Once Upon A Time in Cannes... Simon saw INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS

Most people will have now started to hear the early buzz around Tarantino's latest (thank God for Twitter eh?), and read my frankly profane initial reaction. I stand by it whole-heartedly, and I'm more than willing to indulge Tarantino's proclamation that Inglourious Basterds is a bona-fide masterpiece. You'll notice the plot details are conspicuous by their absence: if you wanted to know them in detail, the script is online (plus the multifarious reviews who have gone Spoiler crazy today), and if you have chosen not to read that I assume me spoiling it now would simply be unwelcome. Firstly, I feel it necessary to address some of the issues that other early reviews have focused upon negatively. Rad this slowly, take in every word and digest: Inglourious Basterds is a FANTASY film, if you want a realistic war epic, this isnt the place to come (and if you didnt get that from the trailer, then shame on you for not paying attention). It is a hybrid pulp fiction set in World War II, which has to rank as an enormously brave thing to do: the saturation of that particular market is such that I was inclined to think we probably didnt need another WWII film, no matter what the source, but to turn the sub-genre on its head to such a degree, and creating a pseudo-Western crossed with a straight war film (with comic flavours added) is just genius. And as if we needed reminding that this is not an historical document, Tarantino litters the film with non-context-specific moments- Eli Roth's character feels like a 1980s Bronx punk and David Bowie's on the soundtrack- instead Inglourious Basterds becomes a purely character-led project (the historical elements are simply coincidental), a real ensemble movie with no pretention to be anything other than fiction. And highly original fiction at that. The film may be light on action, and the Basterds themselves are merely an aspect of a very busy narrative, but both facts work in its favour. What action there is becomes far more affecting, and feels less like it's there for the sake of it (although the moment when Hitler's face appears to become rubber is a bit of a Rothian step too far), and there is more to suggest that those scenes are earned privileges rather than the obligatory thrill sequences of a brainless action epic. Hang the critics who say they wanted more. With Inglourious Basterds, Tarantino has achieved something I didnt personally think possible after the relative dip in form that was Death Proof (notice I say relative): he has come back stronger, with a number of scenes that can justifiably be classed within the best he has committed to film. Having heard fragments from the script (as Matt pointed out I didnt want to read it) I felt confident that Tarantino would be able to recapture the form in dialogue that made Reservoir Dogs such a seminal experience. The film doesnt disappoint. There is a lot of dialogue, prompting some early reviews to call it too talky, but I put it to those reviewers that Tarantino is at his best when he is creating conversation- he has enormous power in the words he uses and rarely does he over-stylise. Surely it was his prowess for dialogue that propelled him to Hollywood's attention- the film that really put him up there- Reservoir Dogs- is an excellent film all-round but there is no way it would be so revered were it not for the iconic diner scene, or Freddy/Mr Orange's drug story. A Tarantino film without extensive dialogue is like the Mona lisa without the windrous little half-smile, or an anatomically correct Picasso portrait; works of art all the same, but without the curiosities that give them the extra bite. Without the supposed "wordiness" we would have been robbed of two of the best scenes. First is the opening exchanges between Christoph Waltz's Col. Hans Landa and a suspected Jew-harbourer are just irresistible viewing (especially the language switch joke which I refuse to further spoil) and you immediately get a sense of Landa's malignance and power, his menace is as much about the delivery of his words (chilling yet disconcertingly confident) as it his obvious capacity for killing. The second important scene, and one likely to be drawn alongside the Reservoir Dogs diner scene as one of Tarantino's best is the La Louisanne tavern scene, in which language is key, and the dialogue between Fassbender's pressurised Captain and August Diehl's excellent and terrifying SS Major is some of the best since the bank-robbers argued over tips and Madonna's many dicks. Inevitably, music plays an enormous role in Inglourious Basterds: the greatest achievement of all is that Tarantino has managed to make the various Ennio Morricone tracks feel like they were originally scored for this movie such is their appropriateness to the imagery. The relationship is an organic one, and is made sublime by the other more populist usurpers (Billy Preston's 'Slaughter' sticks out, as does Lalo Schifrin's 'Tiger Tank' from Kelly's Heroes) which make for strange but brilliant bed-fellows with the