Let’s get cryptic
KILL BILL, VOL. 2 ***1/2
DIRECTED BY Quentin Tarantino
STARRING Uma Thurman, David Carradine, Daryl Hannah
US 2004 136 mins.
In English, with some Chinese dialogue and Greek subtitles.
STARSKY & HUTCH **
DIRECTED BY Todd Phillips
STARRING Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, Vince Vaughn
US 2004 100 mins.
By Preston Wilder
WHEN we last left Quentin Tarantino, he was… well, who knows what he was doing. The first ‘volume’ of Kill Bill was a super-stylish tease, veering from cartoonish violence into unexpected comedy (the whole Hattori Hanzo sequence), eruptions of colour and music, split-screen effects and audacious movie references.
It also ended on a cliff-hanger – the revelation that The Bride’s daughter was still alive – setting up this second half of her “bloody revenge” on Bill (David Carradine) and the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad that slaughtered her fiancé and left her for dead. But something seems to have changed in the tone of the film, a carefree exuberance toned down. Vol. 1 was a juggling act, letting The Bride (Uma Thurman) have her passionate rage while also suggesting it was all a game, down to the gleeful ultra-violence (it kicked off with the line “Do you find me sadistic?”); Vol. 2 is more thoughtful, talkier and – in the end – rather tedious and long-drawn-out.
Even the colours are duller, apart from a shot of the ‘painted desert’: Vol. 1 was set in the (Far) East but here it’s the (American) West, a place of rocky vistas and trashy trailer parks. This is Budd country, Budd being Michael Madsen with a very iconic cowboy hat and air of washed-out resignation. If the first half prompted anime and martial-arts references, the second summons the ghosts of Ford, Peckinpah and Sergio Leone. A pull-back from the church where the “El Paso Texas Wedding Chapel Massacre” is about to take place recalls the famous crane-up revealing Henry Fonda and his killers in Once Upon A Time in the West. Earlier, the shot of the open doorway is a direct steal from The Searchers. Later on, a scene in a Mexican brothel where The Bride sweet-talks a slimy old pimp – a seduction, like the way she sweet-talked Hattori Hanzo in Vol. 1 – is very Peckinpah in its mix of sex and casual brutality.
But that’s just ticking off the references, which any critic worth his salt can do; the real Tarantino Test – separating dilettantes from those who are truly on his wavelength – comes in the lengthy climax, when The Bride finally confronts Bill and they talk (and talk). “As you know I’m quite keen on comic books,” he says, before launching into a rather forced analogy between The Bride and Superman. At this point some will eagerly debate what’s being said – is it fair to call Clark Kent a “critique on humanity”? wasn’t he supposed to be a weakling, sub-normal, the anti-Superman? – while others will just switch off, angry that a promising climax has been reduced to adolescent riffs on comic books.
Kill Bill, Vol. 2 is where Tarantino shows his cards at last, going for the much-vaunted emotion which (some said) was lacking in Vol. 1 – but his hand is exposed as thin and conservative, with a suitably old-fashioned message. Femininity (specifically motherhood) takes the place of God or Redemption, or whatever it was Samuel L. Jackson found at the end of Pulp Fiction: The Bride has had her womanhood sucked out by Bill the Exploiter – at one point she’s threatened with a can of Mace, making it clear she’s more man than woman – but is restored to her rightful role by pregnancy, motherhood and domestication (she may have to give up her career, though). Her secret weapon turns out to be Bill’s heart, which she breaks – and makes explode – in a classic ‘woman’s ploy’. Kill Bill may be a celebration of Woman (specifically Uma) but it’s not exactly bulging with feminism.
Indeed, for a 136-minute movie, it’s not exactly bulging with anything. The film is enjoyable – no-one else mixes and matches quite like Tarantino – but it does take its time, and the payoffs aren’t always worth it. Even the dialogue (QT’s trademark) could use some sprucing up, often collapsing into flatness. Surely Bill could’ve found a wittier name for a truth serum than “The Undisputed Truth”? Surely the black mamba story told by Elle Driver (a ferocious Daryl Hannah) doesn’t justify its build-up? “Only with the mamba is death certain”. Big deal.
Then again, as with Lord of the Rings, we mustn’t forget we’re seeing only a part of the whole. Future generations won’t have to deal with this whole Vol. 1/Vol. 2 nonsense – a marketing scam and a profitable one, bringing in more than twice the cash a single four-hour Kill Bill would’ve mustered. Looking at the film as a whole, it’s clear the gear-shift in the middle is deliberate – and works to the second half’s advantage. At one point, Bill contrasts “old-school” fighting with “beautiful moonlight”, echoing the duel with O-Ren that closed Vol. 1 (and took place in beautiful moonlight): no more of that, Tarantino seems to be saying – time to move beyond pretty pictures. Time to commit. Or, to quote another line: “If that’s too cryptic, let’s get literal”.
