After being gleefully on the edge of my seat throughout Quentin Tarantino’s whirlwind trip to 1969 LA while it was being gloriously projected on 35mm film at The Cal, I left the theatre with that really bitter taste in my mouth that always surfaces after the titillation stemming from his fantasies wears off.
It’s not hard to figure out why. Viewing “Once Upon A Time In Hollywood” one day after the third of three grizzly mass shootings in one week, I recoiled as Tarantino once again arrived at his default response to complex issues – the orgasmic, violent slaughter of really loathsome people, en masse.
The characters he’s chosen to target are all men and women you can’t possibly root for. This time “dirty hippies” needed righteous revenge smote upon them, following on the heels of wild west scumbags (among whom Jennifer Jason Leigh was viciously singled out for some inexplicable reason), vile slave owners, sadistic Nazis, etc etc etc..
And though not at all squeamish about cinematic violence, I’ve long found his versions of it to be well choreographed but, at best, of dubious socially redeeming value. At worst, it knowingly legitimizes and contributes to the cancerous upsurge of our national fetish for doing each other harm.
QT’s a clever guy whose impressive technique is undeniable but, given that he’s already found a way to drastically alter actual history to suit his whims in several films, why isn’t he capable of evolving to find revisions more compelling than obligatory bloodbath finales? I guess I’d just like to see him collaborate with a visionary screenwriter and/or join talented filmmakers who have something fresh to say, and who can think outside the box.
Now, get off my lawn!
