Quentin Tarantino
Inglorious Bastards

What if "Inglourious Bastards" had been directed by another filmmaker, would we have liked it just the same? If we had seen the name of a young beginner or a mediocre African director on the poster (no offense to their cinema), would we still have spent the money to see the film? Absolutely yes! The film is a masterpiece, perhaps the best film of 2009.

But it's not Tarantino, there are pulp splashes and noir scenes, the sadistic madness of characters that lead the film into a tunnel of tension with no exit in sight, but it's not Tarantino. Let's be honest... Who among us didn't expect a completely different movie?! Sitting in the chair immersed in a wild and frantic vulgar American chatter, letting ourselves be carried away by the music that has always characterized the main segments of the director. In the film "Inglourious Bastards" (declared by some as the director's masterpiece) someone is missing, the film lacks something; we leave the theater like a newborn who waits to burp after eating, a need at the end of the meal that we could satisfy with a cherry on top. That's the right term: the cherry is missing. The right actor is missing, the right music during his entrance, and the right debut speech, allowing the audience a moment of breathing and interest for the protagonist (poor Brad Pitt, despite his name being both the first to appear in the opening titles and the last in the closing credits; despite his face being on the forefront of the promotional poster; one could say that Marcel, Shosanna's colored companion, performed better than him). Watching "Inglourious Bastards" is like singing a song without knowing the words, we feel awkward and disoriented, and maybe that's precisely its charm. Watching the film, we are put to the test and prepare for the final verdict... A positive judgment for the die-hard fans of the director, who can turn anything he touches into gold, or a negative sentence, and we rise with the idea that he has gone too far, and being too sure of himself, this time he has proven to be "like the others".

For those who, after the bluff "Grindhouse", were expecting a great masterpiece signed Tarantino, they found the masterpiece but lost Tarantino. Mine are clearly the criticisms of someone attached to the Tennessee author's cinema, and the idea that he would make a film about such an important period of contemporary history surprised me first, millions of fans used to the late millennium American atmospheres, from kung-fu films to spaghetti westerns. One thing, however, that we still continue to wonder and that most directors envy him is the ability and skill in rediscovering artistic talents, Quentin, the King Midas of vanished actors. This time we talk about Christoph Waltz (the Jew hunter), an artist known in Germany but now of international fame. From the initial scene, the conversation with the farmer, the actor demonstrates skill, irony while the viewer, captured by his disturbing image, waits resigned for the worst.

It's time to forget the sarcastic, vulgar, and caliente dialogues; the depiction of a violent America made of drugs, sex, and madness; the Tarantino frenzy that takes everything with it and makes everything forgotten. Let us welcome a cinema that is no longer the result of his particular looks and environments but the hopeful and surprising cinema of the author who has rewritten the pages of history in the only place where it was possible: cinema.

Ourevoir Tarantino.

p.s.: watching the film in its original language is recommended