Fuck it. Despite what I previously said, I went to see Kill Bill. Here’s a 50 word review:
Amalgamation of references and nods to Hong Kong action, Japanese samurai, anime, blaxploitation and other, mostly 70s era, pop culture presented under a Tarantino guise. [review to be continued]
The problem with having such a strong homage movie is that you can find the references distracting. Especially if you don’t get the references. Rather than focus on what is being said or done, you think to yourself: Why was her name beeped out? Where is that flashback/revenge tune from? What’s it mean? Who is that guy? What is that song? Why does this scene look familiar? Where the hell does Star Trek fit into this?
That’s the biggest problem with the film. You can’t ignore them, because you know they’re there. They’re not hidden or subtle; they’re chop-your-arm-off obvious and blatant. Even if you don’t understand them, you know that they are nods to something that you haven’t seen, perhaps should have seen, or might never see.
And it bugs you.
Or maybe I’m just being anal. Riding my desire to understand the film, I get lost in some B-movie moviephiles’ orgasmic dream made manifest. I feel as though I’m seeing half the movie (a quarter, when you count both volumes), and that makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel as though I’ve missed out on something special; but it also makes me want to seek out those under-the-radar movies that Tarantino, quite clearly, loves. It’s that appreciation that shows through in Kill Bill, and it’s partly what makes it so enjoyable.
That said, Volume Two is going to get my money — Volume One was fun enough to warrant it. I liked it. Hell, even even The Star (er, Geoff Pevere) loved it.
Finally, I have already subjected an unfortunate soul to my diatribe about the pre-movie commercials and trailers (all twenty-five minutes of them), so I’ll spare you from it.