Not Coming to a Theater Near You
You know him?”
“Not socially. His name’s Jaws, he kills people.
The genius artificial trailers notwithstanding, Grindhouse is a flawed film for its sheer smorgasbord of material. It’s more a celebration (and admirably so) of a type of exhibition, one that contemporary audiences (as Adam notes) have been largely disinterested in, than it is of a specific genre. It begins with Robert Rodriguez’s depthless Planet Terror. The film is all artifice, what with its digitally aged filmstock, the carefully considered missing reel, and even the glimpse of the camera crew in the opening credits. All of these elements are particularly ironic because they are staged and not the accidents, blemishes, or compromises that enhance films of this vintage. Rodriguez is admirably enamored by his inspirations – his appropriation of John Carpenter is faithful; the score, for one, is fantastic – but ultimately Planet Terror is absent of any terror.
Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof, by contrast, is a total thrill, elongated passages of dialogue and all.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: The Weinstein Company 35mm print
07 May 2007 12:47 PM | Submit Comment
