So the new Quention Tarantino movie, "Inglourious Basterds" (sic sic sic 'em, boy) is, as usual, a witty, arcane chat-fest punctuated by beautifully filmed bloodletting. Or vice versa: a hellacious action movie interrupted by long swaths of artful yammer. My review of the film will pop up on the site later today (I'll link to it then), but for now read Jim Emerson's penetrating (as usual) take on the patented Tarantino talkativeness, which he quite excellently nails as "a monolog divided up among 'characters'". (And therein is the very large Achilles heel of one of the most naturally gifted directors in the history of American movies: That he can't hear anyone else but himself talking.)
Emerson links to an essay by Matt Zoller Seitz and Keith Uhlich on The L Magazine, and up top I've posted their video mash-up homage to QT's demonic prolixity. NSFW unless you've got headphones, it illustrates what an amazing ear Tarantino has for language -- the beguiling sound and rhythms of it, the concussive force of conversation, the pleasures of arguments that go on for a Mobius Strip eternity. At times, I wonder if he isn't Sam Beckett reborn as an amoral, over-caffeinated whiz-kid. And there are times I wonder if Tarantino isn't becoming a figure out of Beckett himself, filling the void with words so he won't actually have to say anything.
About Movie Nation
ContributorsTy Burr is a film critic with The Boston Globe.
Mark Feeney is an arts writer for The Boston Globe.
Janice Page is movies editor for The Boston Globe.
Tom Russo is a regular correspondent for the Movies section and writes a weekly column on DVD releases.
Katie McLeod is Boston.com's features editor.
Rachel Raczka is a producer for Lifestyle and Arts & Entertainment at Boston.com.
Emily Wright is an Arts & Entertainment producer for Boston.com.
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Look for new reviews by Ty Burr and Wesley Morris at the end of each week in multiple formats.