The Second Half of Tarantino's Masterpiece

Rating: 8/10 (23 April 2004)

This is a much more contemplative, somber, and deterministic film than Vol. 1. The tonal disparity can be attributed to the splitting of a completed film into two seemingly dichotomous parts. Critics seem to be ignoring that this is merely the second half of a saga; perceptions of Vol. 2 as being closer to a "true" Tarantino film have abounded, with this film being considered a satisfying sequel rather than the plaintive coda it happens to be. Of course it is a tall order to solder the delirious assortment of styles and influences of the first film with the masterly pacing and reflectivity of Tarantino's denouement, but that is part of the unique challenge of Kill Bill, an unwieldy masterpiece that reflects the breakneck referentiality, the encyclopedic knowledge of genre archetypes, and the bewildering love for cinema of its creator.
Tarantino's sophistication in knowing when and how to reference his pet influences—kung-fu grind-house flicks of the '70s and spaghetti westerns, most vitally The Good, the Bad and the Ugly—adds immensely to his deft handling of conflict (physical, emotional, psychological) and the mythos of the avenging hero. Occasionally it can be frivolous: I could have done without the beard-stroking of the talismanic sensei, but it was an inconsequential irritant, a jest to the B-level qualities of the source material. Those who use self-indulgence as an open-and-closed criticism of this film and its maker are missing the point: Kill Bill is a catalogue of obsessions and an indulgent pastiche, yes, but it's also deeply considerate and generous to its audience, couching the more obscurantist elements and tendencies in recognizable and skillfully rendered cinematic language. Listening to some people talk, you'd think Tarantino committed a mortal sin by opening a portal to his brain. That it's mediated by some very empathetic performances (Uma Thurman, in particular, is a marvel: she endures physical and emotional highs and lows in the most rigorous and touching ways), and his most restrained screenplay yet, proves his interest in tapping into a more challenging aesthetic beyond that of fan-boy élan (something that still rankles me about Pulp Fiction).
In this latter half, themes of fatalism and penance—briefly touched on in O-Ren's dying contrition—hang over certain of The Bride's waiting victims, creating in Budd (Michael Madsen) something of a purgatorial void of guilt and regret. He works as a bouncer at a vacant saloon, enduring abuse and mockery from his obnoxious, drug-running boss; he spends the evenings pulling on a bottle of Jameson and crooning to Johnny Cash. And yet, despite his concession that the Bride "deserves her revenge and we all deserve to die," he doesn't exactly surrender or give in when she comes calling. Why? There is an extraordinary, digressing monologue delivered by Bill late in the film that is as effective as any high-noon showdown in elucidating the warrior's existential code of fighting even when there is nothing worth fighting for. These are tough, spirit-deadened men, acting on instinct alone. The women are a different matter entirely: Elle (Darryl Hannah), for her part, yearns for battle, desiring the Bride to "suffer until her final breath," but respecting her as a peerless combatant. And I don't remember Vernita or O-Ren having much empathy, despite one mothering a child of her own and the other a victim of unspeakable childhood tragedy (the maverick anime insert, which may still be Kill Bill's most disturbing sequence). These are women largely without conscience, embracing their dark natures, masculine counterparts to the apprehensive men.
Overall, I believe it to be a tricky proposition to link fluidly the two volumes—the tonal disparity remarked upon earlier could just as well be the effect of re-ordering and re-cutting scenes in post-production to reflect two separate films, the first more compressed and violent to entice audiences to see the second, illuminating volume. A best-case scenario would be for Miramax and Tarantino to release the film in its original state (as a third DVD along with the two individual volumes in a box set) to reflect what it was before it had to carry the weight of two feature films. Then we would have a true rarity: a chance for filmgoers to see if marketers and bean counters truly know what's best for them.