Tarantino’s back, bravado intact

World War II has long been the most popular conflict for Hollywood, probably because it’s the war that America played the good guy in; at least in the European theater, where most WWII films are set. Grand combat pieces and Holocaust films fill the most famous parts of the catalog so far, which has taken a step toward subversion in the past year. That step ends with “Inglourious Basterds.” It only makes sense that Quentin Tarantino would get his hands on such a huge part of American culture, and his latest film has carved a mark so no one will forget what that grip feels like. He’s not here to subvert nationalism - Americans are the good guys like never before - but to redefine what a serious war movie can do. Now, it can kill without remorse; it can be hip, stylish and funny; and it can even change history.

“Inglourious Basterds” introduces itself perfectly. The film is split into five chapters in typical Tarantino storybook fashion, with Chapter No. 1 serving as the first in function and form. Here the film’s most fascinating character, SS Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz), is introduced. Known as “The Jew Hunter,” he visits a French farmer suspected of harboring enemies of the state. Landa is unbearably polite, always reiterating that he is a guest in the Frenchman’s home even though it’s obvious he controls whatever room he happens to be in. He even smokes an oversized pipe to strengthen the impression, all while explaining the illogic of hating Jews, first in French and then in English after he asks permission to switch, and why he does so anyway. Every line adds to the suspense, which becomes crushingly heavy long before the crescendo of strings and the inevitable closing gunfire.

Waltz lords over “Inglourious Basterds” for the remaining two hours, giving the best performance of any Tarantino movie so far. Brad Pitt may be the headliner, but Waltz’s slimy charm makes the thick accented Lt. Aldo Raine a comic backup. When the two eventually confront one another, there’s a reason Landa does all the talking. He’s just as essential to the film as the Basterds, who spend a surprisingly short, yet glorious, amount of time actually killing Nazis. As expected, the Jewish-American Nazi ravagers are the all the pulp “Inglourious Basterds” needs, rotten with ultra violence and hip technique, such as the back story of one member queued, headline across the screen and all, by a point of the finger from Raine. Balancing out this excess is another revenge tale centering on Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent), lone survivor of one of Landa’s massacres and the owner of a cinema that through twisting, turning events premieres the latest Nazi propaganda film. All the head devils are invited and Dreyfus plans revenge, joined unknowingly by the Basterds, who close in for a final chapter that matches the brilliance of the first. Taking the two bookend segments alone, “Inglourious Basterds” would be one of the best films I’ve ever seen.

“Defiance” looks sheepish in comparison. All that philosophy about becoming like animals doesn’t stand up to the blunt, brutal and utterly honest vengeance of “Inglourious Basterds.” Nazism is the reason most people still believe in pure evil, and there’s satisfaction in seeing the face of evil smashed in with a baseball bat. It feels like justice. Tarantino doesn’t let historical facts stand in the way of revenge either, making his latest film somewhat of a fairytale trip through WWII, made to help audiences rest easy, fully satisfied. It even begins with the line ‘Once upon a time.’ Some good guys die along the way for realism's sake, but rest assured, the baddies get their comeuppance, and the sense of empowerment these revisions provide can’t be matched. Tarantino provides a world where past atrocities can be righted, even if only in fiction.

The final chapter of “Inglourious Basterds” makes it clear he thinks of film as a righteous weapon. He probably thinks of himself as a righteous warrior too, but he’s earned the ego. For all those who think Tarantino is self-indulgent, I say who cares. All art is self-indulgent. Why else would anyone make it? So it’s easy to ignore all the film trivia sprinkled throughout the film to show off the director’s understanding of the art form or a closing line that sees Pitt praising “Inglourious Basterds” as Tarantino’s masterpiece. I love the bravado. It isn’t his best work, ranking behind “Pulp Fiction” and “Kill Bill: Vol. 1,” but it’s a masterpiece minus one flaw – long-windedness.

The middle chapters of the film feel like an intermission, necessary to introduce the characters that will take part in the climax but tedious nonetheless. Here Tarantino slips back into his small-talk obsession, crafting elaborate passages that lead nowhere, in dramatic contrast to the way his words built to unbearable suspense in the opening. He’s always been too verbose a filmmaker to slip into the kind of leisurely aesthetic of directors like Stanley Kubrick and Terrence Malick, and his best works work best when punctuated with the right amount of action. They’ve all had the gangster/ninja/murderer setup necessary for a good mix of pyrotechnics, but his war movie is perplexingly light on action. Some blame the rapid production time, but even more scenes of the Basterds blasting small groups of Nazis would have been enough.

Then the finale empties enough bullets to fill an auditorium and I shut up. “Inglourious Basterds” has a flaw, but it’s difficult to feel much aggravation when the best character of the year, the best opening of the year and the best cinematic moment and twist of the decade are also present. And thank god for a war movie set in a foreign land with actual foreign languages. It may not be the perfect film, but “Inglourious Basterds” is easily one of the most audacious, so inventive that a few soft spots only make it more visceral. Achilles’ heel and all, I couldn’t recommend it more.

4 out of 4 stars

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