It's not Scottish!

Rating: 1/10 (22 July 2019)

... it's crap!
Poor little Quentin isolated himself in his little, little home with his exclusive 35mm prints of garbage. Or, has Werner Herzog might have said, "Why bother?" Ditto Jean-Luc Godard, or Rainer Werner Fassbinder.
His last attempt at partying -- the "Four Rooms" sequence, where he didn't have any more subject matter to impart or build off, gone where the days where including a "T.J. Hooker" audition reference built *even something like* local color and slice-of-life, who wants to hear about him partying with well-known people the rest of us just see on TV? -- was an abject failure, and, after proving he'd heard of Elmore Leonard (kinda like "proving" you've heard of Stephen King: "okaaay," but as far as films go, that could mean *anything*, circa '96) you get to ...
Whew!
Breathe out.
Wheeeeeew!
Breeathe.
So! He hooks up Uma Thurman with an improbably-sustainable revenge fantasy (she's got nothing better to think about; besides, it's like TV! ya know, ninjas!), and uh ... yeah.
Watch her suffer on the floor as you hear the beats of the boots come nearer, with shadow. What fun! Find out she's been repeatedly raped in the hospital while unconscious, 'cause yuk yuk what fun she can *get revenge* now and ...
... the whole movie's so odious it's hard to find it fun. It's also stupid.
Quentin's used up his goodwill reserve, what you might call his "welcome," but nobody seems to have noticed.
Oh, and PS: Pagan Kennedy wrote (in her blurbed by Richard Linklater and Douglas Coupland) book "Platforms," about the '70s, that David Carradine lived as though, yes, he thought in *real life* he was Kane from "Kung Fu."
Apparently reviving this didn't do to well for him.
Yuck! What a mess.