Once Upon A Time ...

Rating: 8/10 (4 July 2010)

There is homage and there is indulgence. With Pulp Fiction, Tarantino probably ran out of material that stands on its own. Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction share this quality (How much of what I've to call restraint, in hindsight, owes its existence to Roger Avary?). From Jackie Brown onwards, the 'did you get that? that's supposed to be his tribute to ...' aspect of his films have been given a free reign. From the amount of polarization that's evident in what movie-goers have to say on the web, it's possible to discern a kind of weariness in the writings of both parties - the ones that do 'get' it and the others who don't. A begrudging acknowledgment of the divide. Personally speaking, no matter what the levels of indulgence, Tarantino makes movies that entertain, eventually. There are long scenes of seemingly rambling dialogue (dotingly dubbed verbal diarrhoea by some) but their denouement, I nearly always find satisfying. The kind of satisfaction it gives can border upon the crass more often than not but it works. That brings me to something along the lines of the suspension-of-disbelief concept. How much indulgence would I permit Tarantino in return for the kind of entertainment he offers? This is the question that ranks above all else when it comes to his films since Jackie Brown. In this regard, Jackie Brown paid homage to a kind of cinema almost totally unfamiliar to me and I found the entertaining parts - Robert De Niro in a unique performance (even by his standards) and the mall sequence - not sufficient in exchange for the indulgence. Kill Bill Volumes 1 and 2 had tributes that I'm not readily familiar with but enjoyable in their exposition. It had enough of his brilliance with dialogue and action to keep me glued and coming back for repeat views of segments. Death Proof proved to be another unfair exchange - two riveting sequences amidst endlessly droll dialogue and B-movie homage. Inglourious Basterds is just the right mix of campy dialogue, intrigue, character elements, action and homage, tribute, indulgence.
There's a difference here. Unlike other Tarantino films where every pillar is integral but dispensable, Inglourious Basterds owes a lot to Christoph Waltz's Hans Landa. It wouldn't be the same without his prying, inquisitive manner with a prim and proper veneer to mask a deep- rooted sense of inferiority. In other words, Tarantino films don't have one performance that hogs the limelight but this one does. Akin to David Carradine in Kill Bill, you're left wondering why such actors haven't been in the spotlight. It's only the chapter technique that prevents Waltz from completely stealing the show from the rest of the cast which is just as competent as he is - Mélanie Laurent, Til Schweiger (what he achieves with the most minimal of screen time!), Diane Kruger (whose German roots help), Eli Roth, Daniel Brühl and Brad Pitt.
By choosing the setting and the narrative that he has, Tarantino has allowed himself maximum leeway in terms of the homage quotient. World War II saw propagandist cinema sore to great heights with Dr Goebbels (unique among the sycophants in history) and Leni Reifenstahl (Berlin Olympics). And since the setting involves France ("we respect our directors"), it isn't outrageous to have a plot revolve around cinema itself. This has a cheesy yet old worldly heroic appeal to it - if you want a testament to the power of cinema, this would be it.
Lastly, the subtitles (large parts of the film are in German and French with a smattering of the Italian) suggest inventiveness. Deliberate insertions like 'somebody over there's wife' and 'impertinentness' hint at the possibility of greater enjoyment if one is familiar with these three languages.