8

8 is a magical number. No, it’s not my favourite number by any chance of a jitter but it sure is furiously sane for Quentin Tarantino and his rustic yet brilliant and audacious script writing. 8 is just not a number from his classroom, it ushers his school of filmmaking in a way nobody else can.

As people, as individuals, we have stopped talking to each other. We have stopped having conversations in life, we don’t introspect our inner devils and we remain submerged in a world of sin without admitting that we are grossly guilty. Tarantino’s films are about conversations of life. His characters are evil and disdainful, yet so human, besieged of war, hatred, passion and what they call, ‘a diabolical bitch’. Son of a Gun, it is so ‘Tarantino’ when I say it this way.

Be it the smell of vengeance, the unceremonious hatred for the Nazis, the evil ideologies of slavery, the whims and ways of a mercurial gangster in a gang of equally super crazy, mad inhabitants or the way each of his characters infuse excruciating expressions that define the myriad ethos that our lives remain stitched in. – Tarantino is undoubtedly the Master of ‘Neo Noir’ and his ever dispensable characters.

Tarantino and few of his actors bond like ‘holy mother fuckers’ who last for a lifetime. Samuel Jackson is born to act with Tarantino and then die one day, Michael Madsen is an icon in his style of filmmaking, Christoph Waltz gave us his most inspiring and menacing performances with Tarantino and Leonardo DiCaprio was a fine revelation in Tarantino’s supremely crafted piece of work since ‘Pulp Fiction’. Not to forgot, Uma Thurman in her marauding avatar of a revenge machine in the ‘Kill Bill’ saga.

Invariably, the million dollar question is not ‘What’s next’. It’s the ‘How’ that keeps me hooked and stoned to Quentin Tarantino.

Blockbuster Review: Django Unchained – Ruffled Business!

A periodic flamingo ahead of a civil war with a solitary government prognosis and an aid who threatens the very existence of an inevitable black with an improbable quest to bisect the native world with a penchant of pursuance with audacity. Phew! Only and only, Quentin Tarantino can pull that off! And, he does with mayhem.

Right from the beginning till Django gets home victoriously, Tarantino’s script keeps it flowing like a river down the placid hills. The identification phase of Django couldn’t have been more precarious. “Could I take a look at your inventory…” was a crazy enough statement to get your nerves rolling down your cheeks and Schultz remains your ultimate protagonist-like menace. It also gives you a first hand look of Django (D is silent), soaked and chained. Well, that establishes the plot we are swelled in to.

We witness an amazing and courageous relationship between a black and white amidst ruins of marque slavery. And that makes the characters lounge over in awe, and many towards fathom of intrigue. It’s often myriad when you see your clan marching towards prospering fortunes while self are buried under the chains of barbarism. Difficult to believe and too painful to accept. Django is subjected to this relative phenomenon and every time he is scrutinised, Schultz savours the moment to introduce him as ‘Django, The Freeman’. He isn’t a slave and the uncapped ones loathe envy.

The sequences between Django and Mr. Schultz propagate human relationship of the highest order. While he lures him in to the gigantic proportions of ‘A Bounty Hunter’, he establishes the purpose with a fragile yet demanding phrase. “I have never given freedom to anyone, and now that I have, I feel a sense of responsibility towards that person”. Perhaps, in the world of Tarantino’s epics, such expressions of humane monologues fidget top class applause.

And just when I was getting in to the skin of Django and his mentor, in comes Calvin Candie. A lighter poke in to his arrival with a bash, Calvin gives our focal characters, a run for their brutal money. Initially, he is lurched in by Schultz’s charismatic presentation and his need for a ‘slave with panache’ but when Stephen intervenes, he becomes what he is. A pernicious slave hunter. For a little while, Calvin upstages the lead survivors in the beast of racists. Stephen is a black rascal, and understands his seeds well. He agonises Django in his search of lady love and those moments between Schultz, Calvin, Django and Stephen are probably, the craziest. And fittingly, outrageous.

Curtains come down in a typical Tarantino madness. Blood, gory and fountains of flesh run havoc as Django perpetrates and annihilates with the flair of a slave with fists of steel. The end sees him take his wife along with him, not before burying Calvin and Stephen amongst the ruthless mercenaries.

Tarantino’s casting is his mettle of soul. And I can’t stop raving about a singular phantom. Christoph Waltz is a man perceived and delivered well (he bags the Golden Globe for the supporting actor as this review gets published), Django looks, plays and escapes as a perfect slave. My pick (was difficult as I loved every inch of Dr. King Schultz) is DiCaprio. Calvin Candie is the specie we all would love to meet and dissect as two very different animals within his monstrous repertoire. Blazing and galvanising! Stephen was there because he is family for Tarantino, else how could I watch a Tarantino film without Samuel L Jackson!? Little frame but big shoes with a tantalising eye and a nose that pokes often with substance.

“You are a poor loser” – exclaims Calvin. “You are an abysmal winner” – Dr. Schultz touts back.

Django Unchained, is a dazzling Tarantino film.