More self-indulgence from the most over-rated director in living memory

Rating: 5/10 (25 August 2019)

Beware spoilers!
Rick is a fading star of westerns and action films and TV series in the late 60s. He hangs around with his underused stunt double Cliff, who is also his buddy, driver, and general gofer. Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate have just moved in next door. Rick is experiencing insecurity as his career dwindles, while Cliff gives a cute underdressed teen a lift to the Spahn Ranch where her distinctly unsettling commune lives. 6 months later, Sharon Tate, is pregnant, and Rick returns from Italy with 4 spaghetti westerns under his belt, a new Italian wife, and insufficient resources to keep employing Cliff. They have just returned to Rick's house after a final celebration when 4 members of the Manson family turn up, ready to carry out the celebrated Sharon Tate murders. One of them runs away, the other 3 enter Rick's house where Cliff kills 2 of them, getting injured, Rick kills the other one then goes to have a cup of tea with Sharon Tate as Rick goes off to hospital.
Yes, the Sharon Tate murders never happened. Would that it were so.
I was not disappointed with this film because I have never subscribed to the view that Tarantino is a masterpiece-making wunderkind. He is undoubtedly hugely talented, but he also has a terrible propensity for self-indulgence which he exercises at the expense of the film he is making: the film is in service to Tarantino rather than vice versa. The labelling of this offering as "The 9th film by Quentn Tarantino" is arrogant and pretentious in equal measure.
This film has many, many flaws. They include:
1. Lengthy shots of people driving around during which nothing happens and which serve no purpose.
2. A huge amount of time during which Tarantino shows us that he can emulate the look and feel of 60s movies. We know, Quentin.
3. Various plot elements introduced which turn out to have little or no plot relevance: the death of Cliff's wife, George Spahn, and Rick's interaction with the girl actor, to name but 3.
There are enjoyable elements here - the girl is excellent - but they combine together to add at least an hour to the running time without moving the film an inch further forward. The film is vastly padded because Tarantino loves the sound of his own voice too much. There are those who will say it is his loving homage to Holywood. To which I say " Watch Hugo, Quentin, and see how Scorsese's love story to cinema is intertwined with a proper story."
I have chosen to spoiler the absence of the Tate murders. This not because I didn't like the would-be murderers getting a comeuppance they avoided in real life - far from it. But the film trades on a real-life tragedy to put rear end on seats, and then plays Tarantino games with it. It is used as a PR trick rather being addressed in the way it deserves.
Tarantino's genuine cinematic gift comes out in the scene where Cliff encounters the Family at the Spahn Ranch. The unsettling sense of unease is cleverly built up and used. I wish the rest of the film had used its time as profitably. But Tarantino's self-indulgence overpowers everything.