Well kids, the Grindhouse has finally arrived, in all of it's blood-soaked, cuss-filled, vulgar glory. Does this duo of grimy flicks deliver on it's promise at offering a different type of entertainment for the modern day mainstream? Absolutely. Do the combined films form an entirely new experience, the likes a younger generation have never felt before..Not really. Though none shall come as close to bringing one back to the glory days of cheap, exploitative drive-thru style fare as the indomitable pairing of Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino continues to show, the ambitious throwback to trash cinema is not without it's share of setbacks, chiefly residing with the overall creative indulgences both director's take while attempting to emulate each of their esteemed homage's to underground forms.
Starting off appropriately enough (including the first of much touted fake-though not for long- trailers, which work with rousing success), Rodriguez's convoluted but fun zombie disaster piece seems to take it's inspirations a little more literally then it's successor. Planet Terror manages to squeeze in so many Grindhouse features that eventually one gets the feeling that Tarantino will be trying an altogether different approach. Packed with more titillating gore and slimy action then anything he has done since From Dusk Til Dawn, Rodriguez perhaps borrows a little too closely from his cult hit of over ten years ago to portray the gruesome but never grim battle a dwindling number of residents must put up against an increasing number of poisoned undead. Showcasing some of the fantastic make-up effects that made Dusk such a guilty pleasure, Tom Savini's extended cameo surely factors into all the gore this half of the feature provides. An excellently dated score, composed by one-man-creative-team Rodriguez himself, lends perfectly to the older feel of the film and cannot be credited enough in finding a memorably familiar voice for the inhabitants of Planet Terror to dwell about. In the end, this first half of a double feature provides all the traditionalistic toppings one would come into Grindhouse expecting. Highlighted by some explosively sexy action sequencing (of course prominently advertised with Rose McGowan's leg-shooting antics), Planet Terror cuts out just as it is about to overstay it's welcome with a wild if predictable conclusion.
Following with three more artificial movie trailers, guest director's Eli Roth, Edgar Wright and Rob Zombie wisely use the few minutes they are given to provide some explosive comedic relief while indulging their b-movie fetishes. Complete with phony advertisements for Mexican cuisine, this five minute wannabe intermission serves as an interesting divider and fun way to help the audience take a breather but ultimately does not escape the pompous construct that it is. It seems a loyal dedication to the audio and visual characteristics that made these 1970 style film's such pleasant memories for these warped film-makers ends up feeling like it's chief pretentiousness. While it remains cool throughout to see Rodriguez and Tarantino emulate the old days by adding dirt, dust, missing frames, poor edits, and an overall muddied production to the two tales, often these indulgences seem to be less about the style of the film and more about hiding a distinct lack of storytelling or personality these writer's should be articulating instead of shunning.
This becomes no more apparent then after a few minutes into Tarantino's Death Proof, which from the very beginning employs too many cheaply edited pot-shots that do nothing but gently condescend the viewer with it's misleading mystique. I'm all for the style they are striving for and the cool conceptual gambles they took here, so long as they are not purposely, and repeatedly taunting their audience with the clunky editing, which by and large it feels like. Thankfully it seems Tarantino got most of these unnecessary quirks out quickly into his movie so he can concentrate on what he does best...or not. Largely the Yang to Planet Terror's Yin, Death Proof is a highly indulgent, dialog driven moody revenge piece. A far cry from the fun, fast pace of movie number 1, Tarantino's extended conversations centering around a group of (not so) bad-ass females may leave many of the director's fans expecting more. Though largely redeemed by a powerful climax and ridiculously entertaining final shot, the majority of this bloated short finds the once profoundly relevant screenwriter at his mediocre best, spending an inordinate amount of time concentrating on the weak exchanges between a group of women Tarantino obviously thought were cooler then the final product dictated. As we watch a pseudo-edgy female cast talk through an unnecessary amount of Pulp Fiction-like banter that refuses to engage the crowd, most non-visceral tension is largely squandered by the writer's inability to further Stuntman Mike's (a refreshed and rockin' Kurt Russell) characterization which leads to a spectacularly filmed, though psychologically unfulfilled car chase finale. Though the fragmented Death Proof feels underdeveloped and even lazy at times, Tarantino will never have a lack of tricks up his sleeve to completely sink the piece into boredom. Alas, when the ego-maniacal director is not busy indulging some irrelevant fetish of his, Death Proof is a taut, eerie film that makes good on it's deal to shoot some of the most harrowing car sequences of the past few decades.
