The critics of Death Proof here in Europe have been some of the best for a QT-movie I have ever heard, at least those from the professional critics (which usually suck).I donÂ´t know what happens in England.
BTW, I really doubt, Europeans are more critical in watching movies, we got the same bad movies in the box office.
ok now this is funny…but i stopped laughing after realizing that you are sad person who probably believes what he wrote. It doesnt take a genius to google the reviews of Deathproof by critics in the uk to come up with reviews like this…
Tarantino has had to pad this film with stuff that would hardly make the DVD’s ‘deleted scenes’ section," writes our own Peter Bradshaw. "Long, long, long stretches of bizarrely inconsequential conversation between the babe avengers which are a big comedown from the glorious riffs from Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction."
"With the running time swamped by mindless chitchat, little is left for the crash-and-burn action," writes Ben Cobb of Channel 4 Film. “When the much-hyped car chase is finally unleashed (a staggering 80 minutes in), it proves to be a disappointing bumper-to-bumper affair.”
“The appalling dialogue, mostly about the sexual predilections of his half-naked female cast, is so garbled, spotty and tedious that it fails to sell interest in a single character,” writes James Christopher in the Times.
even normal movie goers had more to add with reviews like this
I was unfortunate enough to see Death Proof (or Narrative Logic Proof - but that’s ok, cos he’s doing a Grindhouse, y’see, making it Critic Proof ). The car stuff is good but you have to wait 45 minutes for it, but that three-quarters of an hour is made bearable by the allure of the girls and the promise of smut. Then 5 minutes of nasty good stuff followed by - I shit you not - 35 more minutes of crappy Tarantino chick-talk, where of course they all sound like Quentantino; like we haven’t already had our fill of that in the preceding 45 minutes.
The very end is so shit it stinks.
But i guess you live in your own little tarantino world, where the real if fake and the bogus and bad tarantino crap is peaches and candy