MCN Columnists

By Jake Howell jake.howell@utoronto.ca

The Torontonian Reviews: Django Unchained

Riding up as the sunset of 2012 falls, Quentin Tarantino’s latest revenge narrative spurs another fire in the hearts of cinemagoers who have grown to love the director’s particular brand of raucous story-telling. Although boiled twenty minutes too long, this spaghetti Western is nonetheless thrilling, meaty, and immensely enjoyable. More importantly, in an awards season of stuffy biopics and middling Middle Eastern depictions–RIP, Edward Saïd–Django Unchained busts loose as the best film of the year.

After an engrossing opening credits sequence–think vibrant title text with Luis Bacalov’s “Django” chanting over stereotypical Western backdrops–a shuffling line of slaves enter the frame, led like chattel by their masters on their way to Satan-knows-where. Moments later, bounty hunter Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) finds the caravan of slaves in a forest, where amongst them is our hero Django (Jamie Foxx), the only man who knows the location of Schultz’ next bounty. Finding they enjoy the company of one another, the pair team up as a wise-cracking, bounty-hunting duo of best friends, who after a successful winter of killing outlaws work out a strategy to rescue Django’s wife from a plantation owned by the ruthless Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio).

Tarantino once again plays with a mix of genres (the spaghetti Western, the romance, the comedy) but it should come as no surprise that the result is a glorious cocktail of love, swagger, and blood stains. But given the recent mass shootings in the United States (Aurora, Colorado, and Newtown, Connecticut, to name only two), audiences may find themselves uncomfortable with Django’s hyper-gore and fetishized gun violence. To this, I call upon the wise tweets of James Rocchi, who types: “Movie guns are images, not real guns”– a reassuring truth that, if necessary, will make the viewing experience of Django Unchained more enjoyable for the reality-conscious film-goer. This is comic violence, folks–it is bloody, pulpy fiction in a decades-old genre that is no stranger to destruction. Thankfully, for grindhouse nerds who dig the gross-out funnies of “splatstick” comedy, the genre tropes and Western settings serve as perfect carriers for Tarantino’s searing script and dark sense of humor.

Django Unchained is the funniest Quentin Tarantino film as well, which would suggest a new intention for the auteur. For a movie featuring the horrors of slavery as a prominent theme (and they are horrific, as the film has scenes to make us all cringe), it is surprising to see how many successful laughs there are. Of course, the humor is inevitable with another brilliant performance by Christoph Waltz, who steals every scene he’s in; serving as both the contemporary opinion of slavery (it is awful) and a reminder that the film is over-the-top (take a look at his horse and carriage). That’s not to say Waltz’s co-stars aren’t also hilarious–Foxx, DiCaprio, and yes, Samuel L. Jackson are each at the top of their game. Then again, this is not their first rodeo. (Also look for a particularly amazing scene featuring some bumbling Ku Klux Klan members, likely the funniest on-screen gag of the year.)

One of the most salient aspects of any Tarantino film is its soundtrack, and Django’s catalogue is expectedly brimming with gorgeous ballads, bombastic show-stoppers, and all-out needle-droppers. Tarantino’s ability to marry pictures with sounds proves again to be masterful; producing results that induce a vibe of grin-worthy Zen. The aural and visual qualities of Django Unchained–when the film is not bogged down by the director’s lengthy monologues–fuse to make the darkened theater around you a temple of the senses, assuming you also have a bag of popcorn in your hands (you should). It’s downright hypnotizing.

The film is not without its faults–nothing this year is, it seems–but I will repeat myself a third time: this Western is long and undoubtedly could use some cutting. Still, Tarantino’s self-indulgence does not ruin the incendiary action, quotable one-liners, and outright panache that entertains like no other filmography. Django Unchained is absolutely the finest moviegoing experience you’ll have in a 2012 release: QT knows this, wants this, and lives for these types of movies himself. It is a celebration of cinema set in a time before cinema even existed.

Oh, and Spike Lee should see it.

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One Response to “The Torontonian Reviews: Django Unchained”

  1. Tess Millay says:

    Check out “Quentin Tarantino, Cinema’s Glourious Basterd.”

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It shows how out of it I was in trying to be in it, acknowledging that I was out of it to myself, and then thinking, “Okay, how do I stop being out of it? Well, I get some legitimate illogical narrative ideas” — some novel, you know?

So I decided on three writers that I might be able to option their material and get some producer, or myself as producer, and then get some writer to do a screenplay on it, and maybe make a movie.

And so the three projects were “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” “Naked Lunch” and a collection of Bukowski. Which, in 1975, forget it — I mean, that was nuts. Hollywood would not touch any of that, but I was looking for something commercial, and I thought that all of these things were coming.

There would be no Blade Runner if there was no Ray Bradbury. I couldn’t find Philip K. Dick. His agent didn’t even know where he was. And so I gave up.

I was walking down the street and I ran into Bradbury — he directed a play that I was going to do as an actor, so we know each other, but he yelled “hi” — and I’d forgot who he was.

So at my girlfriend Barbara Hershey’s urging — I was with her at that moment — she said, “Talk to him! That guy really wants to talk to you,” and I said “No, fuck him,” and keep walking.

But then I did, and then I realized who it was, and I thought, “Wait, he’s in that realm, maybe he knows Philip K. Dick.” I said, “You know a guy named—” “Yeah, sure — you want his phone number?”

My friend paid my rent for a year while I wrote, because it turned out we couldn’t get a writer. My friends kept on me about, well, if you can’t get a writer, then you write.”
~ Hampton Fancher

“That was the most disappointing thing to me in how this thing was played. Is that I’m on the phone with you now, after all that’s been said, and the fundamental distinction between what James is dealing with in these other cases is not actually brought to the fore. The fundamental difference is that James Franco didn’t seek to use his position to have sex with anyone. There’s not a case of that. He wasn’t using his position or status to try to solicit a sexual favor from anyone. If he had — if that were what the accusation involved — the show would not have gone on. We would have folded up shop and we would have not completed the show. Because then it would have been the same as Harvey Weinstein, or Les Moonves, or any of these cases that are fundamental to this new paradigm. Did you not notice that? Why did you not notice that? Is that not something notable to say, journalistically? Because nobody could find the voice to say it. I’m not just being rhetorical. Why is it that you and the other critics, none of you could find the voice to say, “You know, it’s not this, it’s that”? Because — let me go on and speak further to this. If you go back to the L.A. Times piece, that’s what it lacked. That’s what they were not able to deliver. The one example in the five that involved an issue of a sexual act was between James and a woman he was dating, who he was not working with. There was no professional dynamic in any capacity.

~ David Simon