Inglourious Bastards: Okay, a little glorious


Quentin Tarantino packs a punch like usual with his Nazi slap-in-the-face, Inglourious Bastards, showing an organized, street-like Jewish rebellion: The bastards. A crew of Nazi killers who remove the German’s scalps for treasure, and wipe out whole scouting parties to the point of making a name for themselves amongst the Nazis. It’s well acted all around, and rightfully won Christoph Waltz an Oscar for his role as a cruel German officer, or ‘The Jew Hunter’ and features a very dense plot, with several story-lines weaving into one, like the Director did in one of his earlier films, ‘Pulp Fiction’.

The movie is somewhat exploitative in the way it takes a terrible event in history and turns it into a showcase and excuse for being terribly violent; yet, its rewarding in more ways than this, and Jewish folk are a bit to modest to make a movie so audacious: Roman Polanski making this film would be much different than Tarantino making it, and people no doubt can make the distinction. Lt. Aldo Rain (Brad Pitt), is leading a team of Jew-recruits into the heart of Germany; their scenes are the most exciting, like a scene taking place at a bar where a member of the crew is trying to fit in amongst a table of hearty German officers. The result is not a gentle tip of the hat and a salutation, the bastards send bullets in all possible directions. This leaves a famous German actress, alive but wounded in the leg,  for their taking: they use her as sabotage to access a party for the Fuhrer, later in the film.

A young Jewish girl, Bridget Von Hammersmark, who escaped Lieutenant Hans earlier in the film, becomes a theater owner at a fairly young age, having inherited it, and becomes the attraction of a young and famous German soldier, who, as a a hiding Jew, she internally could never love. He’s more than just a soldier, too: he is a star in a new German film where he solely sits at the top of a clock-tower and shoots down Jews below. The fuhrer loves it, but Bridget comes up with a plan to show the Germans their cruelty, a down-pouring of beautiful revenge: Let the theater on fire. And with the easily combustible film of that era, it would not be difficult for it to actually happen.

The film is a fantastic genre-blend of action, violence, and alternate history, featuring typically memorable characters from Tarantino, some hypnotic scenes, and an all around entertaining flick: Inglourious Bastards is far from a disappointment from Tarantino.



What puts Seven above the normal detective tale is its method of discovery; It emits a picture-book quality by inspecting the crime after the murder’s committed and analyzes it in real language. A B-grade director would want to slide in flashback whiz-scenes of the murder, with shaky frames and loud beating music. But Fincher has the characters, detectives, and Doctor’s explain the outcome, and the visualization of each crime is more frightening than any flashback.

Two detectives must fight through the muck and poverty of their city and seek a murderer who, by way of the book-smarts of Detective Somerset, has a medieval modus operandi: Each murder relates to a sin in the seven deadly sins. They weave through after-effects of the murder, disgusting and impure, yet still Detective Somerset considers the man to be highly intelligent and methodical, while rookie Mill’s diagnoses him as just another wack-job, as if he has seen them all.

The cop-duo between Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman plays along well, in fact in some ways I find the screenwriter wanted us to pick our man; as if the whole murder-case was a question of righteousness, before they even knew they were being tested. They both had niches, vices, idiosyncrasies, but if it came down to a choice, I’d say hotshot detective David Mills was the least-respectable; he needed immediate gratification in all he did; arguing for him is a one-rant and get out ordeal; punching in doors and shouting at journalists is his personal equilibrium. Impulsive, unprecedented, and obscure, it would have been in no way surprising to me if the final shot revealed in text that he either killed himself or was shot in a break-in.

Seven is an undoubtedly great, stylistic film with an ending bound to tighten the stomach muscles, and a director who’s future will shine in the industry, partly because of the shared sense of methodology with his film’s murderer.