Fierce Insanity

Inglourious Basterds is a masterwork from director Quentin
Tarantino, another fine film in his impressive line of crazed,
brilliant movies. Whether or not you like the guy, there is no denying
that his films and his style are his, and his alone. While many have
tried to copy him, nobody does Tarantino like Tarantino, and
Basterds is one of his best.

This World War II action drama has kicked around in Tarantino’s head
for years. Adam Sandler, Simon Pegg, Leonardo DiCaprio and even Eddie
Murphy had all been rumored for parts at one time or another, but in
the end, Tarantino wound up with a guy named Brad Pitt to anchor the
project. As Lt. Aldo Raine—whose face is permanently contorted,
and his neck scarred, from what was likely a lynching
experience—Pitt is explosively fierce and funny.

Raine commands “The Basterds,” a salty, perturbed group of
Jewish-American soldiers on a mission to gather 100 Nazi scalps apiece.
Chief among the group is Sgt. Donny Donowitz, played by Hostel director Eli Roth. Donowitz, “The Bear Jew,” is the guy Raine calls in
when Nazis choose death over revealing secrets. He swings a mighty bat
and compares his head-swatting prowess to the skills of the great Ted
Williams. Apparently, Sandler (who had a schedule conflict) was
Tarantino’s original choice for Donowitz, but Roth makes the role his
own.

Divided into five parts, the film starts off with a little ditty
called “Once Upon a Time in Nazi-Occupied France,” where we are
introduced to notorious Jew hunter Col. Hans Landa. As played by
Christoph Waltz, Landa is an all-time-great cinematic weasel. Every
time the man speaks, in whichever language he chooses, the stomach
turns. He is the ultimate personification of a Nazi, the rankest, most
vile form of human being to ever walk the Earth. Don’t be surprised if
Waltz gets some Oscar consideration. I, for one, will be pissed if he
doesn’t.

Characters from the first story play large parts in other segments,
including Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent), proprietor of a
movie theater in Paris. Her theater is patronized by Nazi hero and film
star Fredrick Zoller (Daniel Brühl), who supposedly killed
hundreds of soldiers with one sniper rifle. Her theater plays a big
part in the film’s final segment, featuring Tarantino’s violently
playful rewrite of history.

Dramatic films involving historic figures like Adolf Hitler usually
play by the book and follow events faithfully. Well, the rules of
historical fact do not apply to Tarantino, who comes up with his own
conclusion for the Third Reich. I’ve probably said this before:
Tarantino is totally nuts, and that’s a blessing to filmdom.
Predictability goes out the window, accompanied by a hail of
machine-gunfire and burning celluloid.

There are so many moments in this film when my face hurt from
smiling so hard. Pitt’s murdering of the Italian language near the
film’s end, Roth’s face when he sees Hitler, and Waltz’s repugnant
request for a glass of milk are standouts. I could probably list 100
more.

I have been following the development of this project for years.
Based on the buzz, I was expecting something like The Dirty
Dozen or The Guns of Navarone, but the resultant insanity
defies categorization. Leave it to Tarantino to work surf rock and
David Bowie songs into a World War II movie.

For those of us who detest filmmakers who paint by the numbers,
Tarantino is something akin to Picasso. I wouldn’t be surprised if he
wound up missing an ear in a padded room and wearing a straitjacket
someday, writing his scripts with a pen clenched in his teeth.

As somebody who watches a lot of movies, I feel an immense wave of
gratitude during and after a Tarantino film. The man sets out to give
his audience unique film experiences, and he always succeeds.

This article appears in Aug 27 – Sep 2, 2009.