Tarantino's supposed 'basterdisation' of World War II sees him zoom back to form with an enthralling; gut-wrenching and stylistic war-time thriller.

Rating: 7/10 (21 August 2009)

Inglourious Basterds sees Tarantino 'glouriously' return to form. What was the debacle called Death Proof, one half of an 'experiment' entitled Grindhouse, has been tried; tested; acknowledged and now buried with Tarantino close to being back in top gear. The film is pure Tarantino, with the sorts of winks, nudges and acknowledgments that are subtle, and compliment the viewing experience, rather than bash you around the head by announcing the whole damn thing is a pastiche in the first place. We've returned to the sorts of Tarantino pieces that check progress with chapters; manipulate time; break the fourth wall; flashback; present us with interesting and dynamic characters that are brought to life brilliantly – even Tarantino's love for the female foot makes an amusing appearance when it transpires an entire plot point must revolve around a woman's foot/shoe. Yes, it's a mad, mad film; but it's as equally high in quality.
Tarantino is still operating within that realm, or aesthetic, of escapism; and while his past, more better, work unfolded under a very grounded umbrella of realism and seemingly real-life people thinking, talking and interacting amongst a plateau of realistic, mostly unfortunate, situations; Inglourios Basterds tears The Second World War a new one with a series of scenes that rip up the rule book; re-envisage, and even have its characters outwardly speak of how certain others, inhabiting certain spaces, at certain times can be fate or "just an amazing coincidence". What we get is what Tarantino has confessed to being a Spaghetti Western that just happens to take place in France, in the 1940s, and with a bunch of colourful characters of whom some are French, German and British. The film even makes room for cameo appearances from some of the eras more famous faces and possesses the sheer confidence to spend a good ten or so minutes filling in detailed back-stories to characters before completely removing them from the text.
The opening to the film is pure Tarantino; kicking things off in a lone, road side location as Christoph Waltz's Nazi colonel Hans Landa visits a French farmer. We are plunged into a game of fear, honour and suspicion. The scene is reminiscent of Jules' visit to the apartment full of young guys in Pulp Fiction, when retrieving a suitcase. The man is in total control; he requests a drink of milk more-so than Sprite and calmly banters with the hapless home-owner as he senses exactly what he's after is in very close proximity. His guards loom, ominously, just the other side of a muggy kitchen window out in the yard; out of focus but visible enough to tell us they're there and threatening. It is a brilliant start to what turns out to be an enjoyable romp; but never really exploitative of The Second World War. We do not enjoy any of the deaths in Inglourious Basterds; American, British, German, Jewish or otherwise. Nor are we excited by the shootouts, however well constructed they are.
The Basterds of the title represent a group of American soldiers in Nazi-occupied France; flitting from German platoon-to-German platoon and injecting fear into the Nazi war-machine by killing, maiming, bashing and scalping the enemy. They're led by Brad Pitt's Aldo Raine, a mostly expressionless lieutenant, who self-confesses he and his men are in the "Nazi killing business, and business is a-booming!" I was surprised by just how much Pitt's Raine was in it; that being not very much. All the build up, talk and promotional material seemed to include him or revolve around him and his Basterds of the title. Indeed, Tarantino spoke at length about how long it took him to write the character and how much he realised he needed Pitt in the role, etc. But Raine's there for a bit at the beginning, then for about fifteen at the end. It is in no way a criticism, merely an observation, but my guess is that the script was chopped so much that Raine became a supporting character around which Tarantino's finale (which he has stated he had great trouble coming up with over the years) was built up to; and that itself involved a whole new bunch of characters mingling in and around a plot involving raw film stock and a cinema.
Along with these Basterds; of whom Tarantino might be drawing on real life parallels with current American soldiers-come-involvement in brutal, immoral activity in foreign wars; even if I respect those that would disagree through lack of development of this idea; we are presented with a young girl named Shosanna Dreyfus (Laurent), whose family are killed by Landa and who has retired to a Parisian cinema to wait out the war. That premise alone might inspire a dynamic, revenge-fuelled, cut and thrust adventure set amongst World War II; but instead, she gets a chance encounter with a young German soldier, who is involved in film production through various reasons. Dreyfus' transition under her alias of Emmanuelle Mimieux, as a submissive and quietly nervous in the Nazis' presence, to a laughing; cackling, rather frightening face that illuminates the setting of the finale is equally refreshing to watch; the final stages of the transition is best highlighted by a montage of fetishistic close ups as she dons clothes and make-up for the climax of a screening.
The film is a sweeping display of tension, horror and distinct black comedy; forever flicking, effortlessly I might add, from the nastiness involved in the hatching of a dangerous plan between two lovers within the walls of a cinema; to an ever-diligent German officer attempting to piece everything together; right the way through to the ever-present, but relegated to looming in the background, group of Americans known as The Basterds. As a multi-equilibrium and frequently non-linear piece, complete with an array of influences and film references within itself, Inglourius Basters is, this time, a welcome addition to the Tarantino collection.