Don't think for a second that you will find a film at the cineplex right now more bursting with almost everything that a film can contain than "Django Unchained." Quentin Tarantino's latest indulgence is one of the funniest movies of the year, and also one of the most violent. It also features meticulous production values in its revisionist exploration of 19th Century American history. And it's as much of a revenge film as Westerns like "The Searchers" ever were, comfortably sharing screen time dedicated to this emotion with time spent on unapologetic melodrama.In short, "Django Unchained" is a lot of a whole bunch of things. Which, if I'm being honest, makes it something of a hot mess. Thrilling, shocking, gut-bursting and eye-burning cinemania from the sick mind of film's emperor of B-grade pastiche, it's that rare bird in the movie world: the "messy masterpiece." If there's a movie out there with more flaws than this one that is also as much fun, I'd like to know what it is.
I'm going to shortchange my post on plot summary, other than to quickly remind the uniformed reader that the film centers around a freed slave named Django (the "D" is silent, thank you) played by Jamie Foxx. Django and his wife (Kerry Washington) were sold separately as slaves, and in a stroke of good fortune, a bounty hunter in disguise as a dentist named Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) comes upon Django and frees him in exchange for help locating one of the next men on his list. As reward, Schultz promises Django his assistance in locating his wife and obtaining revenge against the man who owns her. And that man, Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), is a grade-A son-of-a-bitch.
As with most of his films, the star of "Django Unchained" is probably Tarantino's original screenplay, coupled with his uncanny knack for found object song scores, this time forcing Jim Croce to rub elbows with Rick Ross in a sonic palate that makes little sense anywhere else but in a Tarantino film. Once again, Tarantino demonstrates that to break the rules, one must know them well, and "Django Unchained" is overloaded with faithful references not only to the spaghetti Western genre but to specific films within it (such as the origin of the film's title and the theft of the title song playing over the opening credits). In some ways, it's a fleshed-out manifestation of a fetish crazy Quentin has been scratching at through his Kill Bill films (which saw the genre crossing swords with the samurai film) and his last feature, "Inglorious Basterds" (which scattered its elements amidst World War II-dressed revenge fantasy).
A go-big-or-go-home spirit permeates the film, subsequently inspiring some fantastic performances. For my money, chief among them is Samuel L. Jackson's work as Candie's house slave Stephen, who is either a piece of shit in the eyes of his fellow black men as an Uncle Tom sell-out, or the smartest black character in the film, using the impression of loyalty for leverage. Perhaps he's both. But Jackson plays in him as a controlled psychotic, infusing his character with moments of slapstick, rage and sympathy. Stephen just might be Jackson's most outrageous work for Tarantino, and maybe at all, "Snakes on a Plane" notwithstanding.
As Candie, DiCaprio is a close second playing a type that feels a little unusual in a typical Tarantino film: the villain who we simply hate as opposed to loving to hate. Few of Candie's lines end with jokes; his racist venom is seemingly absolute. DiCaprio seems to relish in the opportunity to add such a slimeball to his repertoire. His performance was probably deserving of an Oscar nomination.
Instead, that accolade went to Waltz, and while I would be lying if I said I wasn't thoroughly entertained by him at every turn, I find it hard in retrospect to clearly delineate his work here from his Oscar-winning performance as Col. Hanz Landa in "Basterds." Most of his line reads felt about the same, I thought; only the accent was changed. It's a performance that worked so well for Tarantino before that it must have been worthy of an encore, but I think I'd stop short of rewarding the work twice in a year filled with so many strong performances, even from within this one movie.
To some degree, "Django Unchained"'s biggest flaws are directly related to the joyous arrogance of its writer and director, who knows full well that his fan boys and girls will hang on his every word and luxuriate in the unfolding of his every masochistic and politically incorrect whim. Hell, I buy. I've come to decide that Tarantino is to film what Prince is to the world of popular music. He's an unquestionable genius with a scary-deep mastery of his craft who eschews the advice of any close confidants (read: an editor) in a slightly vainglorious quest for preserving his authorial voice and vision. Few of Tarantino's recent efforts have been properly edited. If he feels it would entertain, he simply leaves it in, continuity be damned. And so while it's fairly easy to figure out where cuts could have been made to streamline a story and smooth out a standard dramatic narrative arc, to slice out those scenes feels as painful to us in retrospect as it probably does to him.
I'll put it another way: Tarantino disregards narrative balance.
So we accept the mess, and revel in the entertainment it brings us. But let's not forget that a mess is still a mess. "Django Unchained" attacks too many moods, rarely blending them. Extended sequences of the film master a solitary mood, only to give way to another. A scene involving the KKK feels like a "Blazing Saddles" outtake. Django's late-reel efforts to meet up with his wife unfold as high melodrama. And the film's ridiculously bloody conclusion is, well, excessive. I suspect that most audience will pick up on all of these tones but will struggle to experience any two of these emotions in tandem, thus rendering Tarantino's treatment a bull-in-a-china-shop technique.
"Django Unchained," for as insanely clever as it is, is filled with some head-scratching decisions, and I don't want to spoil key plot points by discussing those here (but feel free to chat me up about them on Facebook or by posting to this blog). The film seems to end twice, and in typical Tarantino fashion, it's too long. And then for every WTF is an OMG, such as a great if brief appearance by 80's TV star Don Johnson as a plantation owner to meet the prerequisite that a Tarantino film must, in its efforts to save the cinematic world from the mundane, not only resurrect the career of a former big-deal actor but, in fact, reverse the very essence of his or her pop culture status and fortunes.
I could go on and on about "Django Unchained" - the good, the bad and the ugly (to steal from a spaghetti western not as overcooked). Ultimately, I'm still convinced that my obsession over discussing Tarantino's movies is testament that they are truly strong films. I am not surprised by how many people are walking out of the theatre raving about how much they loved it. But sooner or later, I'm looking for something that nears perfect. I thought "Inglorious Basterds" came mighty close. This one, honestly, is a step back. But it's a hilarious step backward, a bloody spur spiraling lazily, gouging its sharp teeth into the shin of anyone who believes that a movie this long should contain more subtext and less self-indulgence.
★ ★ ★
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