The term "Grindhouse" is commonly used to refer to that particular genre of B-movies filled with sex, violence, women, and cars, which, during the period between the '70s and '80s, were often screened in pairs in urban outskirts (at the price of a single ticket) to provide more spectacle at a low cost. These movies were made on a shoestring budget and featured actors with limited artistic talents. "Grindhouse" is, however, also the title of the latest film project by Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino: it consists of two films with distinct plots and actors, but they complement each other. The first episode, now releasing, is "Death Proof."
It is a slasher movie with an extremely straightforward plot: a psychopathic and misogynistic stuntman takes pleasure in killing young women with his souped-up car. It is his car that is "Death Proof," meaning it guarantees the driver's complete safety even at the highest speeds and during the most devastating impacts. What's immediately noticeable during the viewing is the utter lack of narrative consistency: it's like watching two films in one, with two subplots, two different groups of actresses, and two endings in the same movie. The first part focuses on sharp female dialogue and amusing chronicles of evenings among friends at the pub; the action heats up only in the second part, with a long series of mad car races, chases, adrenaline-pumping action, and a culmination rich in revenge, startling in its simplicity and genius. The cast is undoubtedly up to the film: it is mainly characterized by female performers (with a stunning Rosario Dawson and the extraordinary Zoe Bell, who was Uma Thurman's stunt double in Kill Bill and plays herself here). The skill of Kurt Russell is immense, highlighting impeccably the great inner dualism of Stuntman Mike, eternally torn between his passion for the female body and his great misogyny and murderous madness (although I personally would have found Michael Madsen perfect for this role). Also enjoyable is Tarantino's cameo as a loquacious bartender.
As is well known, Tarantino's style partly rests on references: in this film, there are a substantial number of them: songs, fashion, TV series, cars, and TV shows from the '70s; but there is also room for self-citation (especially Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill). Regarding the technical aspect, the obsessive attention to detail in the making of the sets, the soundtrack, the costumes is commendable, but also noteworthy is the effect given to the film, scratched and dirty, to immerse the viewer into watching a period B-movie.
Many will find it a sterile exercise in style, somewhat superficial, not up to other creations: I find it yet another fantastic Tarantino film.
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