There are moments of absolute genius in this film. These moments of brilliance are wedged between sophomoric, half thoughts that should have never made it to the screen. This film is like having fine filet Mignon served between two slices of stale Wonderbread.

The film is little more than a childish revenge fantasy where a small band of eight Jewish soldiers are assembled to commit acts of terrorism against the Nazis who are occupying France. Okay, the film actually has very little to do with that set up. Actually, Tarantino wanders about and all but avoids this construct. Instead he focuses on a developing plot between the soldiers and partisans to blow up a small cinema where all of the Nazi hierarchy, including Hitler himself, will be in attendance. This split narrative offers two avenues for Tarantino to travel. One is a send-up of the highly self-congratulatory aspect of war films; the other a reminder that war film are indeed about real death and real human evil.

Those looking for any historical accuracy will need to look elsewhere. Then again, as with most war movies, Tarantino bends history to meet his temporary needs. To complain that Tarantino takes obvious liberty with reality is as silly as looking at John Wayne's war films and considering them adept examinations of the historical record. What is interesting is that the more preposterous Tarantino gets with his mockery of war movies the less effective his film making becomes. It is when he is dealing very possible situations that the film achieves its highest points.

The "good parts" of the film opens with a carefully executed scene at a French farmhouse. German Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz), a.k.a. "The Jew Hunter" has come looking for missing Jewish families from the area. Landa carries himself with a pleasant, refined manner but we understand immediately that this is a slick exterior covering a sinister soul. As the smiling Landa slowly decimates the farmer's hope of keeping the secret that the missing Jews are under his floorboards, it becomes clear we are being treated to a great performance.

The film has Tarantino's name on it. The posters promise Brad Pitt. The fact is that this is Christoph Waltz's movie. His portrayal of Landa is enthralling, absolutely amazing. His demeanor, speech, the way he manages his dialog puts Waltz's work on par with great performances such as Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lector or Ralph Fiennes' Amon Goeth.

It is Waltz's scenes that raise this film above its juvenile roots. When critics praise the film they are thinking of the scenes involving Landa investigating the brewing plot to kill his superiors. The character brings a dark cloud of tension and death wherever he goes. Tarantino smartly allows him to have long, patient conversations with others and the director drags out the tension to excruciating lengths.

The frustrating thing of this film is that Tarantino, while bright enough to create Landa, wasn't controlled enough to give him a worthy adversary. Landa lurks about, causing fear and trembling but there is no one of note confronting him. The "Basterds" are all one dimensional half-thoughts. I dare say that most people watching the film could remember any of their names. The head of the American squad is Lt. Aldo Raine portrayed by Brad Pitt. Pitt embarrasses himself with a shallow performance that is highlighted by the comparison with Waltz. Pitt wads some cotton balls in his mouth and takes eagerly mocking Tennessee hick accent and considers his work done.

To be fair to Pitt and crew Tarantino's script abandons them early on. Down the other road the film travels, we are introduced to the Basterds. Tarantino promises us we'll go along with them on their exploits but then we discover that the frantic director is satisfied with assuming we wouldn't be interested in such nonsense. He shifts gears exploring the preposterous cinema plot. Had Tarantino taken Raine more seriously and raised him to the level he developed Landa, this could have been a masterwork. As it stands, it will get attention but it will also fade away over time. Another example of Tarantino preferring schlock over art.

Cautions: This is a Tarantino movie - there is blood, shooting, stabbing, bludgeoning and pain. There is also plenty of bad language. Although, I probably don't need to tell you that.






Related Reviews:
World War II movies
Hart's War (2002)
Der Falscher "The Counterfeiters" (2007)


Other Critic’s Reviews:
Roger Ebert
Commentary Magazine

Labels: Brad Pitt, Eli Roth, film, movie review, Nazis, Quentin Tarantino