A great semi-departure for Tarantino.

Rating: 9/10 (18 February 2016)

The Hateful Eight is a considerable step down from Quentin Tarantino's last two epics, both in scope and overall quality. In fact, it may belong in the bottom tier of the filmmaker's oeuvre. With a couple of jarring directorial touches, some material that treads old ground and a lack of performances or sequences that would join the likes of other memorable stamps in his filmography, the eighth feature film of the mainstream auteur comes short of the masterpiece territory that some of his other works have reached.
But it's still my favorite film of 2015. That is partly due to the weakness of the year, but mainly because, as the hard-core QT fanatic that I am, there is simply too much Tarantino glory to relish in that I cannot do anything but love the film. From his signature deliciously rhythmic dialogue to the legendary Ennio Morricone's score to Robert Richardson's expertly orchestrated shots, there is a heck of a lot to enjoy here despite none of these aspects being at the very top of their game. They still manage to come together to create a cold atmosphere that serves as an ominously claustrophobic backdrop, building tensions between each of the titular characters – who very much live up to that title.
This atmosphere is an unexpected though certainly welcome departure from the spaghetti western tone carried by Tarantino's previous efforts. Instead of the whistles of Alessandro Alessandroni infusing a classically cinematic musical accompaniment unto the proceedings, we are given the whistles of a constant blizzard providing no escape from the uncomfortable cabin setting in which most of the film takes place. And instead of one or two vengeful protagonists for the audience to root for, we are given eight equally vile characters who are armed, dangerous and – you guessed it – hateful towards at least someone here in Minnie's Haberdashery who they are stuck with for as long as this dreadful storm holds out. Racial tensions, suspicious behaviors and potential ulterior motives lead to paranoia and impatience which are sure to explode into a blaze of gunfire. There won't be many coming home.
Samuel L. Jackson's commanding presence and perfected line deliveries often tower over the whole ensemble as his character acts as a sort of detective in the mystery, while Kurt Russell leaves his mark as the meanest persona in the room who may also be the most sensitive. Jennifer Jason Leigh on the other hand is far from soft as an unpredictable prisoner who is both hilarious and haunting. She may be the best in show even though she spends much time in the background, using a wide range of expressions to inspire sympathy, fear and uncertainty as to what is going on in her mind. Walton Goggins is thoroughly enjoyable as a man claiming to be of higher authority, boasting childlike confidence at times while undergoing moral dilemmas and racial perspectives. Demian Bichir shines as perhaps the funniest character in the film, whose unique mannerisms and speech patterns are outrageously amusing, while often unnerving due to the mystery of his true intentions. Tim Roth oozes charisma as a prim and proper Englishman who is irresistibly charming, and those charms ultimately turn to menace in a greatly satisfying development. Even more mysterious is Michael Madsen as the quiet cowboy in the corner, whose mere presence is subtly captivating to watch thanks to his grungy voice and worn-down posture conveying a lifetime of experience. Bruce Dern does the same, and is able to leave a small impact in the short screen time he is given as a racist veteran whose battle has yet to end. Each of the supporting characters are impressive in their own right, namely James Parks and a surprise hateful ninth played by Channing Tatum.
Tarantino gives us a whole lot to chew on as we investigate each of the characters and become increasingly indecisive as to whom we shall root for. Some of them may not be who they say they are. Perhaps none of them are. This setup allows for a more subdued stylistic approach that gives the spotlight to the character conflicts at hand, which could satisfy those wanting more maturity from the director. Amidst the delightfully dialogue-heavy scenes are moments of no words spoken at all – or words sung, in one fantastic instance – which add dimensions to the characters while underlining the looming suspense in the air. The soundtrack utilization is wonderful as per usual, meshing the old and the new effortlessly to evoke whatever emotion necessary. The chaptered structure that does not always stick to chronology is a pleasant returning trademark, acting as an unconventional storytelling device that is just one of the many elements that separates Quentin from the rest. He lets us know that he is the composer controlling the way the story is told, even making a voice appearance as the narrator on two sudden occasions. These choices may feel messy or uneven if made by another filmmaker – and even in this case to some – along with a flashback wherein the real perpetrators are unmasked and revealed to the audience. However, the self-aware quality presented in these inclusions not only adds to the Agatha Christie whodunit narrative but also gives the film a playful quality that is contagious to the viewer. Fred Raskin has done a fine job of editing the piece, although it is admittedly impossible not to wonder how Sally Menke may have handled the material differently.
As The Hateful Eight ends on a stark note calling us back to the long-sustained crucifixion image in the opening credits and perhaps hinting at an underlying message about race in America, we are left without the sense of satisfaction we are used to feeling after a Quentin Tarantino extravaganza. However, we are left with more to ponder. Ultimately, this is another great entry to a list of remarkable contributions the writer/director has made to modern cinema.