alias, but after earning the affection of German soldier Frederick Zoller (Daniel Brühl, Good Bye Lenin!), she finds herself in a unique position both dangerous and influential. The details of what happens next need not be discussed here. The fun of Inglourious Basterds is the way it unspools in surprising directions and weaves its characters’ paths together.

This being a Tarantino film, Inglourious Basterds features great music, albeit less prominently featured than in the director’s previous movies. The soundtrack is often submerged in the background, comprised largely of scores from spaghetti westerns, with the exception of a well-placed Bowie song. It’s all part of Tarantino’s restraint as a director, keeping the focus on a given scene’s action.

Those expecting a historical depiction of WWII should be warned: the war is used only as a backdrop for Tarantino’s story. He is much more interested in the culture-clash dynamics that result when one country occupies another than he is in combat action, and while the film has its share of violent moments, none occur on the battlefield. Tarantino uses history to tell his story rather than the other way around and to say that he takes a liberty or two with historical accuracy is an exercise in understatement. This is a revenge story uninterested in creating a sympathetic view of the Nazis and it plays by its own rules.

Inglourious Basterds combines the inventive stylization and offbeat humor of Pulp Fiction with the maturity and restraint of Tarantino’s underrated Jackie Brown, while also adding a newfound sense of ambition that allows the film to reach heights previously unseen by the director. If this isn’t Tarantino’s best film, it easily stands alongside his best, and he knows it too. He all but calls the film his masterpiece twice, but when a director’s self-assuredness works this well, his cockiness only adds to the film’s charm.

- Steve Avigliano, 9/1/09