Inglourious Basterds

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Quentin Tarantino is a filmmaker. I stress this obvious point because I appreciate very much how evident his films - this one in particular - are made. The first thing that the audience of Inglourious Basterds sees is the company logo for Universal Pictures, all grainy and retro and lush. We are looking at film; we are looking specifically at an older version of the now-glossy, shiny logo that precedes so many Universal releases. Tarantino wants us to know that we are at the movies. He follows this with a release date, in roman numerals, I believe, on the title card, and then procedes to indulge in a very extended list of credits, switching fonts no less than three times, and to the cue of a comedically dramatic score. Bear in mind, it is and has been the trend in movies to minimize the introduction of a film. Most blockbusters (think Lord of the Rings and Batman) have but one title card, and move along very quickly. This film basks in its filmness, and for this, I praise it highly. If you are not one to appreciate such things, much of this movie might be lost on you, but probably not :)

After this very tongue-in-cheek introduction, it is time for the storytelling, which is excellent. The movie occurs in five chapters. The first is so gripping that I found myself wondering how I could already care so much about characters I’ve barely met. The scene functions like a classical painting in this respect. Every technical aspect is commendable here: the photography is brilliantly shot, the camera movement is precise and nimble, the script is gripping, and the acting is extraordinary. The tension created could be cut with a knife, but instead it's cut with rounds and rounds of loud bullets. The knife comes in later.

There are viewers who will be turned off by the prospect of graphic violence. I myself am not unilaterally opposed to violence. I side with pacifism as a political principle, but as a lover of art and film, I recognize that, since violence is a part of life, it belongs in movies. The biggest, most mind-numbing blockbusters, like Transformers or Die Hard or so many others, have egregiously glorified senseless, gratuitous violence. In effect, our culture has become desensitized to it, which is unfortunate. We turn to violence for catharsis, personally and socially: a huge explosion might release our individual frustrations and fears, while a broadly sketched vigilante with a gun might exemplify our egos in fantasy. Like anything, we need more to fulfill what was once fulfilled with less. Those tropes are being pushed to pornographic proportions, and we continue to consume them like an obese over-eater, not asking the right questions, like, for instance, what is this fulfilling?

Violence, like sex, language, pictures and everything in life in general, is most often employed callously and without thought. But Inglourious Basterds does something significant. It re-sensitizes violence. It shows everything, explicitly. The whole theater gasps and groans and nervously laughs. We are looking at seriously fucked-up shit. To see the actual beating of a skull with a bat, one might argue, takes away the power of mere suggestion: to imagine it alone is pretty gruesome and powerful. (Funny Games by Michael Haneke exemplifies this sort of critique on simulated violence.) But we're in the movies here - we want to see! People really do kill each other in gruesome ways - ways that we can only imagine - and here they are. By making things obvious and apparent, by revealing them, deeper questions arise; our conversation can deepen once we move past the what and how. We can see anger being released; we share in it physically instead of simply judging it mentally. Our collective ego wants punishment in this fashion. We can consider this, feel guilty, question our behavior and our reactions. This isn’t about gore for the sake of it, like so many slasher films (that have their own merit). Blood appears at specific cues, and with reason. It augments the story where it could have otherwise been implicit. Tarantino doesn't do implicit. He does explicit. He does it unabashedly. And I thank him for that.

Every cinematic moment is telegraphed loudly to the audience. Romance, vengeance, tragedy and triumph are all cued by ostentatious music, slow motion, showy lighting, and long takes. It's hyper-real, super-self-aware filmmaking. The arc of the plot is no exception. Here we have a movie that revels in a revisionist fantasy and goes all the way. It is unapologetic about its pleasure. That this pleasure is in killing Nazism completely deserves a hearty critique, to be sure, and we will get there. But first, I commend this film for being such a film - escapist, overblown, formally precise and entertaining, while enriching my life through perspective and fodder for contemplation.

Perhaps Tarantino has gone too far in characterizing Nazis, or making a film about them at all, at the risk of offending modern Germany and its people. Perhaps the broad strokes with which these caricatures are painted is juvenile, distasteful or plain mean. Hitler and Goebbels, for instance, are made more boorish and unlikable than they even might have been. Where there could be pity or nuanced respect, there is only hate. Private Zoller, who's celebrated for murdering countless Allies, foolishly pursues a girl with whom he has absolutely no chance. The character played by the star of the film - Christoph Waltz, for whom enough praise cannot be given - is despicable to the core, despite an uncanny charisma. I ask though, is this dark moment in Earth's history not open to study or ridicule? Surely it is, and Germany itself humbly revisits it, so as not to repeat it, if I'm not mistaken. Are there jokes about the Holocaust that might be distasteful? Indeed, but this film operates beyond such conversations, I think. Inglourious Basterds is its own world. It is exceedingly effective in lampooning the evils of Nazism, while also slyly critiquing the arrogance of the Allied nations as well.

The war is fought between multiple countries, and each takes on a cartoonish attitude. But it is not nationalities that this film is about – it is about the silliness of warring nations and the imperfections of the human condition, akin to Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove. Surely the Russian ambassador in that film is offensively portrayed, but to lambast a film of that caliber for that misses the point. Mike Myers and Michael Fassbender share a delightful scene that jests at the British for instance, but it is less about the English, and more about a comedy of etiquette. The USA, perhaps the real focus of the film, is critiqued more subtly.

Let us critique the story itself: why was it written in the first place? I am not sure of the inner-workings of Quentin Tarantino's mind, and perhaps he simply saw fit to indulge in a battle against the most obvious of villains… (Let us remember that his last film, Deathproof, featured an extended climax against a completely unlikable personage as well.) But I see here something more complex: something akin to, "okay America, you want to vilify someone from the other side of the world? Here you go!" Tarantino feels like the kind of dad that, when he catches his 10-year-old smoking a cigarette, forces him to smoke a whole carton then and there. He gives us what we want, and then some. The climax of this film is laughably delicious. There are films like The Lives of Others that conclude so poetically and perfectly, like nothing else could have happened, and then there's this, where the ending is like eating pure sugar, so obvious, so glorious and perhaps sickening as a result...? This is a self-evident American movie. I have a hard time critiquing the whole story because it is a critique of itself, essentially.

Is it a Hollywood film? To me, "Hollywood" implies a system in which a script is re-written by producers that think they know better, where a test audience changes the plot points to maximize box office returns, where big actors are forced into nuanced parts for the same reasons, where swill is marketed for profit alone, where everything is micromanaged and any originality that might have appeared in the vision of a screenwriter or director is replaced by stock safe bets and tried-and-true story arcs that feel, ultimately, terrible and boring and a waste of time and money and effort. This is not a Hollywood film. This is an auteur film. Tarantino has deservedly earned the trust and final cut from his financiers. Maybe he compromised on the original length (it played at over 3 hours two weeks prior to wide release), but my faith lies in the fact that this is his vision, realized. Universal Pictures is one of the biggest companies in the film industry, but that doesn't make this a Hollywood film, except technically. Radiohead, after all, released Kid A under Capital Records, and it surely wasn't a mainstream hit in the era of Brittney and boy bands.

Inglourious Basterds doesn't redefine the movies, but it does typify them. Tarantino relishes in movies, seeing fantasy played out, and there is a deep psychological justification that our society recognizes. Also, I fell deeply in love with Mélanie Laurent.