Spaghetti Tarantino

Not so long ago I was voicing my mild unorthodoxy in not being a great Hitchcock fan. I thought I had a  similar disinclination when it came to the subject of Quentin Tarantino. On re-examining my views I realise that I may have misunderstood myself. This happens a lot. Must be an age thing.

What brought about this re-evaluation? Django Unchained, that's what. Tarantino is, it hardly needs saying, a cineaste of vast knowledge. In Django he rather more than nods in the direction of Sergio Leone, he pays tribute to the scores of Ennio Morricone, he reminds us of Sam Peckinpah and The Wild Bunch as the blood spurts in stylised slow-motion, and he echoes (as he has done before) the timbre of blaxploitation flicks. This is cine-literate film-making of the highest order. Yes, it is too long (the first couple of hours can drag a little) but the final scenes are triumphant. Christopher Waltz, Jamie Foxx and Leonardo DiCaprio are excellent but pride of place goes to Samuel L. Jackson for his foul-mouthed but near tear-inducing unclest of all Uncle Toms.

High class stuff. 83/100.