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Verdant Violent Enlightenment of Quentin Tarantino


#1

Hey there,



after seeing Inglourious Basterds, I found that conversation over a slice of pie, was not nearly enough to assimilate such an astounding film.

So, I started writing a letter to a friend about it.



Eight hours later I was still writing, and still I hadn’t fully processed it, it had such a big impact on me. So, at some point I realized I should give something back somehow, since apparently I got so much out of it.

It’s not quite a ‘review’ of the film, but if it is, it’s certainly an amateur endeavour. It’s from the heart. It’s far from perfect, but I don’t think theres anything out there like it. I even started a website solely (for now) for the purpose of further sharing my incredibly positive experience of the film, in the sincere hope that as many as possible will see it in the theatre.



I’ve posted it a few places and unfortunately unleashed a group of ‘haters’ all ready, in some odd backlash…all though theres also a contingent of folks who now are going to the film who were not planning to before. Also, it pretty much started a war on the craigslist film forum (for some reason?!) So ! I’m hoping it’s more welcome here !



It won’t fit in this post, in it’s entirety so, here’s a link to my site - which only contains the writing about ‘Inglorious Basterds’ at this time. You can read it at:



RhythmSiren.com



Thanks all !



RhythmSiren





p.s.



(I may attempt to post it here in two parts if possible, if that’s not kosher here for some reason

please pardon my oversight?)


#2

o.k.



PART ONE :



RhythmSiren amateur review of ‘Inglorious Basterds’



As much as I truly appreciate Quentin Tarantino’s contribution to motion pictures, as well as his

jubilant, exacting enthusiasm for all things cinematic, I personally am not the type of ‘fan’ who knows by heart

every lovely detail of the minutia within his films.

My respect for his body of work does not equate to a love that’s blind with sheer adoration,



Yet, theres no amount of hype, rave review, or fanfare that could have ever prepared me for the ultimate glory of

Tarantino’s new film: Inglourious Basterds.



Up on the big screen, his, is an intricate and fastidious love of film and life, women and men,

with a heart beating in non stop insight, revealed by a reverential eye, in every gradient shade of nuance,

far beyond the lands of simple black and white, good and evil,

right and wrong.



The gracious curve of lines blur between actual and potential, onscreen and off, a cleanly radiant deception counterpoint to the vulgarity of common

literal truths. An aura of symmetry and elegance cloak even the most shocking and

visceral brutalities.



Whatever fates await the characters, there is an undeniable sense of

justice and triumph in every facet of their being, being seen, so clearly, through the lens,

and placed against the backdrop of

a weighty history like a buried treasure unearthed and set in a mythical movie inlaid crown, a precious

lost and found jewel placed in the sweet perfume of the very opposite of nostalgia.



His actor’s genius articulations, both verbally and in swift physical demonstrations,

are whole unto themselves, complete from beginning to end,

swept up in the swoon of the staccato collision, stripping away

each and every layer of tension – shot through the moment

like a bow and arrow choreographed by an

emotion unloaded.


#3

PART TWO:

Through his almost

invincible and unapologetic leading ladies,

and a delectable deliberate whimsy, he has a mighty power to observe and contemplate, almost any

unimaginable scenario and theres a resulting honesty, as raw as it is polished,

With this film his voice has come alive in the image of cinema. And there are no remaining diamonds

left in the rough. Slick, empathic, unstoppable and posing a hundred uncomfortable questions

with the flair of the most sympathetically subtle propaganda films, the audience is graced with the films remarkably evolved

restraint and the legacy of the filmmakers undying faith in his own unique vision, withholding absolutely nothing that

belongs up on the screen. A dream come true for the dreamers who don’t remember their dreams.



If I did not know anything at all about Tarantino’s film’s or was coming from a place of apathy, I would still

be completely and utterly unable to resist the inevitable reality of this becoming my new favorite film of all

time.



I pointlessly crave and grasp in the hours after having seen it, to be afforded even the choice to consider

another of the many, many films I have loved most in my life to compete for the honor of “favorite”.

It’s a fool’s errand. Futile to resist. I have no say in the matter. If theres a sly trace of propaganda in a film that contemplates

propaganda, then I have bitten the bait, and I am converted. But from what to what? Is there art that is so good that

it can’t help but innocently and passionately persuade the audience to it’s ’side’ – as much as certain pieces of propaganda

inadvertently evolve into the depths of real art? If that side isn’t delineated -

well, what unconscious assumptions do the movie going public become more fully immersed in?



I didn’t go into that single movie theatre with really any clue ‘Inglourious Basterds’

could be that good. No fervent anticipation on my part, or critically artful praise I’d read or heard,

could prepare a person for the masterpiece that awaits someone attending a showing

of this film. Theres nothing outside of seeing the film that could even remotely do it justice.

It’s like nothing else.



