How can we create anything new when someone else has probably already beaten us to the idea? Every piece of new literature then becomes a collection of references and allusions to other works. The only way to come up with anything new in this kind of environment seems to mean using such a large amalgamation of references and allusions that the material then takes on a life of its own, outside of and away from the source material. In other words, something like Glee, or even better, something like a Tarantino film.In that moment it felt like I had finally hit on something. See, for the longest time I haven't wanted to write about any Tarantino film because any form of analysis seemed like such a daunting task. It's the same way I feel about writing on Tolkien. Somehow, someway, they both just feel untouchable to me. (Does anyone else feel this way about a writer/filmmaker/artist?) So, when I wrote the above sentences, I thought I'd finally discovered something.
Well, that something has yet to fully realize itself within my brain, but I have at least come to one decision: the first of Tarantino's films that I'm going to write about is going to be Inglourious Basterds.
After weeks of looking at the little section of my film library where I keep Tarantino, Basterds just kept drawing my eye. Not that I don't enjoy his other films (I have yet to see Jackie Brown, but hope to remedy the situation now that it is on Netflix Instant). Picking one Tarantino film over another is nearly impossible.
Pulp Fiction redefined film narrative and structure, setting the stage for countless imitations. Kill Bill Vols. 1 & 2 is a stunning celebration of exploitation films, westerns, samurai films, and countless others--all the while glorying in feminine power and sexuality (there is one particular shot that always cracks me up, but I'll discuss that in a separate post). Death Proof proved that suspense makes the payoff so much more enjoyable.
All of the above films are great (I didn't forget about Reservoir Dogs; I just don't like it that much, even though it has some fascinating moments), but Inglourious Basterds seems to be a wonderful combination of everything I love about a Tarantino film.
The brilliance of this scene is in Tarantino's screenplay and in Waltz's performance. Both work very hard at building suspense without making the audience bored, stretching the very limits of the audience's patience. Of course, this is a technique which Tarantino has perfected.
Take Pulp Fiction for instance, when Jules and Verne first get to the apartment of the guy they're supposed to "take out." Instead of barging right in and demanding the case with the gold light, they hold back and continue their discussion on the appropriateness of massaging another man's wife's feet. The camera waits by the door, expectantly, waiting impatiently for them to return to the job at hand. And even when they do enter the apartment, they take their time getting to the point. (Now, this technique has been observed before by Siskel and Ebert when they filmed a video essay on this very film, but I think it's appropriate to mention the scene again here.)
Such writing and acting is a high-wire act, one wrong step and the scene fails. I have yet to see a scene like this fail in Tarantino's capable hands.
In another scene (one that so happens to be my favorite of the film), Lt. Aldo Raine's Basterds find themselves in a pub, working undercover as German soldiers, waiting to rendezvous with a double-agent, Bridget von Hammersmark (played by Diane Kruger). As with anything in war, everything does not go according to plan. The Basterds find themselves interrupting the celebrations of a group of real German soldiers. The problem, of course, is that they can't very well engage in clandestine activities with a whole troop of Germans just feet away. So what do they do? They wait. And problem after problem keeps them from talking about what they want/need to talk about: the plan to kill Hitler. The whole scene is an excellent example of how effective suspense is more thrilling than any massive explosion.
But Tarantino doesn't hold back on the violence. He gives to us, and he gives it good. Tarantino's violence is exaggerated to the point of absurdity, and I believe this is purposefully done. Tarantino wants the audience to feel the emotions of his characters, but he never wants them to forget that they are watching a movie. Hence, the extreme violence is also surrounded by countless film references. Hell, almost every scene is a reference to another movie. The most daunting task to analyzing one of his films is that you need to have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of cinema in order to unpack all of his references.
Inglourious Basterds, like Tarantino's other films, is an amalgamation of so many allusions that it takes on a life of its own, creating a new style of filmmaking that is simultaneously referential and new. His films seem to be the very definition of postmodern (at least as I understand the term) and representational of modern cultural experience. Like with Glee, Tarantino uses the surface features of other works simply as a shorthand, a marker, so the audience (even if most of them aren't even aware of the reference) can feel familiar with and yet awed by the experience. His identity as a filmmaker is tied up with his own experiences of watching movies. Instead of attempting to completely divorce himself from all the films he has seen, Tarantino creates an artistic identity that fully immerses itself within his past knowledge. He uses many of the same moves of the films he so dearly loves, but Tarantino reorganizes the pieces into a collage that quite often is a wondrous experience.
