dreamlogic.net's MOVIE REVIEW . Death ProofAt just 80 minutes Death Proof is Quentin’s shortest film to date, and somehow his most interminable. Overly chatty and under-compelling, its tale of a stuntman/serial killer (a vehicular-homicidal maniac) lulls when it should wow and stalls when it should kick into high gear. The film is broken into two halves, the first concerning a band of shallow 20-something females on a bar-hopping night in Austin, Texas, and the second a group of Hollywood types killing time in-between set-calls while on location in Tennessee. Both involve over thirty minutes of gab, followed by approximately 10 minutes of action, once Russell’s Stuntman Mike comes out to play.

Now, these chat sessions wouldn’t be so bad if they actually established unique and interesting characters, or were even mildly entertaining (see: Two Lane Blacktop). Instead you have tired “frank sex” dialogs lifted from early 90’s indie films, and lengthy diatribes (verging on dry academic dissertations) about cult flicks. Each character, save for Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s cheer-skirted actress, speaks with the same voice: Quentin’s. You never believe they’ve actually seen the film’s they’re referencing, nor do you believe they would even want to see them even if given a trendy mall shopping spree in exchange. The African actor’s share a slightly different mouthpiece, that of Quentin’s stereotypical “black man.” Every line is “nigga” this and “bitch” that. In the film’s final sequence the second group’s black member screams “I’m gonna’ bus’ a nut up yo’ ass,” repeatedly. I went to high school in Denver, Colorado, with a roughly 50/50 black/white mix. None of the kids I knew spoke like Eddie Griffin.

If that wasn’t enough, the whole production seems as if it was shot over a weekend, with Quentin and his buddies (Eli Roth included) arriving in Austin on dreamlogic.net's MOVIE REVIEW . Death ProofSaturday, hitting up the Alamo Drafthouse, scooping some Mondo Tees, and on Sunday deciding to finally make a film. The acting, save for Russel, is all of the phoned in variety. Following her Planet Terror femme fatale Rose McGowan is reduced to a ditzy blonde. Sydney Poitier plays a showboating bitch. Rosario Dawson plays Rosario Dawson. Zoe Bell seems slightly insane. Lastly, Vanessa Ferlito’s gaping maw and tumor of a nose rob her character of the sex-appeal her narrative arc so desperately requires. Granted, the characters are all stereotypes, so there’s no real room to grow anyway (Those of you who are calling these women “strong feminist characters” need to get a life outside the comic shop), but it is nonetheless disappointing. Russel, I love his work, but he is sorely underused here. It’s great to see him on screen again, but I feel terribly sorry for the guy – especially following his character’s inexplicable breakdown toward the end of the film.

Action. You’re probably wondering about the action. Quentin spends a lot of time through his characters mouthing off about landmark chase scenes, lauding genre classics such as Vanishing Point and poo-pooing recent remakes such as Gone in 60 Seconds. Given the chest pounding pontifications you would expect some amazing stuff. Quentin made sure to have all sequences shot with real cars going real fast (no speeding up of the film) but even with Zoe Bell hanging of the hood while Stuntman Mike’s black muscle car rams hers from the side, the excitement just isn’t there. Maybe it’s because all the action seems to take place on straightaways, or maybe because the chases themselves seem overwrought and lacking in twists dreamlogic.net's MOVIE REVIEW . Death Proof(no one ever even bothers to slam on the breaks to lose a pursuer), but something just isn’t right. I hate to say it, but the new Gone in 60 Seconds DID have more thrills than Death Proof. Heck, Kurt Russell even starred in Breakdown, a film featuring an infinitely better end chase. That said, the mid-film car crash is amazing – near epic in its mangling and melding of flesh and metal.

Death Proof does mark the first time Tarantino’s handled the cinematography for his own film, and the shots are technically sound. There are impressive motion, crane, and tracking shots, as well as solid steady cam work. Furthermore, the film is exceedingly colorful. Quentin even pokes fun at his directorial trademarks, opening the film with bare feet and performing the camera-inside-the-hood, this time from beneath the “bonnet” of a white Vanishing Point 1970 Dodge Challenger. It’s nice work, but not enough to merit any sort of recommendation. Like Rodriguez, Tarantino makes sure to replicate the “real” Grindhouse experience, complete with a missing reel and choppy audio sync during accounted reel changes. However in this case the “missing reel” seems like a me-too affair (especially in light of the fact the lap-dance scene was fully scripted and in the trailer), and the audio sync jokes lose their funny after the second or third go-round.

In making Grindhouse Tarantino and Rodriguez stated they wanted to finally make exploitation films that were as good, if not better, than their posters. Sadly, Death Proof falls short of that goal. It’s pretty, but that’s really it. If you’re still feeling curious, watch through to the middle. Again, that car crash is amazing. If you’re just plain masochistic, feel free to stay to the end.

About the Author

dreamlogic.net -- CHRIS NELSON

Chris Nelson has been a film fanatic since age six. A former film and English major, he is now a Software Engineer and contract Technical Writer living in the Silicon Valley.

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