twiddle
12-10-2003, 02:31 PM
Kill Bill Vol. 1 is the most exciting movie I have ever fucking seen. Well, OK, half a movie.
Black Mamba (Uma Thurman) has been sent into a coma by an attempt on her life by Bill's (David Carradine) crew of assassins, of which she was one until she wanted out to get married.
Coming out of a 4 year coma, she starts a globe trotting revenge tour with her "kill list 5."
Here are just some of the movie style characters she portrays on her road to comicbook superheroine revenge satisfaction: Samurai Swordswoman, Helmeted Alien Inquisitor, Knocked-up Texas Bride, Raging Feminista, Jesus H. Christ, Frustrated Mother and Housewife, Bubble Headed Blonde American Tourist, Shapely Video Game Warrior.
Scrutiny of movie genres is on the plate as KBV1 eases onto the screen: the mood is struck with the very first image of "Shaw Scope Film Presentations" oriental style placard. Is it a martial arts film?
Then the black title card of a jokingly attributed quote, is it a bow to the silent film? A parody? Followed with the black and white film stock, is it a western?
Heroine Black Mamba's beaten face in extreme close up as the unseen Bill intones "You probably think me sadistic." Is it noire?
Black Mamba saying "Bill, the baby is yours." Is it a mystery?
We are given tastes of all these styles of movies and characters in KBV1 and, more often than not, all on the same fork. Or chopstick if you'd rather.
KBV1 starts with a close up on gore, fills itself with fantastic, action packed gore, and ends with the threat of tender sudden death. This is not the intensity most audiences settle into without some kind of respite: a love interest, childhood flashbacks, long minutes of tedious exposition with minor characters, or some other mindless distraction to appease their soggy entertainment needs. Here Tarantino gives us "Okinawa, one way" as the essential dialogue to start us on our trip. We don't want or need to know where she gets her money, where she lives, etc etc ad nauseaum. Just give us what we need to propel the action. She's flying off to get her revenge. Thats all we want to know and see.
Let me use an example of unnecessarily graphic depictions of violence to help illustrate Tarantino's effective use of cinematic brutality. In the mawkish directing talent of Clint Eastwood (I would not miss a Sean Penn performance, even directed by Pee Wee Herman) I winced at the violence in "Mystic River." Twice. I think it is a failure of filmmaking if your story's tension is so thin, your intent so flimsy, or the consequences so vague, that you can't trust your audience to imagine all the aspects of the impact of a kick to a characters face, without actually having to show the REPEATED kick to the face. The wince added nothing to my understanding of the human pain.
Tarantino's brutality usually avoids "real" human violence. In Reservoir Dogs, for instance, he only intimates VERY STRONGLY the cop's ear actually being cut off. The tension is so palpable, when the built-up moment comes, the camera skips to the ear landing on the floor, we feel the pain, and have all the impact we need and desire. The payoff satisfies.
Yet Tarantino's ultra-violent sequences are integral, indeed, fundamental, to this story, and set moods of amusement, shock, toe-tapping musicality, athletic endeavor, even subtle and striking beauty. So fuck you Clint.
The vast majority of good stories involve some kind of violence, if not to the body then to the soul. (As the matter of fact, doesn't a lot of memorable real life history involve horrendous violence?) When you are paying homage to a vast number of different movies, as Tarantino does, it's natural that you would use vast, different, and relentless physical and emotional violence to do it.
In KBV1, Black Mamba does some terrible things to people outside of her superhero circle. In these scenes the actual slashing or aftermath is more implicit than explicit. We see her biting her rapist's lip, the camera swings away and next we see, he is on the floor, dead. The payoff still satisfies.
Once Black Mamba is in the realm of superheroine however, all bets are off. Blood gushes like uncapped fire hydrants, eyes are ripped out, legs shot and sliced off in operatic, rhythmic, stylish and juicy fashion. Once the animation sequence takes you to that giddy level of involvement and awe, the sequences of a simple motorcade traveling so stylish and enthralling, I had tears in my eyes from the effectiveness of some of the scenes.
The House of Blue Leaves scene is a masterpiece of martial arts action. The mayhem gears up with long takes following our heroine, jolts us into the seriousness of her intentions, then builds up the best 20 minutes of cinematic violence ever filmed. Just when the action is climaxing, another rocking oldies song starts and kicks it into a higher gear of swinging, slashing, and spinning madness. Then the lights go out and another cinematic miracle happens before your eyes as Black Mamba fights as if in a "computer chip" (as my 12 y/o nephew called it, in this day of Celebrity Death Match and stickdeath.com) against a blue screen.
There are 3 left to be vanquished in KBV2. And I don't even need it. Vol. 1 has thrilled me like no other movie in my life. Vol. 2 is bound to be pure icing on the cake.
