Film: Django Unchained (2012)
Stars: Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kerry Washington, Samuel L. Jackson
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Oscar History: 5 nominations/2 wins (Best Picture,
Supporting Actor-Christoph Waltz*,
Original Screenplay*, Cinematography, Sound Editing)
Snap Judgment Ranking: 4/5 stars
A new Quentin Tarantino film is always cause for a celebration, as it happens so rarely (the ridiculous notion that he can retire is just that, as he's hardly made enough movies to warrent quitting now). This film, though not related through characters or plotline, is certainly a stylistic companion piece to his 2009 work
Inglourious Basterds, one of his best films (though with Tarantino, not to gush, but which of his films isn't one of his best films?). Both films become, essentially, revenge fantasies working in the shadow of Sergio Leone and the films of Charles Bronson, and in the process tackle extraordinarily touchy topics (in the case of
Basterds, the Holocaust, in the case of
Django, slavery) not with the kid gloves that typically satirists use for the subjects, but with the care of a battering ram. The result is a provocative, sometimes borderline offensive, but at-its-core, deeply entertaining film that, while not equalling the magic of the 2009 film, more than justifies its shelf space next to it in the Tarantino canon.
(Spoilers throughout) The film tells multiple tales (this is a Tarantino film, after all, it's going to meander), but at its core is the story of Django (Foxx), a slave who has been separated from his beloved Broomhilda (Washington), and crosses paths with Dr. King Schultz, a bounty hunter mascarading as a dentist, who must team up with Django, as he is the only person who can identify Schultz's next bounty. Schultz is impressed with Django's moxie, and decides to take him on as a partner, which Django gladly accepts, as he wishes to raise enough money to save Broomhilda.
As the film progresses, the story shifts away from the bounty hunters and focuses more solely upon Django's quest for Broomhilda, and we are treated to Leo DiCaprio's most game performance in years, as a villainous, slightly naive, anger-driven, lethal plantation owner named Calvin Candie. We also see the return of Samuel L. Jackson to the center of one of Tarantino's films, this time as a former house slave named Stephen. The movie meanders quite a bit through this part, as the four central actors spend the bulk of the second third of the film in a verbal sparring match with each other, each relishing Tarantino's sharp, campy dialogue, and we see the juxtaposition of deep, horrific treatment of slaves (in a scene I spent most of my time peaking from behind my sleeve, there is a violent-even-for-Tarantino sequence of Calvin with a "washed-up" fighter named Dartegnon that will make you rethink how you view Jack Dawson in every future outing with
Titanic) and the multiple comic bits, particularly surrounding the cartoonish Candie and the ornery Stephen.
It's a fine line, and this is probably as good of time as any for me to address the controversy surrounding the film's accuracy, as well as its tact with its subject. For those who haven't seen
Inglourious, I should probably throw a spoiler alert out right now as I'm going to be discussing both films. The director's 2009 effort proved that he has no problem completely chucking history to the wind (with Hitler dying in a theater fire, rather than in his bunker at the end of the war, for example). This film also bends history severely to serve the plot, with things like the KKK (led by Jonah Hill, in one of many guest appearances in the film) making an appearance ten years before its formation.
The problem with this is not that Tarantino is willing to tackle his subject from a satirical or controversial perspective (this is never a bad thing-art is nothing if it can't continue to splinter, bend, and break boundaries). The problem is that sometimes Tarantino's script and his character of Stephen in particular don't frame the situation properly to have a respectful resolution to certain arguments that have been propogated against the film. What I mean by this is, while some of the incendiary speech that is used (and as has been noted, there's a lot of it), may be historically accurate, there are sequences where it seems to be used more for the shock factor of using taboo or hateful words just to use them, rather than to assist the plot or the argument that Tarantino is making about the atrocities of the era and of racism (and make no doubt, Tarantino is making that argument, in his own, twisted way). In addition, there is little distinction made between DiCaprio's Calvin Candie, a villain by choice, and Jackson's Stephen, a villain of circumstance. Smart moviegoers will obviously make the distinction, but the film doesn't help make this case or point this out, and I think in that way Tarantino misses an opportunity not just to keep everything relative, but to add some shades of grey to his story.
I don't think that these valid arguments, however, take away from the artistry of the movie so much that the film should be dismissed in its entirety. Indeed, there are great things to enjoy about the film, including Tarantinos's lithe script and capable direction, and a handful of really terrific performances. Though he borrows heavily from his Hans Landa, Waltz is a charming devil and delivers every line with aplomb. Jamie Foxx, an actor I go back-and-forth on, exhibits great panache as Django; the Oscar winner has had few opportunities to really show off since his signature 2004 roles in
Collateral and
Ray-he definitely takes advantage. The technical team is excellent, save one key partner (we'll get there in a second)-Robert Richardson's work is brilliant as ever, Sharen Davis should be cursing the Academy for not being included for her delicious costuming, and the music, from original songs by John Legend to an inspired use of the Rocky Roberts classic, "Django" make this yet another perfectly-crafted Tarantino soundtrack. And while the cameos occasionally distract (who was the character wearing a mask that was clearly a woman, and why was that not addressed-was it Uma, Diane, or one of Tarantino's other favorite leading ladies, or am I imagining it?!?), they are such fun it's hard to complain. I particularly adored the Franco Nero bit, even though I was the only person in my theater who laughed at it, and therefore felt like a bit of a pariah.
Not everything works, which is why this is lesser to
Basterds. In particular, I do not understand why Tarantino, a man who can find depths in forgotten actors like Robert Forster and Darryl Hannah, seems intent on having himself make extended cameos throughout his films, as he is an abysmal actor; a polar bear could achieve a better Australian accent. If he wants to makes appearances, do delightful, wordless ones like Marty did in
Hugo. The late Sally Menke's proficiency with pruning Tarantino's film was greatly lacking, as there were many moments in the center of the film that desperately needed a better editor. And while violence and Tarantino are like salt and pepper, the extended shoot-outs in the film's final chapter had me looking at my watch, rather than gasping in the gore.
Overall, though, this is a strong, though imperfect entry in the Tarantino canon. He should be proud, and though I'm terrified about which subject he next picks, I can't wait to see what he has in store for me next.
