“ONCE UPON A TIME IN
HOLLYWOOD”
QT channels his inner Paddy
for a giant middle finger to ….?
This beautiful film was made
for boomer geeks like me. Whether you
relish the black and white epic TV of the post-Nov 22 years or the golden
patina of the raw 1968 era of the mod revisionists, one will be satisfied. If, like me, you are enamored of the ghosts
of go-go booted waifs or are morbidly fascinated by the lurking evil of the
encroaching decade of Watergate, your hunger will be sated. This is a film by a retro geek for retro
geeks. But, unlike Tarantino’s unfocused
slice of fandom in “Grindhouse” this epic has a fantastic (if unexpected)
narrative arc and two main characters that hit every mark of the McKee ethos. This film will be rewarded at awards season. This film will not make a lot of money.
“Once Upon a Time in
Hollywood” is clearly the film Tarantino was born to make. His bag of tricks (never unwelcome) is
present yet restrained. This is a QT
film. But not the one you’d expect.
Two things happened to this
naïve filmgoer in 1994. I was
permanently scarred by the visceral carnage of Oliver Stone’s “Natural Born
Killers.” While anticipating the
penultimate staging of my favorite form of satire, I was engulfed in an
acid-trip bloodbath of cruelty and hypocritical mocking. It didn’t help that two giggling middle
school girls that snuck in joined me in the near empty theater. Our own Quentin wrote the script for that one
and it was not the film he intended.
Therefore, I dreaded the over-hyped masterpiece that he would give birth
to four months later. What vile and
nauseating experience will this be….I must see it though. And see it I did. I saw “Pulp Fiction” a couple of times that
year. I celebrated its mash up of the
literal and the absurd. Nothing like it
had I seen before. (I had not seen
“Reservoir Dogs” and loved “True Romance” before I knew the voice screaming
behind it was not Tony Scott).
As the Hollywood trust fund
kids love to say, “CUT TO:” twenty two
years later and I meet QT at the Paramount during a near empty screening of
“Mad Mad World” As is the usual case, I
didn’t tell him who I was—the mystery that I’m some studio big shot always
amuses me—and he was gracious in his praise of this comedy. His lack of knowledge regarding my low status
allowed me to regale him of his talent creating CHARACTERS and VIVIDLY putting
them on screen in much the same way, say, Blake Edwards, did. He loved that and stopped talking. It’s then that I departed to his quizzical
glances. I have always left Hollywood
royalty I happen upon in that way.
And that, dear friends, is
what this film is about. It’s about
dreams and happenstance. It’s about
being at the right place at the wrong time or vice versa. Literally.
It’s about Sliding Doors and all that mumbo jumbo.
Tarantino didn’t make a
version of Edward’s “S.O.B.” here. There
is not one bitter pill spit out here.
It’s all about love. More than
you think. Make no mistake, when Brad
Pitt’s stuntman ogles the ultimate Manson girl cross his path to the tune of
“Mrs. Robinson,” you could end the film there.
And this trick of every musical cue being a fan boy’s wet dream, every
driving shot (I kept expecting a process shot gag) being an incredible
synthesis of musical bliss and trippy camerawork; of every wall, domestic and
otherwise, lined with movie posters rather than pretentious artwork; and of an
almost clinical adherence to appropriate background references, the geek is
disappointed when “California Dreaming” arrives in a wan transition sequence, a
capella and fleeting. But that’s minor.
Paddy Chayefsky wrote the
groundbreaking “Network” as a terrifying satire of media and its resultant
zombiedom. The only thing QT shares with
this is a penchant for long studious takes. Not ten minute monologues, as Paddy was wont
to write, but set pieces here and there.
Little nuggets, short films if you will, that Tarantino has gleefully
snuck in to all of his ultra-sensationalist fare before this. No, Quentin mirrors Chayefsky’s lesser-known
study in grotesqueness in “The Goddess,” a glorious slander on Marilyn Monroe
and Her Tinseltown. Paddy could not hide
his love of movie town in this tragic takedown.
Similarly, whatever disdain QT has for Hollywood is hidden by his
exuberance for the process, for the lifestyle, for the history.
Dicaprio and Pitt have never
been more human. It’s been difficult for
this reviewer to elevate either of these actors to more than a method pretty
boy, always seeming much more youthful looking than the gravitas required of
the parts they were gifted with. Here,
however, they do embody their characters:
Leonardo’s has-been western actor from the heartland and Brad’s tainted
anti-hero of a stuntman. Truth be told,
as I watched Damian Lewis do a throwaway scene as Steve McQueen, I ventured
into wish fulfillment of two actors with a few more miles on them,
age-wise. But it is what it is.
And Tarantino's deification
of Sharon Tate did no favors to Margo Robbie as the doomed actress. It’s as if she is a vessel for the
aforementioned hot pant fetish. That is
more than made up for Margaret Qualley’s complete embodiment of the “hippie
chick.” Her “Pussycat” has all the
ingredients: sauciness, boldness,
naiveté, and sexiness. Her crunchy
rawness was a clear antidote to the almost sterile version of Tate provided
here.
So QT is not providing a
“fuck you” to us geeks. That’s evident
in the “Mannix” clips, the “Land of the Giant” references, and the “Candy”
billboard. He’s not shooting the middle
finger to Hollywood—if nothing, it’s a love letter. A gentle one at that. And that is where the jab may be. Gentleness.
The slender escape from moral
turpitude and utter revulsion I expected from “Pulp Fiction” in 1994 led to an
almost apologist acceptance of ultra-violence in the service of story,
character and excellent filmmaking.
Whereas the QT brand has been copied innumerous times, never to the same
effect (the love of QT overtakes the love of cinema, get it?), there is only
one Quentin. He will give his fans a
taste of what they came from, but only a taste.
And, without giving away any spoilers, he will leave them wanting. For this geek, it was a thrill ride, a full
glass of wine to sip. I will rewatch it
for sure. The audience that Tarantino
created in 1994 will not return.
I walked out of the theater
needing to discuss this with someone.
And another aging boomer was discoursing on the history of the Manson
murders with his companion. I felt compelled
to join in just to interject my immediate thoughts. As I was immediately rejecting his statements
as coming from a yahoo based on the fact that he didn’t know Pitt from
Dicaprio, my whole take on the film changed.
He mentioned one throwaway line at the very end that I missed while I
was commiserating with my disappointment.
Yes, a disappointment that was borne of expectations of an audience
member and NOT a film lover. And that
throwaway line that I missed, made it a whole different film. That is filmmaking.
