Having seen Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds just last evening, I scarcely know what to say. It's a cataclysm of a movie; the kind of blistering, near incantatory work no other medium is remotely capable of; but with implications those who unconditionally love the moving image will require a long long time to process. It's a film that will not rest.
I can, however, say one thing with absolute, rock-ribbed certainty:
The final moment, the final shot, the final line of dialogue in this film is the greatest expression of punk bravado in the history of cinema.
4 comments:
Having not yet seen the movie, I can only guess Tarantino smashes a few more cinematic and cultural stereotypes into deadly, flyin' chards.
Goodbye to senseless reason; hello to ordered anarchy.
I'm curious to know what you mean by "incantatory". It's evocative but vague enough that I'm lost.
'Incantatory' in the sense that Tarantino's film has a cumulative, almost mystical force (particularly on first viewing). The kind of ultimately unknowable effect one can sometimes assume to be the by-product of . . . an incantation.
Ah. I was thinking maybe you meant that Taran used recurrent motifs in different settings, intoning deeper underlying meaning from the repetition.
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