soaring scores by Morricone's hand. One musical moment that partcularly stands out is one that I was initially suspect of- David Bowie's 'Cat People (Putting Out the Fire) crops up in what is effectively Shosanna's (the beautiful and excellent Melanie Laurent) tooling up scene before the grande finale in her Paris cinema, and becomes one of those seminal musical moments, like 'Stuck In The Middle With You' in Reservoir Dogs or 'Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon' in Pulp Fiction, where the music and images intertwine so fundamentally that they are immediately committed to the collective consciousness of the world's audiences. With such an enormous cast, it is inevitably difficult to praise all of the performances, though they mostly deserve high praise- even Eli Roth's supercharged macho-man who looks like he's been cut from a mid-90s JCVD film. As I said, Melanie Laurent is excellent as the tragic Shoshanna, as is Diane Kruger as Bridget Von Hammersmark, though neither really feel like inherently Tarantino-esque characters. It is a fine new development to see him discover a broader range in character creation than he has ever been given credit for. But the real revellation of the film is the performance of Christoph Waltz as Col. Hans Landa AKA The Jew Hunter- a performance which will surely lend itself to a major career development for the German TV star. He is menacing, disturbingly charismatic, and in one memorably brutal scene near the end, utterly and irredeemably despicable; if he doesnt get at least a nomination for Best Supporting Actor next February, there is definitely something rotten in the Hollywood hills. Landa is undoubtedly Tarantino's finest single character creation (high praise indeed), and to be so stand-out in a movie that features so many excellent performances (including those from Brad Pitt and even Martin Wuttke's uber-camp Fuhrer) is testament to how profoundly successful the performance is. The fact that he has consigned Mr Jolie to brackets is some feat indeed when you consider that the marketing surrounding the release has so far been heavy on Pitt's star-billing. It is not an immaculate production, though the problems are few and far between. As a Brit, my major concern walking into the film was always going to surround the casting of Mike Myers as General Ed Fenech, especially considering the way his films have portrayed British characters: I could only determine that Tarantino was looking to inject a faint comic touch, but the execution of the role simply reinforced my doubts. I'm still not really sure what Tarantino was seeking in casting Myers, as the only thing he brings to the film are at first a performance that reinforces the sickeningly quaint way certain segments of Hollywood still treat British characters (it seems they are either camp, evil or both without exception). The label might read Fenech, but the material screams Powers, and I found it immediately disconcerting that I was watching a hybrid of Austin Powers- in the slightly sub-par accent- and Dr Evil- the mannerisms and the delivery of certain lines are pure Evil technique- but wearing a British General's uniform. Surely a character carrying such distinction deserved a more regal performance? Carrying on the British connection, Michael Fassbender's character (when not undercover, I must stress) is too much of a jingoistic paradign, again reinforcing that quaintess that Myers' role plays for: the scene in which the two discuss Operation Kino (with a chuckle-inducing addition, seated in the rear) is all a little "Jolly Hockey Sticks", and aligns seamlessly with the way mid 20th century American made war films presented British soldiers. Knowing Tarantino's penchant for being a movie magpie, I'm sure that the link was actively encouraged, but I thought we had moved on from such callous portrayals. The only other thing is pretty minor- there is a bit of a vacuum near the end of the film into which some of the Basterds disappear, unless I missed some important details while marvelling at something else (I doubt I did). For such a closely knit group, leaving Samm Levine's PFC Hirschberg, Michael Bacall's PFC Zimmerman and Paul Rust's PFC Kagan to simply disappear seems unforgiveable (would Kelly have left any of his Heroes so carelessly?). And I had to backtrack furiously in my mind to find the section when BJ Novak's PFC Utivich was captured, as I simply couldnt accept that any of the Basterds (even without their talismanic leader) would be so easily captured that the events were deemed unworthy of screen-time. But then, the film already had a mammoth running time, and editing is a necessary evil sometimes, even if it leaves the questions. But at the end of it all, the problems I mention are trivial, and the redeeming qualities legion, and I'm left with the feeling that I've been on an excellent ride, which was both unexpected and like an old familiar friend welcoming me in with open arms. This is one Tarantino film where I would actively encourage the prequel/sequel rumours, even if they do come round every time he wraps a film.