Inglourious Basterds (2009)

writ. and dir. Quentin Tarantino
feat. Brad Pitt, Melanie Laurent, Christoph Waltz, Eli Roth, Michael Fassbender, Diane Kruger...

It's unfortunate that his ADHD is beginning to interfere instead of serve Quentin Tarantino in his filmmaking. There has long been the risk and occasional problem in his self-love, creating scenes that are overly long, meandering, even pointless, but at least, in some cases, the films have rallied, their energy and humor overcoming these dregs. Sadly, Basterds offers up all the faults without any of the magic.

From the very first scene, when our villain, Landa (Waltz,) rambles on in a dull, stereotypical monologue likening Jews to rats, the trouble to come is laid out. Never will we see a scene that wouldn't benefit from substantial trimming. The entire film reeks of being cut to an early draft of the script instead of to the needs of pacing and the old-fashioned notion of not boring your audience to tears.

It's just one misstep after another, with tiresome interruptions by the voice of Samuel Jackson to explain unnecessary details, largely as a chance for Tarantino to masturbate to his understanding of a few basic bits of cinematic history. A David Bowie music video segment also sidetracks the story, another stylistic cul-de-sac clearly intended to stoke the weak story that instead reminds the audience of how bad such videos were (and are) while offering nothing entertaining or purposeful. Eli Roth's turn as an especially violent member of Brad Pitt's team of Nazi killers comes off as an alternate universe Jonathan Silverman, stepping out of his crappy sitcom, The Single Guy, to smite all Jew-haters who have obviously been the cause of his poor luck with women. This would be mildly funny, if intentional. And even Pitt, who has a talent for quirky, limited characters (Burn After Reading, 12 Monkeys), stumbles in this painfully narrow aping of an already underdeveloped simpleton, even if the cross between a Warren Oates and John Wayne type might have worked if given a little more thought.

But it's a waste of time to list all the shortcomings of Basterds (though I feel obligated to note that Melanie Laurent struggles to act both convincingly and subtly through the film, something that can be easily and sadly overlooked given how little help she is given). Ultimately, one is left wondering what is the possible point of the film. It's too disjointed to flow, too bloated to engage, and too stupid to be funny. As revisionist history, it has no teeth despite the deliberately unsettling violence. Or maybe I'm trying too hard. Perhaps this random sampling of ripped off story elements and styles and the batch of gruesome images is all Tarantino really has going anymore. He's showing off what he can do instead of actually doing something worthwhile.