Anyone not directly investing multiple sleepless nights of fanboy devotion in anticipation to the B-movie double feature spectacle should not feel shortchanged despite all the problems I have noted above. An overabundance of hype in two of our generation's more conceptually ambitious auteurs has somehow wounded this overwhelmingly fearless piece of work, and though it may fall short of some expectations, Grindhouse chiefly delivers all the hell-raising, flesh-chopping, chick-watching, tire-screeching goodies it had promised. Viewers are treated to plenty of "I can't believe they are showing that on screen" moments, but the cumulative effect unfortunately does not add up to the transcendent crowd-bonding experience I was led to believe should happen.
Starting off appropriately enough (including the first of much touted fake-though not for long- trailers, which work with rousing success), Rodriguez's convoluted but fun zombie disaster piece seems to take it's inspirations a little more literally then it's successor. Planet Terror manages to squeeze in so many Grindhouse features that eventually one gets the feeling that Tarantino will be trying an altogether different approach. Packed with more titillating gore and slimy action then anything he has done since From Dusk Til Dawn, Rodriguez perhaps borrows a little too closely from his cult hit of over ten years ago to portray the gruesome but never grim battle a dwindling number of residents must put up against an increasing number of poisoned undead. Showcasing some of the fantastic make-up effects that made Dusk such a guilty pleasure, Tom Savini's extended cameo surely factors into all the gore this half of the feature provides. An excellently dated score, composed by one-man-creative-team Rodriguez himself, lends perfectly to the older feel of the film and cannot be credited enough in finding a memorably familiar voice for the inhabitants of Planet Terror to dwell about. In the end, this first half of a double feature provides all the traditionalistic toppings one would come into Grindhouse expecting. Highlighted by some explosively sexy action sequencing (of course prominently advertised with Rose McGowan's leg-shooting antics), Planet Terror cuts out just as it is about to overstay it's welcome with a wild if predictable conclusion.
Following with three more artificial movie trailers, guest director's Eli Roth, Edgar Wright and Rob Zombie wisely use the few minutes they are given to provide some explosive comedic relief while indulging their b-movie fetishes. Complete with phony advertisements for Mexican cuisine, this five minute wannabe intermission serves as an interesting divider and fun way to help the audience take a breather but ultimately does not escape the pompous construct that it is. It seems a loyal dedication to the audio and visual characteristics that made these 1970 style film's such pleasant memories for these warped film-makers ends up feeling like it's chief pretentiousness. While it remains cool throughout to see Rodriguez and Tarantino emulate the old days by adding dirt, dust, missing frames, poor edits, and an overall muddied production to the two tales, often these indulgences seem to be less about the style of the film and more about hiding a distinct lack of storytelling or personality these writer's should be articulating instead of shunning.
This becomes no more apparent then after a few minutes into Tarantino's Death Proof, which from the very beginning employs too many cheaply edited pot-shots that do nothing but gently condescend the viewer with it's misleading mystique. I'm all for the style they are striving for and the cool conceptual gambles they took here, so long as they are not purposely, and repeatedly taunting their audience with the clunky editing, which by and large it feels like. Thankfully it seems Tarantino got most of these unnecessary quirks out quickly into his movie so he can concentrate on what he does best...or not. Largely the Yang to Planet Terror's Yin, Death Proof is a highly indulgent, dialog driven moody revenge piece. A far cry from the fun, fast pace of movie number 1, Tarantino's extended conversations centering around a group of (not so) bad-ass females may leave many of the director's fans expecting more. Though largely redeemed by a powerful climax and ridiculously entertaining final shot, the majority of this bloated short finds the once profoundly relevant screenwriter at his mediocre best, spending an inordinate amount of time concentrating on the weak exchanges between a group of women Tarantino obviously thought were cooler then the final product dictated. As we watch a pseudo-edgy female cast talk through an unnecessary amount of Pulp Fiction-like banter that refuses to engage the crowd, most non-visceral tension is largely squandered by the writer's inability to further Stuntman Mike's (a refreshed and rockin' Kurt Russell) characterization which leads to a spectacularly filmed, though psychologically unfulfilled car chase finale. Though the fragmented Death Proof feels underdeveloped and even lazy at times, Tarantino will never have a lack of tricks up his sleeve to completely sink the piece into boredom. Alas, when the ego-maniacal director is not busy indulging some irrelevant fetish of his, Death Proof is a taut, eerie film that makes good on it's deal to shoot some of the most harrowing car sequences of the past few decades.
Anyone not directly investing multiple sleepless nights of fanboy devotion in anticipation to the B-movie double feature spectacle should not feel shortchanged despite all the problems I have noted above. An overabundance of hype in two of our generation's more conceptually ambitious auteurs has somehow wounded this overwhelmingly fearless piece of work, and though it may fall short of some expectations, Grindhouse chiefly delivers all the hell-raising, flesh-chopping, chick-watching, tire-screeching goodies it had promised. Viewers are treated to plenty of "I can't believe they are showing that on screen" moments, but the cumulative effect unfortunately does not add up to the transcendent crowd-bonding experience I was led to believe should happen.