The Hateful Eight review

Ugh. Tarantino.

I mean he’s so… self-aware. You know? He wants everyone to know it’s a Tarantino movie all the time, that he’s that director that learned how to make films by working in a video store, that he likes those ’70s films, that he loves gore. At the start of this film, he puts his name over the title. At least this time he didn’t insert himself awkwardly into it, but he has his “trademark” long scenes of dialogue.

Actually, this film is basically all long scenes of dialogue, with an anachronistic score running over the top. It’s beautifully shot, and you can tell all the actors are having a really good time (oh, and they’re ALL Tarantino regulars, no surprise, looking kind of bloated as people do when you haven’t seen them in anything decent for a while, (we’re all looking at you, Michael Madsen, sorry bud)).

I mean, it’s all fine if you’re one of those hipsters that likes this guy, but Tarantino has been trying to recapture the days of Reservoir Dogs/True Romance/Pulp Fiction for a while. And those were good films. (Is it weird that my favourite Tarantino film was directed by someone else?) The whole Kill Bill thing was fun, too. But it was glossier, less cohesive.

Anyway, I’m not saying he’s terrible, I’m just saying that he’s not as great as he thinks he is, and a four-hour film that seems like it was meant to be a play and revolves around a woman getting beaten/humiliated and people saying nigger all the time as if it’s clever or realistic to me shows a distinct lack of creativity. That ol’ chestnut of using shock tactics to appear avant guard…

Quentin, you are better than this.

the hateful eight 2015 movie embed

Hermione Flavia is a Screenjabber contributor

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