Inglourious Basterds Review – Philip’s Take
Normally when a film leaves me cold, I tend to shy away from thinking about said picture. If I must, I’ll ponder the film and realize that I’d just seen a film I wanted to like, but had ultimately witnessed something mediocre or worse. Walking out of Inglourious Basterds, I recalled the same feeling as walking out of The Matrix Revolutions. I wanted to like it, and convinced myself for a while I did. In the end, the mediocrity of that film won and while the trilogy still gets my defense, I no longer consider the whole a work of genius like the perfectly standalone first entry. Basterds initially left me thinking ‘good, not great.’ Then through the rest of the day I couldn’t stop thinking of the film. By the time it was all said and done, I had reached the only conclusion that could be made:
Inglourious Basterds may be Tarantino’s best film.
First things first: I do not subscribe to the notion that Quentin Tarantino is the be-all end-all of cinema. In fact, if anything, the man is really overrated as a director and slightly overrated as a writer. He’s not a terrible filmmaker by any stretch (although Death Proof tries to convince you he is,) but he left an impact on cinema that ruined crime films post-1992. One person put it to me one time that “Tarantino masturbates onscreen,” and that statement seems right on track. He loves to hear his characters talk, instead of showcasing their actions, having them do something interesting. This indulgence destroyed the second half of Grindhouse, and the legacy has been continued here in Inglourious Basterds.
And that is one of Basterds best strengths, as everything that didn’t work in Death Proof is perfected here. The words are weapons, and all the trademark Tarantino pop-references are present but they build tension. These characters do talk, and it does go on and on and on, but all of it leads up to something and has some sort of payoff. Yet as opposed to some of Tarantino’s other works, it never feels like it drags on. He indulges as we’ve come to expect, yet here he turns his dialogue into gunfire. Q.T. keeps one on the edge of his seat as the characters fire back at one another, and above all feels his most relaxed as he crafts his most entertaining film to date.
Yet the true winner in this marvel isn’t Q.T., but Christoph Waltz who portrays one of the best, most charismatic villains since Alan Rickman defined the suave baddie with Hans Gruber in Die Hard. I’m going to echo what some of my colleagues are declaring, that Waltz doesn’t deserve just a nomination for his role as Colonel Hans Landa – oh, no. The Oscar itself is already chiseling his name in under ‘Best Supporting Actor.’ Consider it a crime if he doesn’t get every supporting actor award. The man embodies Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird by putting on an Acting School. To continue the gushing, while it’s arguable this man is the leading male of this particular story, Waltz needs to be jettisoned as a leading man in the future. He has everything, from screen presence to charm. Landa is the perfect Nazi, a terrible person who enjoys slaughtering his foes. Yet Waltz does everything he can to make him likable, only to have it snatched away by an act of valor.
His adversary, the lead Basterd, comes in the form of Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo ‘Apache’ Raine, who has much more personality than he did in his last film. Pitt’s also having a ball, playing on every hard-assed lieutenant stereotype. It’s never been done with this kind of swagger though, as Pitt makes for a wonderful protagonist (or is it antagonist?) You root for the guy as he captures and plays with his Nazi prey before dispatching them, as it’s just as fun as hell to see the actor mosey through this. The most unique of his ‘Basterds’ is likely Donny “The Bear Jew” Donowitz, portrayed by Eli Roth. Regardless of his filmmaking abilities, one can enjoy the ruthless aggression with which Donowitz dispatches Nazis. Lowbrow actor Til Schweiger makes an appearance here as Hugo Stiglitz, a man who’s notorious for murdering large numbers of the Gestapo. All he really needs to to is pose and look gruff and tough, but damn if the man doesn’t do it so well.
Covering all required bases of World War II, Melanie Laurent gives a beautiful performance as Shoshana Dreyfus, a Jew who avoided death at the hands of Hans Landa. She’s the most sympathetic of the group, as displayed by the brutal slaughter that opens the movie. Her motivations are openly justified, and Tarantino is wise enough to watch them build up chapter by chapter through the film. She gives everyone some breathing room with her journey as a refugee who tricks the Nazis into hosting the premiere of Stolz der Nation at her theater. The star of said film is Frederick Zoeller who’s graciously, arrogantly, and expertly played by Daniel Bruhl. In a great sense of irony, Zoeller stops being egocentric for just a moment – and it costs him big time. It’s almost operatic, the way Tarantino directs it and plays it.
Tarantino masterminds all of these stories to come together in a climax that should be taught in history classes. All of these stories mesh together, and I’ll dare to say they meld better than three stories present in Pulp Fiction. Give credit where it’s due as Q.T. makes a near perfect war film, that’s actually about movies. His love of cinema has never been more evident, going so far as to show us the mark for reel changes. While also at his best, Tarantino is also at his most fun, enjoying what’s happening just as much as the audience is.
“Y’know, I think I’ve made my masterpiece.”
So you have Quentin. So you have.
