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.