Samuel L. Jackson in “The Hateful Eight.” (Courtesy Andrew Cooper/The Weinstein Company)
“The Hateful Eight” was shelved once because Quentin Tarantino was furious that an early version of the script had been leaked. Given that the film holds the kinds of reveals and unexpected twists of an Agatha Christie Whodunnit, the much ado about plot exposure holds water. But having sat through the 168 minute amble (complete with an overture and an intermission) which pretty much unfolds in a single cramped setting, one can only wonder if that earlier pass might not have been more lean and to the point.
What’s ultimately served up is Tarantino channeling Tarantino with men of swagger caught in a mean situation waxing about righteousness and the universe in pulpy poetic verse as tensions rise. It’s what you’d expect and hope for in a Tarantino film, but by the edgy auteur’s barometer (he’s helmed eight movies to date), it’s a lesser cut.
What holds “Eight” in check mostly is its overindulgence, lack of nuance and the fact Q.T. has been to every corner of this room before — and I don’t mean “Four Rooms.” From “Kill Bill, Volume I” onward, Tarantino’s been busy reshaping the revenge flick while paying homage the quirky genres of the ‘70s, namely the cheesy b-roll (“Kill Bill” and “Grindhouse”), the Spaghetti Western (“Django Unchained”) and the chopsocky silliness of kung fu flicks re-cut with lethal seriousness for the “Kill Bill” series. Continue reading
For What it's Worth 