I fucking love this movie. Period.
Well, half a movie. Period.
Black Mamba (Uma Thurman) has been sent into a coma by an attempt on her life by Bill's (David Carradine) crew of assassins, of which she was one until she wanted out to get married.
Coming out of a 4 year coma, she starts a globe trotting revenge tour with her "kill list 5."
Here are just some of the movie style characters she portrays on her road to comicbook superheroine revenge satisfaction: Samurai Swordswoman, Helmeted Alien Inquisitor, Knocked-up Texas Bride, Raging Feminista, Jesus H. Christ, Frustrated Mother and Housewife, Bubble Headed Blonde American Tourist, Shapely Video Game Warrior.
Scrutiny of movie genres is on the plate as KBV1 eases onto the screen: the mood is struck with the very first image of "Shaw Scope Film Presentations" oriental style placard. Is it a martial arts film?
Then the black title card of a jokingly attributed quote, is it a bow to the silent film? A parody? Followed with the black and white film stock, is it a western?
Heroine Black Mamba's beaten face in extreme close up as the unseen Bill intones "You probably think me sadistic." Is it noire?
Black Mamba saying "Bill, the baby is yours." Is it a mystery?
We are given tastes of all these styles of movies and characters in KBV1 and, more often than not, all on the same fork. Or chopstick if you'd rather.
KBV1 starts with a close up on gore, fills itself with fantastic, action packed gore, and ends with the threat of tender sudden death. This is not the intensity most audiences settle into without some kind of respite: a love interest, childhood flashbacks, long minutes of tedious exposition with minor characters, or some other mindless distraction to appease their soggy entertainment needs. Here Tarantino gives us "Okinawa, one way" as the essential dialogue to start us on our trip. We don't want or need to know where she gets her money, where she lives, etc etc ad nauseaum. Just give us what we need to propel the action. She's flying off to get her revenge. Thats all we want to know and see.
Let me use an example of unnecessarily graphic depictions of violence to help illustrate Tarantino's effective use of cinematic brutality. In the mawkish directing talent of Clint Eastwood (I would not miss a Sean Penn performance, even directed by Pee Wee Herman) I winced at the violence in "Mystic River." Twice. I think it is a failure of filmmaking if your story's tension is so thin, your intent so flimsy, or the consequences so vague, that you can't trust your audience to imagine all the aspects of the impact of a kick to a characters face, without actually having to show the REPEATED kick to the face. The wince added nothing to my understanding of the human pain.
Tarantino's brutality usually avoids "real" human violence. In Reservoir Dogs, for instance, he only intimates VERY STRONGLY the cop's ear actually being cut off. The tension is so palpable, when the built-up moment comes, the camera skips to the ear landing on the floor, we feel the pain, and have all the impact we need and desire. The payoff satisfies.
Yet Tarantino's ultra-violent sequences are integral, indeed, fundamental, to this story, and set moods of amusement, shock, toe-tapping musicality, athletic endeavor, even subtle and striking beauty. So fuck you Clint.
The vast majority of good stories involve some kind of violence, if not to the body then to the soul. (As the matter of fact, doesn't a lot of memorable real life history involve horrendous violence?) When you are paying homage to a vast number of different movies, as Tarantino does, it's natural that you would use vast, different, and relentless physical and emotional violence to do it.
In KBV1, Black Mamba does some terrible things to people outside of her superhero circle. In these scenes the actual slashing or aftermath is more implicit than explicit. We see her biting her rapist's lip, the camera swings away and next we see, he is on the floor, dead. The payoff still satisfies.
Once Black Mamba is in the realm of superheroine however, all bets are off. Blood gushes like uncapped fire hydrants, eyes are ripped out, legs shot and sliced off in operatic, rhythmic, stylish and juicy fashion. Once the animation sequence takes you to that giddy level of involvement and awe, the sequences of a simple motorcade traveling so stylish and enthralling, I had tears in my eyes from the effectiveness of some of the scenes.
The House of Blue Leaves scene is a masterpiece of martial arts action. The mayhem gears up with long takes following our heroine, jolts us into the seriousness of her intentions, then builds up the best 20 minutes of cinematic violence ever filmed. Just when the action is climaxing, another rocking oldies song starts and kicks it into a higher gear of swinging, slashing, and spinning madness. Then the lights go out and another cinematic miracle happens before your eyes as Black Mamba fights as if in a "computer chip" (as my 12 y/o nephew called it, in this day of Celebrity Death Match and stickdeath.com) against a blue screen.
There are 3 left to be vanquished in KBV2. And I don't even need it. Vol. 1 has thrilled me like no other movie in my life. Vol. 2 is bound to be pure icing on the cake.
I fucking love this movie. Period.
Well, half a movie. Period.