A Tarantino film. Campy 70’s stylistic elements, and he pours it on thick here, with dated angles and framing of shots, film and color treatments, old-time fonts and title graphics, and all the hissing and popping and sloppy editing of a vintage film. Add in profanity-laced, fast-talking dialogue, a glorified soundtrack, obscure foreign movie posters, laughable anachronisms, and shockingly graphic death sequences, and you have the porridge of style that defines Tarantino.
But this time, Tarantino is laughing at us. Brush away the style, and the two seemingly unrelated stories story and characters are a waste of time. The fast, wordy dialogue alternating between profanity and inane is Tarantino trademark, but few can actually deliver it naturally. We’re left with a lot of characters talking about a lot of things, but not a whole lot actually happening.
A highlight is Zoë Bell’s stunts. Poitier has an Alicia Keys quality.
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