tjantus

I don't know about you, but I always enjoy seeing pretty girls on vacation, giggling and posing for the camera in their bikinis. Maybe that's just me, though. Lots of suspense, not much horror, although the evil psycho "shark" is very wicked indeed. And it's a shame the cuties have their vacation spoiled. It just goes to show that if you're going to plan a trip to an exotic local, you really should make reservations and know where it is you are going.

All in all, this movie seemed a lot longer than it was, since nothing much really happened until the very end. And it was odd that those bikini tops never even came off; that might have livened things up a bit.

I've seen most of Tarantino's offerings, and generally like all that I've seen. I have read and commented on the message boards for many of them, and I've read and commented on this one as well.

"Death Proof" is Tarantino's half of the "Grindhouse" double feature, and it is not only a quintessential "grindhouse" production, it is a quintessential Tarantino film. It features all of his repeated themes and motifs: bare foot fetishism, inspired retro music, lurid sets and colors; odd camera angles, references to '70's films, amazing stunts, minimalist use of computer-generated effects when the old-fashioned type won't do, and the one thing that I have seen his work panned the most for---extended dialogue. Characters sitting around, talking about inconsequential things, the trivia and meaninglessness of their little lives. Boorr-ing!!!

That is not the case, and you critics are missing the point. It doesn't matter whether or nor we like these people, these fictional characters who may or may not be about to get killed off. It is through the words that they say to each other that they reveal who they are. We may not like who they are, we may not identify with them, but we can identify them. We come to know them. They fill in the blank spaces in the character's soul, and make them three dimensional human beings.

There are long passages where the characters--in this case two separate groups of young women--sit around talking. We learn what their backgrounds are, their hopes, their dreams, their petty annoyances. They reveal what it is that makes them who they are by what they say to each other. They reveal what their intentions are, and they further the plot thereby. When the time comes for action--and there is plenty of that (this IS a Tarantino film, after all)--it is completely in character. The wordy dialogue that was written off as boring, mindless chatter is brought to life in adrenaline-pumping action.

And that is what makes this "Grindhouse" movie great entertainment. It's not supposed to be something we meditate on in the quiet moments of our lives, it is raw entertainment--filled with sexy babes, violent action, and all the movie artistry that true craftsmen can provide.

What could Sandra Bullock have been thinking? She has played many parts in her career, but seldom made a film in which virtually every character was so thoroughly unlikeable that the audience didn't care about them, other than to wish they would stop wasting our time. Even her mother and her friends are unpleasant.

Her character is a woman with recurring premonitions of doom--hence the title--and who is unable to determine whether they are true or false, whether they have come to pass or are just dreams. She pursues the truth in ways that guarantee her self-fulfilling prophecies become realities.

The scope of her tragedies are such that she is stunned, paralyzed into inaction. Poor Ms. Bullock wanders through this film in a fog, a frozen expression on her face as if she had just bitten into a bad-tasting lemon. Her children either run around blissfully ignoring her, or tiptoeing around their moody mom. Her husband spends what little time he's at home obviously wishing he were somewhere else. Don't we all.

In some ways reminiscent of "Jacob's Ladder", the schizophrenic nature of the character's waking dreams are painted in shades of grey, pale blue, and black. It is not the acid trip that "Ladder" was, but it is seriously in need of some anti-depressants. It is a bleak, over-long, ultimately miserable film that the previews made look interesting by picking out the only vaguely intriguing parts. I'm glad I borrowed the DVD and didn't pay to see this one, but I still wish I had my 96-minutes back.