As I sit and stare at the new Inglourious Basterds poster that adorns my wall, a hundred different thoughts run through my mind, memories from my first (and sadly, only) viewing of the film over a week ago. Perhaps it’s the fact that each major character is present on the poster, bearing a unique facial expression that summarizes their agenda in Quentin Tarantino’s war. Eli Roth’s Bear Jew is a bloodthirsty madman. Pitt’s face is skeptical and mischievous. Shoshanna is wounded, vengeful.
Perhaps moreso than ever before, Tarantino has crafted an ensemble cast of characters with such fleshed out detail that for once I care. I love Pulp Fiction beyond a shadow of a doubt, but I’d be hard pressed to name a character I feel for enough to cringe at their timely disaster. Jackie Brown‘s got a whole bunch of well-rounded characters, but just because I love Michael Keaton’s Ray Nicolette doesn’t mean I’m there with him.
Basterds on the other hand — it’s a film about wounded people, angry people, lashing out at each other with all of their talents, as diverse as they may be. For Hugo, this equates to a bloodbath. Shoshanna is fire and smoke and theatrics. For Col. Hans Landa, words are enough to pierce to the bone, and he knows it.
You’ve probably realized by now that this barely constitutes a “Mirror/Mirror” comparison, and that’s true — I’ve just been dying to write about this film. I feel as if I owe it to Inglourious Basterds for existing. For every ten, fifteen films that are released and seem to be very good, only a select few are transcendent. I’ve seen dozens of art house films that warrant disdain — Tarantino’s commentary on the art form itself, by way of schlocky violence and grit and meta self-reflection, is truer art in the poppy attitude it has than most of them.
In fact, it was so transcendent an experience that it was hard to define the myriad reasons I was in love with it instantly upon exiting the theater. I’m sure many people felt this way — in fact, I know it, I’ve seen it. I’ve been unable to write about it simply because it would take a few more revisits to pinpoint the reasons amongst reasons that I adore the film absolutely. The only film I can consider comparing it to yet on that level would be Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood.
It’s somewhat ironic that I stumbled upon Tarantino’s review of There Will Be Blood this week (which I’ve included after this article), as no two films have inspired such diarrhea of the mouth in me as that film and Tarantino’s latest. Two of the freshest, most unpredictable and magnetic, lightning in a bottle films of my lifetime thus far. I compare them because with both, although I love a thousand things about them, I just can’t explain it. Not it. Not the lingering sensation the film leaves that become rooted in my mind afterward, encompassing dialogue and action and trivialities.
But, if I must, for the sake of rooting the article to something concrete I give you the example comparison between Daniel Plainview and Hans Landa, our protagonist villains, evil heroes, basterds. Both Anderson and Tarantino beef up these characters to an unstoppable degree, empowering them with unparalleled gifts of wordplay and manipulation. Then, they set up a domino world for their characters to knock down like monsters, each brutal and intimidating conversation unveiling a new element of character.
That really doesn’t do the trick, I know. But it’s a start — for God’s sake, I could write a book about every thought that crosses my mind when I watch There Will Be Blood. I just can’t wait until Inglourious Basterds joins that film on my shelf — two character driven works of cinema, dirty little whirlwinds of fascinating plot that allow the viewer to read between the lines and decipher a little piece more every time.
There Will Be Blood and Inglourious Basterds. Ladies and gentlemen, we are a lucky audience.
These two films are not only some of the best films of the decade, but they are defining works of their filmmakers’ careers. Check them out immediately. They’re dialogue-driven, relentless, fascinating and elemental.
I’ll have to disagree with you. I effing loved ‘Inglourious Basterds,’ and I can’t wait to see it a third time. But as far as I can tell, Tarantino never has anything to say in his films aside from “Isn’t this AWESOME?” Which, I want to be clear, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, because I love awesome movies, and I don’t think anyone has a handle on this kind of filmmaking half as much as QT does. I will probably love every film he ever makes more than 90% of the stuff out there.
‘There Will Be Blood,’ on the other hand, has about a trillion different things to insinuate (like you stated), and none of those things are about how awesome the film is. It’s a piece of art all on its own, one that isn’t self-aware. The way I see it – and I think this is more of a personal stance than a standard one – this sets ‘There Will Be Blood’ in a totally different category from QT’s stuff, it’s Art from Entertainment, even if the two films host qualities of both.
Plus . . . he drank your fucking milk shake. He drank it up.
I think it’s absolutely amazing that you’ve made this particular comparison. I’ve in many ways made the exact same one, but from the questionmark-expressions I’ve recieved talking to my friends about this, it would seem that I was alone in doing so. But now I see that I am not. Which is nice.
Ever since I first saw “There Will Be Blood”, about March last year (about the time it was released in Norway), I’ve fallen more and more in love with this film. It seems to gradually and continually seep deeper and deeper into my mind, where it no doubt is rooting for life. Whenever anybody asked me before what the ultimate film for me was, I was hard pressed to find an answer, but after seeing “There Will Be Blood”, there has been no doubt in my mind. Films that leave me completely baffled and speechless in my seat are a rarity, and only in this case did I spend the entire walk home dragging my jaw along the pavement. Well, at least until now.
I had the exact same reaction from seeing “Inglourious Basterds” as I did from seeing “There Will Be Blood”; the speechless bedazzlement followed by three days of non-stop obsessive monolouging on how fantastic the film was. They were simply unbelievable, both of them. And the funny thing is that I spent large parts of “Inglourious Basterds” thinking how much Cristoph Waltz reminded me of Daniel Day-Lewis. Both on a general note, but in “There Will Be Blood” in particular. And NOBODY reminds me of Daniel Day-Lewis. Day-Lewis is to me the true epitomy of the acting trade. And now this austrian guy – unintentionally? – have flexed muscle up against this giant. And amazingly enough not come short! I find it astonishing! I am utterly grateful that Tarantino created a character that was so hard to cast, that only perfection would suffice, and in the shape of this, the world would be introduced to Mr. Waltz. It is BINGO!
“Inglourious Basterds” is Tarantinos best by far, and I must strongly disagree with Ian McFarland. Just because a film i “awesome” and has comical appeal, doesn’t mean that it cannot be its own piece of art. I would almost contest it to the contrary. Tarantino manages to balance all the elements – comedic, dramatic, auditory, allusions, etc. – in such a masterly way, that it’s hard not to call it art. And the texture of the film is so thick that it will take an infinite number of viewings to be done with it. So just like with “There Will Be Blood”, I just can’t wait to see it again. And again. And again. And again.
I enjoyed reading both of these responses, thank you for your time.
Ian — while I’d never argue that IB is a more heartfelt, emotionally grounded work than TWBB, I’d have to disagree with you on one front. That opening scene riffing on Once Upon a Time in the West pulls double duty, acting as a typical Tarantino homage to other work, with a factor of coolness and attitude.
But the ending of that scene is undoubtedly the most powerfully emotional thing he’s ever captured. It grounds everything that follows, building sympathy for Shoshanna, giving an excuse for the Basterds to be hooligans, and most importantly gives me a reason to metaphorically piss myself everytime Hans Landa is onscreen. He’s a terrifying character and much of it is owed to what’s established from the beginning.