Kill Bill Vol. 2 ( * )
"Tarantino-esque" is a word in our pop culture vocabulary for good reason. Quentin Tarantino made the best film of the 90's, Pulp Fiction, which I saw 11 1/2 times in the theatre and many more since. That being said, Kill Bill Volume 2 is a Tarantino-esque piece of shit.
The Acting: (Sigh). Michael Madsen, god bless him, he tries, man, he tries. Uma tries too--too hard, given her material. Daryl Hannah finds the right tone and finally redeems herself for working with Tom Hanks. David Carradine is alternately great and stultified by false-sounding material. Ultimately, his is the central performance of the film (he is, after all, the titular character) but Tarantino uses him as a conduit to channel his motherhood fetish fantasy about Uma. He fetishizes Uma just like he did Pam Grier in Rum Punch or whatever the fuck it was called--Jackie Brown--(I actually forgot the title for a moment) and when Carradine is asked to deliver an out-of-character-for-an-assassin speech about comic books and Superheroes, you begin to miss the days when Tarantino wrote himself parts in his own movies.
The Story: Thanksgiving leftovers. Picture some turkey skin swimming in a whitish cake of refrigerated grease next to some melting cranberry sauce and a container that has all the rest of the mashed potatoes, stuffing, and some wilted string beans all thrown in together. Kill Bill Volume 1 was the feast. It's bullshit to say that Volume 1 was an incomplete movie. It stands alone perfectly. This one doesn't. The problem is, that Tarantino doesn't mix genres--one movie is a kung fu movie, the other is a western. If they'd been integrated better, it would feel like one saga (and I don't count the Pei Mei stuff, because that's all flashback--it feels like a whole different movie, and its contribution to the story could have been summed up in less than a minute, instead of the ten minute diversion its given).
The Direction: Let me bitch about the story some more, since it's a writer/director. The whole last act is a talky, one-act-play-sounding anticlimax. 'Nuff said.
Overall: Thh-h-pp-p-pp!!
Tredekka Rules:
The Acting: (Sigh). Michael Madsen, god bless him, he tries, man, he tries. Uma tries too--too hard, given her material. Daryl Hannah finds the right tone and finally redeems herself for working with Tom Hanks. David Carradine is alternately great and stultified by false-sounding material. Ultimately, his is the central performance of the film (he is, after all, the titular character) but Tarantino uses him as a conduit to channel his motherhood fetish fantasy about Uma. He fetishizes Uma just like he did Pam Grier in Rum Punch or whatever the fuck it was called--Jackie Brown--(I actually forgot the title for a moment) and when Carradine is asked to deliver an out-of-character-for-an-assassin speech about comic books and Superheroes, you begin to miss the days when Tarantino wrote himself parts in his own movies.
The Story: Thanksgiving leftovers. Picture some turkey skin swimming in a whitish cake of refrigerated grease next to some melting cranberry sauce and a container that has all the rest of the mashed potatoes, stuffing, and some wilted string beans all thrown in together. Kill Bill Volume 1 was the feast. It's bullshit to say that Volume 1 was an incomplete movie. It stands alone perfectly. This one doesn't. The problem is, that Tarantino doesn't mix genres--one movie is a kung fu movie, the other is a western. If they'd been integrated better, it would feel like one saga (and I don't count the Pei Mei stuff, because that's all flashback--it feels like a whole different movie, and its contribution to the story could have been summed up in less than a minute, instead of the ten minute diversion its given).
The Direction: Let me bitch about the story some more, since it's a writer/director. The whole last act is a talky, one-act-play-sounding anticlimax. 'Nuff said.
Overall: Thh-h-pp-p-pp!!
Tredekka Rules:
- Rule 3: Sweet actor bonus--Michael Madsen, +1 star--Michael Parks, +1 star (another Twin Peaks alum--he played Jean Renault). (I love Madsen in general, but he also said one of the truest truisms about Hollywood, which is that "Cool is not an actable quality." Yet Hollywood tries, again and again, to ignore that rule. Freddy Prinze Jr., I'm lookin' at you here.)
- Rule 5: Spitting = Good Acting. Yep, Uma gets Madsen's tobacco spit right in the face. Her live burial scene also happens to have the movie's best writing. +1 point.
- Rule 17 (NEW RULE): The "Don't Fuck With The Fourth Wall Penalty. Seventeen is my favorite number, and by a coincidence, Rule 17 is (to me) the most important rule. There is NO POSSIBLE GENRE of films where breaking the fourth wall (e.g., addressing the audience directly) is anything but a detriment to the film, except maybe farce, but really, not even then. The opening credits do this, and they suck anyway, because they were the same as the teaser trailer. Get a life, Q and U. -2 stars for each of you alphabetical bastards.
Tredekka Score: ( * )
posted by Tredekka at 8:18 PM
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