The opposite principle seems to be at work in Starsky & Hutch, further proof of the mind-boggling ways of pop culture. Kill Bill, Vol. 2 includes a lengthy kung-fu flashback, full of loving detail likely to be appreciated only by those steeped in videos of 70s Hong Kong action flicks. Meanwhile, Hollywood sinks money into a 70s cop show that’s unlikely to mean anything to anyone under the age of 30 – especially in the States, where it was never as popular as in Britain – and turns it into … a comic vehicle for Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson.
Not much can be said about the film, which is almost gone from Cyprus cinemas anyway. It’s mostly inept, ruining almost all its jokes through over-exposure – like the gay subtext, which gets mentioned about a zillion times – or poor timing. But it does have some moments to treasure, like Stiller and Wilson (as the titular duo) debating just how big a biker has to be to justify the moniker “Big Earl”. Stiller also does what’s presumably a Dustin Hoffman impression – he certainly sounds just like him – that’s insanely memorable, albeit baffling: “Do it. Do it.”
The film’s been rated ‘18’ mostly (I suspect) for some drug use and a chaste but naughty threesome halfway through, though it’s really not much more than goofy fun, lazily assembled. There’s a ‘New Coke’ gag, an Easy Rider reference and a henchman who recites interesting facts about Luxembourg. None of it has much to do with Starsky & Hutch the show – but why be literal? Let’s get cryptic.
FAHRENHEIT 9/11: THE MOORE THE MERRIER
A LITTLE bit of history took place in the US last weekend, as Michael Moore’s Bush-bashing Fahrenheit 9/11 became the first documentary ever to debut at #1 at the box-office. In fact it may well be the first documentary ever to reach #1 at the box-office, seeing as its take of $23 million also broke the record for the top-grossing doc of all time, a record previously held by Moore’s own Bowling for Columbine (though only if you exclude concert films and IMAX documentaries).
Before rejoicing at this poke in the eye for the Establishment, however, it may be well to remember two things. First, the film was marketed as assiduously as any blockbuster, with Moore himself stirring up controversy even before its Cannes debut – claiming Disney had refused to distribute it so as not to lose tax breaks in Florida (whose Governor is Jeb Bush), then waging a very public fight against its ‘R’ rating. Second, both the film and its maker are getting some very mixed reviews, the most splenetic rant being perhaps by Christopher Hitchens at Internet magazine Slate (http://slate.msn.com/id/2102723/).
“To describe this film as dishonest and demagogic would almost be to promote those terms to the level of respectability,” fulminates Hitchens, adding, “Fahrenheit 9/11 is a sinister exercise in moral frivolity, crudely disguised as an exercise in seriousness. It is also a spectacle of abject political cowardice masking itself as a demonstration of ‘dissenting’ bravery”. Yet the film won the Golden Palm at Cannes, with Jury president Quentin Tarantino going out of his way to emphasise it wasn’t just a political decision – it really was the best film in Competition. Who do you believe?
One thing’s for sure: we’ll be getting a chance to find out. The film received one of the longest standing ovations in Cannes history, making it clear – if it wasn’t already – that Moore is the right man at the right moment. The global intelligentsia is united in its loathing of the Bush administration, and everyone loves a film that rants against America: Bowling for Columbine was a huge hit in Cyprus, and Fahrenheit will surely follow in its footsteps – almost certainly before the US presidential election in November.
Obviously it wouldn’t be right to condemn or applaud the film sight unseen, but some of its highlights are already being debated. There’s the shot of Bush after 9/11, stuck in a primary-school classroom looking lost and ineffectual (was he expected to leap into action like Russell Crowe? counters Hitchens). There’s an interview with the mother of a soldier killed in Iraq, speaking out against the war. Moore cuts from Donald Rumsfeld extolling ‘smart bombs’ straight to an Iraqi family decimated by the bombing, and makes much of the links between the Bush dynasty and the House of Saud.
Clearly, the film has its faults: Bowling for Columbine made it clear Moore is hardly subtle as a propagandist (then again, does a propagandist need to be subtle?). Yet political cinema has been neglected for decades, especially in the US; hopefully the success of Fahrenheit – and the more modest success of Errol Morris’ brilliant The Fog of War – will lead to public issues being raised in films once more.
Debate all you like, but think of it this way: #2 at the box-office last week – just behind Fahrenheit with $19 million – was White Chicks, a comedy about bumbling FBI men dressing up as women. And people have the nerve to say Michael Moore is crude?…
