Worthless WW2 caricature from a director who's gone-off

Rating: Null/10 (5 March 2012)

The one novelty is so much of the dialogue is in French and German with English subtitles - hey, subs worked for Gibson's Jesus movie. Apart from that, Tarantino, not yet fifty, does his best to be a new Woody Allen: spinning his wheels while his fans constantly chase that elusive "return to form". Soon Return To Form will become a movie genre of its own, sort of sad and wistful.
What better word for I.G. than dreck. Overlong (aren't they all) with noxious characters, episodes both unbelievable and boring, right from the start. Tarantino tries without success to summon the spirit of Harold Pinter in his supposedly tense and unnerving conversation scenes, but it ain't happening (The Happening, now there's a film to bracket I.G. with in your cinematic hierarchy). Tarantino hasn't the command of language and his screen writing peak (Pulp Fiction) now a distant memory blighted by later excesses of trashy violence and an all pervasive feeling of emptiness devoid of the gangster cool that once was his forte.
Repugnant and beneath the remains of Quentin's legendary A & B-movie influences. Time to wave ta-ta to Tarantino.