Quentin Tarantino
The Hateful Eight

The Hateful Eight is not a disappointment, but it is also not a new masterpiece. The historical path taken with Inglourious Basterds marks its least interesting moment here in terms of the themes in play. Quentin returns to the pure genre film or almost, and it is no coincidence that he resurrects a structure that closely resembles that of Reservoir Dogs. Of course, the director and screenwriter is no novice and modulates the narrative by alternating similarities and differences compared to the 1992 film.

This new work can be seen as the hypertrophic version of Reservoir Dogs, with more in-depth and varied characters, a more hostile and dark setting, a more constant tension without major moments of relaxation. In short, the direction is one of accumulation, and it's no wonder the film reaches 3 hours. Unable to play the novelty card as he did at the beginning, Tarantino is necessarily compelled to work on quality and quantity to bring new luster to the chosen narrative scheme. It must be said that he succeeds in all his intentions: the characters are well crafted, even with some having dual identities; the hostile scenario and storm perfectly perform their function, following Carpenter's The Thing, as revealed a few weeks ago. The tension is almost always at its peak during the bloody events at Minnie's Haberdashery.

However, it remains to be seen whether the intentions identified by the director have meaning and value. They surely have meaning in reshaping a narrative alchemy so dear to Quentin. The work of volumetric expansion is done well, but it doesn't seem to aim for a particularly ambitious goal; it's just a stylistic rehash of a narrative concept already expressed by the director, even at his debut. This goes hand in hand with the narrowing of the historical-political issues present in the film: they remain only as a pretext for the characters' disputes, and are not true themes addressed by the director.

This does not mean that the film isn't good; it simply doesn't seem to have deep motivations and new inspiration: it is an exercise of splendid mannerism. If we evaluate its quality in purely artistic and narrative terms, we must probably talk about a film superior to its predecessor Django Unchained. In fact, it is precisely by seeing The Hateful Eight that one realizes some debatable aspects of the 2012 film. One issue above all: the management of the spectator's empathy towards the characters. Certainly, Samuel L. Jackson is by far the most likable, but he is far from being the hero with his journey of growth and his final revenge. From this point of view, we are facing one of the director's least predictable works. For long stretches, you really can't tell where the film is heading: each piece has its complexity, which hasn't happened in a while. Tarantino, often focused more on style and dialogue than on particularly fresh plots, slightly changes his aims and manages to produce a tangle of issues that remains well-knotted for much of the film. And so it is with character management: the viewer struggles to see clearly in this web of alliances and constantly evolving frictions. The structure is truly convincing.

There is perhaps a change in the general framework: the enjoyment and the visceral taste for Tarantino's cinema remains, but this time it seems to partially give way to a more intellectual approach, more staid, complex, and intricate. However, if such an approach is appreciable for its intention, it is not matched by parallel development in terms of content. I mean, The Hateful Eight is a demanding film, very verbose and long: does it make sense to ask such an effort from the audience if there is no quid to give in return? The stylistic-narrative polishing is appreciable, but it is not sufficient to justify a film of this magnitude.

It remains a very well-done work: Morricone's music is splendid, with truly memorable and dark moments. There is nothing that has been done poorly, there are no execution errors: the mistake lies at the root. From Tarantino, one expects the best from all points of view, yet here the director abdicates a certain more mature component of his cinema, to throw himself headlong back into genres, style, and sparkling dialogue, sometimes even too detailed. An interesting point seemed to come from the representation in the microcosm of the haberdashery of the conflict between Northerners and Southerners. But it's a sketch that soon gives way to purely violent dynamics, with the long massacre of the second part. All very beautiful, an ending stained with blood and nihilism, truly fierce. But when the credits roll, the sensation is that of having witnessed a magnificent show, a high-level spectacle, but also a bit self-contained. Whereas Inglourious Basterds, and even Django Unchained, despite being inferior to this film from many other points of view, managed to place a foot outside the confines of art for art's sake.