Quentin Tarantino’s latest is a blazing return to form, easily his best since Pulp Fiction. Yes, it may be yet another pastiche, this time of the Spaghetti Western, but this time he seems to have something worthwhile to say and the cynical environment of the genre suits his sensibilities down to a tee. It also boasts some tremendous performances, especially from Christoph Waltz and Leonardo DeCaprio and a turn from Samuel L. Jackson that is literally jaw dropping.
Jamie Foxx plays Django, a slave in 1850s America freed by Waltz’s King Schultz, a German bounty hunter. Schultz wants Django’s help in tracking down three brothers and Django knows what they look like as they brutally whipped his wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) when the pair were recaptured after an escape attempt from their owner (a nasty cameo from Bruce Dern). The pair develop a bond, Schultz’s sympathies for the slaves leading to the bounty hunter taking on Django as a partner. Once the three brothers have been tracked down and killed on plantation owner Big Daddy’s property (Don Johnson gives a great turn as the Colonel Saunders lookalike), Schultz agrees to help Django track down his wife, leading them to Candieland, the home of Mississippi slave owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DeCaprio). The pair pose as fans of Mandingo fighting to get in with Candie but Candie’s black butler Stephen (Jackson) smells a rat and soon an orgy of violence is unleashed…
Tarantino throws himself enthusiastically into the trappings of the Spaghetti Western right from the start, with his retro bright red titles and theme tune from the original 60s Django movie. When people are shot (and, as you’d expect, many are â€" as well as the occasional horse!) they spout copious amounts of ketchup coloured blood and bits, probably matched to the vivid red of the old movies. The soundtrack is peppered with Ennio Morricone and imitators and songs of that era (with the occasional ill judged venture into rap). Keen viewers will spot familiar western film faces, now much aged, including Dern, Don Stroud and the original Django himself, Franco Nero â€" who is weathering remarkably well. The plot is straight from the tried and tested bloody revenge formula typical of the genre.
But, crucially, the film is more than just pastiche or homage. This could well be the most beautiful Tarantino movie yet with a vista of widescreen locations from snowy mountains, atmospheric rock ranges, grimy towns and leafy plantations. Attention has been paid to telling details, such as the design of restricting collars around slaves necks to the intricacies of Candie’s lavish outfits. The costumes are sublime, especially Django’s blue and white lace number. This is a film that looks like a big budget spectacular and feels like a classic western. The action is frequent and, while a little too reliant on paying homage to Sam Peckinpah’s slow motion style is visceral and exciting and, in a huge shootout in Candie’s mansion, comes close to topping the massacre in Kill Bill Part One for gross out and ridiculously entertaining excess.
What also elevates this from mere clever reconstruction is that there is a proper story beating at the heart of Django Unchained and, making a pleasant and refreshing change, Tarantino chooses to tell in an almost linear fashion without his normal affectation for chapters and time shifts. This more straightforward style suits the subject matter and allows us to follow Django’s journey from slave to bounty hunter. Though Kerry Washington’s Hilda is undeveloped (no stand out female turns in this one, I’m afraid â€" one of the film’s only flaws) the determination of Django to save his wife, aided by Schultz, gives the picture purpose and, rare for Tarantino, genuine heart. The relationship between bounty hunter and his new charge is touching and the little scenes they share, especially Schultz telling a rapt Django the German folk tale of Broomhilda at dusk, are brilliantly written acted and executed. The dialogue is perfect, less of the street smart clever clever variety we’re used to but sharp as a razor and purposeful. There’s little waste in the movie.
With such great material the cast rise to the occasion. Jamie Foxx may get the less showy turn but his Django smoulders with repressed rage and a quiet purpose. As a refashioning of The Man With No Name archetype, he does well. It’s not his fault that he’s sharing the screen with three other actors who take their parts by the scruff of the neck and produce performances that are truly special. Waltz showed in Inglorious Basterds that he was an actor of impeccable timing and charisma and he proves so again, his German killer cool, urbane and charming. He acting is so strong that you look on in total admiration whenever he is on screen. Let’s hope he and Tarantino continue to work together.
In movies of this type, the villains always get the best lines and DeCaprio is astonishingly good as the slave owner Candie. With his long hair, little beard, brown teeth and fine clothes, he looks amazing but he goes on to give a performance of complete menace hidden beneath a veneer of old world Southern charm. You can detect, in every pleasant observation or kindly gesture, a madman just waiting to pop out and his scene with the former butler’s skull which he then smashes open to give a tense lecture on phrenology, is mesmerising in its delivery and in the hideousness of his ideas â€" ideas that some still cling to in this day and age. If DeCaprio is marvellous then Jackson’s turn is breath taking in its audacity. Made up to look like a 78 year old, with white hair and eyebrows and limping with a stick, Jackson’s Stephen is a nasty Uncle Tom, subservient to Candie while also acting as his surrogate father. His first appearance, with him spotting Django and shouting “Why is that nigger on a horse?†is the first of many lines that make you wonder how Tarantino convinced him to do it, but the character, in context, works perfectly. It is to Tarantino’s credit that he doesn’t take the easy way out, showing that a definite relationship exists between master and slave, the slave fiercely protective of his master while the master looks to him for guidance and advice.
Of course, this being Tarantino, the film isn’t perfect. For a start the film is about twenty minutes too long and a couple of celeb cameos (one by Jonah Hill is especially bad) feel self indulgent. Worse, the film tacks on a fairly pointless final stretch with a toe curling cameo by Tarantino as one of a number of Australian miners. The sequence is terribly unfunny and tests the audience’s patience. Thankfully elsewhere the humour is spot on, not least in a terrific sequence where Big Daddy and his men, keen to exact some revenge, pause to don KKK type hoods, only to find the eyeholes are impossible to see out of. The last five minutes are also ace, with Foxx sassy and confident and hopefully set for a repeat performance should Tarantino fancy it. I, for one, would go along for the ride.
GK Rating: *****
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