The Hateful Eight (2015)
Country: US
Technical: col/Ultra Panavision 70 167m
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Bruce Dern, Michael Madsen, Channing Tatum
Synopsis:
In 1870s Wyoming, assorted characters take an interest in the fate of a female prisoner who is being escorted to Red Rock by one of them, a professional bounty hunter known as the Hangman. Together they converge on a posting station known as Minnie's Haberdashery, while they take shelter from a blizzard.
Review:
Quentin Tarantino's Eighth Film' is a sprawling shaggy dog story, like the cinematic equivalent of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy. Akin to one of his characters telling yet another methodically detailed, profanely inflected anecdote, he settles us down by the fire (a process itself taking a full half-hour), stretches out and leaves no stone unturned. By now this is what you sign up for in a Tarantino film, but the safe knowledge that he can pander to his fans has perhaps wrought his first true folie de grandeur. Quite why we have to watch two characters stake out a line in a blizzard from the cabin to the privy at such length, or why the mirthlessly repeated gag of a broken door being hammered shut to the accompaniment of bellowed instructions from those ensconced within, is a mystery that preoccupies us perhaps more than the true identities of this nest of vipers. Incidental pleasures include Bruce Dern's laconic Reb general, Kurt Russell channelling John Wayne, Ennio Morricone's infernal score, more reminiscent of his horror work than his spaghetti westerns, and of course Jackson's endlessly watchable roguishness.
Country: US
Technical: col/Ultra Panavision 70 167m
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Bruce Dern, Michael Madsen, Channing Tatum
Synopsis:
In 1870s Wyoming, assorted characters take an interest in the fate of a female prisoner who is being escorted to Red Rock by one of them, a professional bounty hunter known as the Hangman. Together they converge on a posting station known as Minnie's Haberdashery, while they take shelter from a blizzard.
Review:
Quentin Tarantino's Eighth Film' is a sprawling shaggy dog story, like the cinematic equivalent of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy. Akin to one of his characters telling yet another methodically detailed, profanely inflected anecdote, he settles us down by the fire (a process itself taking a full half-hour), stretches out and leaves no stone unturned. By now this is what you sign up for in a Tarantino film, but the safe knowledge that he can pander to his fans has perhaps wrought his first true folie de grandeur. Quite why we have to watch two characters stake out a line in a blizzard from the cabin to the privy at such length, or why the mirthlessly repeated gag of a broken door being hammered shut to the accompaniment of bellowed instructions from those ensconced within, is a mystery that preoccupies us perhaps more than the true identities of this nest of vipers. Incidental pleasures include Bruce Dern's laconic Reb general, Kurt Russell channelling John Wayne, Ennio Morricone's infernal score, more reminiscent of his horror work than his spaghetti westerns, and of course Jackson's endlessly watchable roguishness.
Country: US
Technical: col/Ultra Panavision 70 167m
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Bruce Dern, Michael Madsen, Channing Tatum
Synopsis:
In 1870s Wyoming, assorted characters take an interest in the fate of a female prisoner who is being escorted to Red Rock by one of them, a professional bounty hunter known as the Hangman. Together they converge on a posting station known as Minnie's Haberdashery, while they take shelter from a blizzard.
Review:
Quentin Tarantino's Eighth Film' is a sprawling shaggy dog story, like the cinematic equivalent of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy. Akin to one of his characters telling yet another methodically detailed, profanely inflected anecdote, he settles us down by the fire (a process itself taking a full half-hour), stretches out and leaves no stone unturned. By now this is what you sign up for in a Tarantino film, but the safe knowledge that he can pander to his fans has perhaps wrought his first true folie de grandeur. Quite why we have to watch two characters stake out a line in a blizzard from the cabin to the privy at such length, or why the mirthlessly repeated gag of a broken door being hammered shut to the accompaniment of bellowed instructions from those ensconced within, is a mystery that preoccupies us perhaps more than the true identities of this nest of vipers. Incidental pleasures include Bruce Dern's laconic Reb general, Kurt Russell channelling John Wayne, Ennio Morricone's infernal score, more reminiscent of his horror work than his spaghetti westerns, and of course Jackson's endlessly watchable roguishness.