I had already assumed my expectations were probably unrealistically high. The type of

expectations that by their very nature seem to deserve to be dashed. The type of expectations that

in fear of Murphy’s law naturally self edit within the psyche, to reduce the bulk and magnitude

of let down later, trimming the fat off the mind’s eye, in the ‘realistic’ and pragmatic hope of enjoying

a great film and not being too terribly let down, by mere greatness.



Those exceedingly high expectations were a few M-I-L-E-S

BENEATH THE REALITY OF IT’S ACTUAL GREATNESS.

I’m utterly stunned.

Every bar I have set for myself as an artist, and human being has to, as a result,

be raised infinitely, INFINITELY.

There’s no excuse or plausibility for any artist or person to not ascend

leagues above their highest hopes of manifestation,

(because)

Tarantino has singlehandedly

rewritten the rules of what’s possible to imagine,

hope for,and create.



For anyone who still thinks theres some slow incremental changes afoot, newsflash : that game is over.

Quentin won, and hence we all have really.



There’s a distinct sound echoing through the hours after having seen

“Inglourious Basterds” of :

glass ceilings shattering

in the cathedral of heart’s and soul’s

and mind’s around the world.

With every new showing of this film.



Self imposed limits and imaginary expiration dates are dying before exceeded,

under the chorus of a visual song pounding with the insistence and certainty of a drum,

pouring out his actor’s mouths as a wreath of

rapid fire blooming wildflower words,

sounding out the dialogue that is the fruit of

Quentin Tarantino’s verdant violent enlightenment.



Unhindered and unhesitating,

in plain view, in not just a theatre near you,

this film does not end when the lights come up,

it lives on within. The fires keep burning.



Mr. Tarantino has his camera on the hidden pulse of the people, spotlighting the revelations

more or less inhibited without his visionary precision, and his touch on an exit strategy out of whatever

black and white stagnation this world’s been a wasting in at times recently.



His nerve and daring equal only

to the complete and unwavering realization of whatever spark incited this undertaking.

Perhaps one of the deeper satisfaction’s is a dawning awareness of the extraordinary depths of

artistic freedom that are possible in these times, this climate, erupting out from beneath

his iconic persona, as well as the obviously undeniable rewards of his much heralded devotion and fidelity to

a singular personal voice and vision, not the least bit deterred with what

anyone else was up to, or might think of it.



Hapless marketing

clones have missed the point entirely when they ‘target’ men over women for certain types of films,

and foolishly group this one along those same lines. As far as women are concerned, no other film has

so completely surrendered bias toward either gender and radiated more sympathy, and respect

toward the very strongest aspects of the female experience. The films who condescend to females by

pandering to perceived limitations are really painting target marks upon them as if women were beneath

the range of the whole human experience. This film allows for equality like no other.

Even creating a female character that really, in the annuls of historical relevance

(within Mr. Tarantino’s universe) would be by far the most steadfast bad ass

when it comes down to excellence in execution.



This world, both the real one and the artful haven of the imaginary needs more than ever

Quentin Tarantino’s relentlessly conscious vibrancy as ceaseless as the undercurrent

of gentle observations,

that thread through almost painfully beautiful cinematography, that frame by frame, reminds one

of other countless masters, of oil paintings and architecture and of course film.



If you turned the lusciously enthralling soundtrack off, and simply looked at each frame

alone, each tells a striking solid story, postcards from textural worlds of color, shapes and

imminent unfolding. This world needs a dramatic enactment of so many of Mr. Tarantino’s ‘what ifs’

  • – -

    not just the obvious ones where wars are won in a sacred blaze of mortality smoke upon which the visage of

    beauty is the lingering holiest of ghosts haunting and being haunted by the cinema… the world needs this film’s many

    delicate ambiguities in an imaginary ‘what if’ that can and will,

    change the face of everything to come for the next

    decade or two.



    And, it has arrived in the shape of “Inglourious Basterds”

#4

well you’re passionate about it anyway!



But in all honesty it was infuritating to read. possibly the most excessively flowery piece of prose i’ve ever read. Just my opinion on the writing (not trying to be a douche) keep your enthusiasm but throw away 75% of the adjectives. O0



your not that alec baldwin character from friends are you? :laugh:


#5

Maybe using the word review is creating the wrong sort of expectation, I’m sort of attached to it as is, for the most part, I think it’s more along the lines of poetry. Thanks for your thoughts. Flowery is just how the film effected me…i know it’s over the top with the adj.


#6

nice! that’s exactly how I feel about the movie “Surf Ninjas”!



LOL, but seriously - good read. Glad you enjoyed it so much.


#7

thank you very much - Col. Crazy Kenneth !


#8

Nicely done. It’s a very awesome and rare thing when a movie inspires someone like that. Thanks for sharing it.


#9

Sgt. Geoi Donowitz, thanks a bunch for letting me know what you think. Yeah, it’s a wonderful thing to be living in an era when a film like I.B., is in theatres and I have the opportunity to see it, and be so moved. I didn’t really expect any film maker to raise the bar so high. Quite a cool surprise.