Once Upon a Time in Nazi-Occupied France…

…in which I talk about those Inglourious Basterds.

I am going to make the bold assumption up front that if you are reading this, you are at least familiar with the upcoming Quentin Tarantino movie Inglourious Basterds. Wednesday, I had the privilege of seeing Tarantino’s take on WWII. While it is from historically accurate, I can hardly concern myself with that because one thing I’ve come to expect from Tarantino is the importance of style and story. Everything else comes second. Why should the fiddly facts of human history be any different.

The first thing I noticed, in typical Tarantino style, was the simplicity of the opening titles. His fondness for Ennio Morricone music has not diminished and we were immediately lulled into the dark by a haunting spaghetti western tune to simple text on black titles. What really caught me, though, was the allusion to the fact that there would be mixed styles in the movie simply by the choice to periodically alter the typeface of the titles. This same effect, as I predicted, was used sporadically throughout, both visually and musically. The integrity of this curious WWII/Spaghetti Western will occasionally be punctuated by completely different genre styles. Similarly the music, while mostly Ennio Morricone or similar, will be replaced by something far more anachronistic creating a jarring and occasionally disorienting cinematic aside. The use of David Bowie’s Cat People felt particularly out of place to me. Most of the time, however, this shifting of stylistic gears is successful, engaging, and entertaining.

The movie, broken into five chapters, is filled what I would now call the patented Tarantino “chit-chat” style of dialogue punctuated with brief explosions of action and violence. When I say “chit-chat” dialogue, I am referring to his penchant for having people talk for, what can feel like hours, and never say anything. While this has been a feature in several of his movies, more recently it has become almost overpowering, beyond the capacity of the movie itself. Death Proof, for example, was literally plagued with this chit-chat dialogue and the only the heart pounding Zoë Bell and the amazing car chase at the end of the film were able to redeem it. But in Inglourious Basterds, rather than endangering the movie, this chit-chat conversation empowers it. The frustration it built in Death Proof served no purpose, but when you know that each character has an ulterior motive and is trying to pry up a grain of information without giving any, the two and a half hours of water cooler talk doesn’t drag the film down, but floods it with seeping with tension.

The use of this conversational tension is made abundantly apparent in the opening chapter, which amounts to little more than a conversation over milk and pipes. In the back of your mind, you know what each of the characters is trying to accomplish, but they continue this dancing rouse for what feels like an eternity (in a good way) until finally, the chapter ends percussively by fleshing out the runaway best character in the movie. This chapter, and the style of conversation, serves perfectly to introduce us to who is arguably the stand out character of the movie.

The shocker – and this is what the title and trailers are misleading you to believe – is the stand out character is not any one of the Basterds. In fact, even though they are featured fairly prominently and are integral to the plot, this movie is not really about the Basterds, at all. According to IMDB trivia for Inglourious Basterds, the movie was originally going to be titled “Once Upon a Time in Nazi-Occupied France” but it was changed and the original title was reserved for one of the chapters, instead. Sadly, though, the original title is more true to the movie. And thus, the runaway best character in the movie is, not surprisingly, a Nazi.

There is no doubt in my mind that Christoph Waltz as Col. Hans Landa is by and far the most interesting and compelling character in the movie. His role is perfectly written and portrayed, and carries the movie from chapter to chapter – beginning to end. His dry charm and subtle delivery of all his lines is perfectly reflective of the methodical, logical detective turned SS Officer. His sideways smile is at once disarming and menacing, you are never really sure in which direction he’s going to steer the conversation next, but you know it’s going to be entertaining.

Casting choices abound were well made. Til Schweiger as the brutish and brooding Hugo Stiglitz portrays a character who is as menacing and dangerous as he needs to be. Brad Pitt punctuates brutality with humor as the affable Aldo Raine. Regretfully, as much as I adore Eli Roth, especially as a director (Cabin Fever is still one of my favorite horrors), I found his character compelling up until the point that he spoke. His Brooklyn accent, while genuine, was entirely grating and off putting to me. The casting choice of Mike Myers, while awkward, is far more acceptable than his prosthetic nose.

It cannot be said that I did not appreciate Inglourious Basterds. It would be more appropriate to say that I thoroughly enjoyed it – but I had to give it time to sink in. It had some brilliant dialogue and a plot that was both easy to follow, but not overly convoluted. The result is a stylistic mishmash of genres and themes that generally play well together, filled with at once lovable and loathsome anti-heroes. Amongst this intrepid tale, there were more than a handful of characters that left an indelible mark on me as I walked out of the theatre (bad accents and noses aside), character brought to life by actors who at the very least were obviously enjoying their parts. What Inglourious Basterds is not is not the Kill Bill that the media is making it out to be. It something far more compelling and interesting. Rather than sit back and ride along with your popcorn, you find yourself involved and being dragged along through the mud and blood of a chaotic time in human history. A time that, thanks to Quentin Tarantino’s take on WWII, ends with a bit less raw power, and a bit more precision… and a lot more dumb luck.