The Hateful Eight (2015)

Remember when Quentin Tarantino knew how to do ‘cool’? I miss that guy.

Don’t get me wrong, I love long languorous westerns – Once Upon A Time In The West is surely one of the greatest films ever made – and while Tarantino’s dialogue still fizzes in the ear, his actors are fully committed and his frame is (mostly) beautiful, there is no depth here.

Tarantino’s own love for Leone’s elegiac masterpiece is evident, not just with the obvious visual homages, but also in the slow, deliberate pacing. But while Leone could hit you over the head with an operatically emotional sledgehammer when he needed to, Tarantino only has surface.

But what surface! The snowy 70mm vistas are gorgeous, as are the shadowy interiors of Minnie’s Haberdashery and the grizzled faces of Tarantino’s troop of players (Samuel L. Jackson and Kurt Russell in particular).

The problems are in the third act. The central mystery is unsatisfying and actually pretty straightforward, and without a Searchers-like revelatory moment or emotional climax of any kind, Tarantino must once again rely on his legendary knack for ‘cool’. However, the Midas touch seems to be wearing off, and instead we get a disgusting tapestry of blood, shit and gore for a denouement – in glorious 70mm.

Tarantino’s extraordinary early career trajectory, starting with the raw visceral thrills of Reservoir Dogs (1992), and culminating in the narratively ambitious, yet subtle emotional layering of Jackie Brown (1997), seems a long time ago now.

Since then he has somewhat squandered his talents (genius?) by playing it safe. Efforts like Kill Bill Volume 1 & 2 (2003/4), Death Proof (2007) and Inglorious Basterds (2009) might have tested him technically, but you also sense his nervousness at delivering something which might disappoint his legions of fans.

Quentin, stop worrying about that perfect 10 nonsense, and step further out of your comfort zone. Heck, at this point a greater challenge might be to trim the running time to under 2 hours.