Death Proof
This homage to b-grade horror movies of the 70s is certainly not the peak of Quentin Tarantino’s work, but there’s still a lot to be savored nonetheless. The grainy imagery, obtrusive jump cuts, and obvious bad editing may put many modern-day moviegoers off, but it goes to serve that Tarantino knows what he’s doing when it comes to these films. The biggest problem this viewer (and many others) rightfully have with the film is the overabundance of dialogue among the female characters. They gab on and on in at least two or three notoriously endless scenes, and we wind up knowing a little too much info about them as a result. The saving grace would be if they were actually likable, and for the most part they are, with the exception being the hideous Jungle Julia character. An obviously enraptured Tarantino films her as if we should think of her as a goddess on high (with endless shots of her legs and feet) when the basic cold truth is that the actress just isn’t very attractive to begin with, and thus seems to get too much screen time. It’s interesting to note that the film is almost evenly divided in half, and the second half transition to a more clean “modern” look is also a bit jarring. However, for the most part, Tarantino’s casting instincts are true: Kurt Russell as Stuntman Mike makes for a frightening and fascinating villain, and I loved the way he talks a character into giving him a lapdance early on (“There’s nothing more fetching than a bruised ego on a beautiful angel.”), and his much-maligned “wussy fit” in the closing moments of the film is actually rather hilarious to watch as this dyed in the wool misogynist is dealt a taste of his own sadistic medicine; Real-life stuntwoman Zoe Bell (as herself) is likable and appealing in her thrill-seeking turn here, and even if her face isn’t the prettiest, she’s sure got a tremendous body; Rosario Dawson raises her stock with me a couple of notches with her girly-girl actress role, displaying a lot of cuteness and moxie in the process; Mary Elizabeth Winstead just goes on being one of the hottest rising actresses around, even if her job here is to act like an airhead; Rose McGowan is sweet and likable as an early victim; Tarantino and Eli Roth contribute solid support in the road house scenes, while Michael Parks reprises his Earl McGraw persona and is still as entertaining as always; however, in the end, the one who steals the show is Vanessa Ferlito as Arlene a.k.a. Butterfly: Making her rough-hewn trailer trash chick both sexy and vulnerable, with her lapdance given to Russell easily one of the single sexiest scenes in the recent history of cinema, Ferlito has officially become a star here as far as I’m concerned, and I look forward to seeing her in future roles as her presence alone elevates what would normally be considered average material. As for Russell, he makes a nice break from his badass good guy persona, and Tarantino proves that if anybody should be going on making movies year in and year out, it’s him…
8/10