Tarantino is a film-maker of two halves. One half comes up with the dialogue from Django Unchained, and the other half is the dick who made Death Proof. One half came up with a tight hour and forty minutes of Reservoir Dogs, and the other came up with the sprawling shite bucket that was Hateful Eight. One half comes up with the Crazy 88 scene from Kill Bill 1, and the other half farts out the comedy action ending of Inglorious Bellends.
At the last press-fellate the bendy-faced twat took part in he said he was going to knock out two more films, one of which could possibly be a threequel to the Kill Bill junket, before retiring from slapping women around on celluloid to churning out books and working in theatre, which is probably a good thing considering how cak Hateful Eight was. His last had some good nuggets of dialogue, but mainly pootled about, lost for a plot, before churning out a twist so bollocks it had curly hairs hanging off it.
There’s no doubting the banana-faced dick has some talent, especially when it comes to knocking out dialogue, although his plots suck the cheesy helmet of tedium. If you ripped the yapping out of his films you’d end up with about five minutes of cars driving, people standing about in tableaus nicked wholesale from Takeshi Kitano, and some music. And let’s face it, it’s only through the quality of actors jizzing their sphincters off over the chance to chew on some meaty pieces of dialogue which makes these films worth watching. If you had Danny Fucking Dyer trying to galumph his way through Christoph Waltz’s dialogue in Django you’d be trying to dash your brains out against the cinema walls rather than listen to anymore of that shite.
Yes, he steals all his shots from other directors, but that never stopped people crawling up Martin Scorsese’s garden path for a look at his directorial winnets. Nicking other people’s work is a mainstay of cinema. One look at your average Brian DePalma film should show you that being a magpie is part and parcel of being a director. It’s not his directing style I have a problem with – it’s the fact that his films seem to be the sum of their parts rather than a whole entity which bores me. Good scenes wrapped around a shite story.
My main bugbear is with one film, though – Death Proof, which was shite all the way. B-Movies were dodgy films with bad stock and actors trying their best. Death Proof sets out to ape the style, and then stumbles at the first hurdle. Where did all this bloody dialogue come from? You should have an action scene every 10 minutes and then chuck in a bit of gore. Bosh – one B-movie. Tarantino misses the boat entirely. Don’t have your actors standing around talking, and then lob in a shit action scene at the end – that’s not a B-movie. That’s Tarantino having a wank.
I know slagging off Tarantino is sacrilege to many, but they can suck my balls. At least if he gives up films he won’t have any excuse to gob on his actresses (Uma Thurman in Kill Bill 1) or strangle them into unconsciousness (Dianne Kruger in Inglorious Bastards). The misogynistic little shit.