Okay, Grindhouse? Best mindless (heh, in the sense of actual brain-eating) fun I have had in a movie theatre since... well, ever, really. (The first Pirates Of the Caribbean movie actually had a coherent and complicated plot that rewarded further consideration. This one? Not so much. NOT THAT THIS IS IN ANY WAY A CRITICISM!!!) I don't expect I'll get a chance to see it again on the big screen because the numbers have been so bad, which is only proof that people are idiots!!!

Oh, and also, we got the Hobo With A Shotgun trailer which I guess has been all over YouTube for months, but I missed it because I was looking for footage of horse races and cutting competitions. The film probably looked a little dirtier than it would have if it was a first-run movie back in the seventies, but it definitely had the feel (and the voiceover had the sound) of the psycho-killer-we're-expected-to-root-for movies of the era. (I still clearly remember the voiceover for at least one of the Death Wish movies--which incidentally were the total opposite of the message of the book, but that's a post for after I get my hands on a copy of the book.)

Anyways, this whole entry is chock-full-o'-spoilers, and I apologize to unwary Facebook readers since the cuts won't work. (I think I'm well past the cutoff for the import blurb anyway, but just in case--HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. Although really, how can you spoil a thing like this?? Just get your damned popcorn and enjoy the fun.)



So. Robert Rodriguez's contribution is Planet Terror, featuring enough zombies to satisfy even my current obsession with the walking dead. Although if we want to be completely accurate they're not so much zombies as the bubbling pus-ridden shells of men and women infected with a noxious gas that causes them to--what, you'd rather I skipped the details and we just called them zombies? Um, probably a good idea.

Naveen Andrews from Lost plays what I initially thought was going to be the Pointlessly Evil English Guy, but he actually turns out to be no more evil than pretty much anyone else on the infect-everybody end of the spectrum. Although he's got one quirk... like, if Bob Barker was a deranged-yet-sort-of-hot evil biochemist. You'll know what I mean when you see it. Let's just say he's got a habit that freaked me out pretty badly, but nowhere near as much as I imagine it freaked out all the men in the theatre. EWWWW!!

Anyway, he and his evil minions lose control of the chemical that turns people into rotting flesh-craving--what? You'd rather I skipped the details? Okay, turns people into zombies. Fair enough.

After which the zombies begin shambling after our cast of motley heroes (of course they're motley, it's that kind of movie) including a reluctant go-go dancer named Cherry, her mysteriously kick-ass ex Wray, a would-be lesbian anesthesiologist who is unhappy in her marriage, a sheriff who hates those he serves and protects more than he hates those he protects them from, and his brother, who makes the best barbecue in Texas.

There's no need to do a full recap or anything because really, you know how this is going to turn out. I will note that this is the kind of movie where, if you're not a major character, you're safer being a hot-but-nameless supporting character than a minor one the audience might feel sentimental about. Rodriguez is astonishingly unsentimental about certain characters I never dreamed would get killed off, and since I wasn't old enough to go to stuff like Death Wish in the old days I can't tell you if that's true to the era. I'd also like to know at what point the female deputy lost the bottom half of her uniform shirt.

Oh, and you know what I really loved? Missing reels! Like, we're at a spot where the story really can't move forward unless someone gets someone else's backstory which will just slow everything down, so--sex scene, MISSING REELS, and the next thing we know the sheriff knows everything he needs to about Wray, the barbecue place is on fire, massive amounts of shooting break out, and you know, who needs backstory? I am so going to use that the next time I get myself into some sort of logical pickle in a story--I'll just change the page number so we're suddenly fifteen pages further on and keep going. Screw underpinnings!

Also, Tarantino has a genius little cameo as a guy who suffers a fate worse than death--and then death--and totally deserves it.

Plus, Cherry's machine-gun prosthetic leg is every bit as awesome as you thought it would be.

My only question was... okay, since they end up unable to create an antidote for the zombie infection, the survivors (who have a mysterious immunity) end up in Mexico (because you knew Rodriguez would send them to Mexico) fighting off the pustule-ridden--er, zombies--and what I wondered was, where in hell did they get all that ammunition?

And then I remembered the story began in Texas. Right.

Then there were several trailers for movies like Werewolf Women of the SS, Don't! (the British contribution to the fun, judging by the presences of actors like Lee Ingleby and Lucy Punch), and Thanksgiving ("this year, there will be no leftovers!") and then on we went to Death Proof.



Okay, here's the thing: I have never been a big fan of Quentin Tarantino. I liked Dusk Til Dawn fine and Kill Bill #1 certainly had its moments, but for the most part I find him a little too impressed with his own cleverness and encyclopedic knowledge of gory movies. Also, movies like Reservoir Dogs tend to feature characters who talk and talk and talk long past the point where they should be in shock from blood loss or whatever. I have often thought that if I was trapped in an elevator with Tarantino, I might have to saw off my own ears just to escape his chatter.

I take it back, I take it all back. Because Death Proof starts out slow, as these things go, but builds up to the most awesome conclusion I have seen in ages.

It starts in Texas, again, with a group of young women driving around, hanging out, getting high, and talking. There is a lot of talking, but the thing I found interesting in reviews was the number of female reviewers who thought the women's inconsequential back-and-forth really felt authentic. And yeah, it does. It actually feels authentic to the point where you're onside with the characters and invested in them, even though since you know you're at a horror movie it's probably not a good idea to get attached. We stick to Jungle Julia, Butterfly, and Shanna long past the point where I was expecting bloodshed, and only get uneasy glimpses of the tricked-out Chevy Nova that may or may not be following them in their little red Civic (same vintage as mine, as a matter of fact.) I would have expected a lot more focus on the point of view of the maniacal killer.

And see, this was the point at which I realized Tarantino was employing what I refer to as the We Know Damn Well There's A Wolf Out There theory of suspense writing, where the reader/viewer knows what kind of book or movie they've got, but the characters are going about their business all innocence. We're not supposed to be rooting for the killer. Amazingly, it's not that kind of movie.

I will admit that in the last couple of years I've developed an inexplicable soft spot for Kurt Russell, and he's a lot of fun here. We meet him at first in the bar where the girls are hanging out and he's drinking club soda and eating nachos. (Rose McGowan's second character in the film expresses puzzlement that a guy who doesn't drink would spend time propping up one end of the bar. Stuntman Mike, Russell's character, explains there are many reasons besides drinking to hang out in bars. Like women, and nacho platters, and "good fellowship." Yes, I add, and sometimes there's a band.)

Ahem.

Anyways, the girls and their Honda meet a hideous fate, just as we knew they would but by this time were kind of hoping they wouldn't. And again, I am impressed with Tarantino's restraint, because there is surprisingly little lingering on the details (apart from yet another severed leg.) I've always said that I don't need to see all the details of what the slavering killer does to be convinced he's a bad, bad guy. The fact he's killing off characters I believe are real people is enough for me. Curiously, in this context, it also appears to be enough for Quentin. Go figure.

And the next thing we know the killer is back on the road, equipped with a new death-proof Charger (well, new to him, it's a classic) and we're in the perspective of a new group of potential victims, in this case a bunch of women who include an actress, a wardrobe staffer, and a couple of stunt women who share an obsession with the kind of car chase movies Stuntman Mike used to work in.

It all leads to three of them getting their hands on a 1970 Dodge Challenger (white) with a 440 engine, and although I don't know as much about the horsepower details as they do, well, I have a copy of Vanishing Point myself and I am not averse to a little car porn.

Now, would I crawl out on the hood and hang onto a couple of belts while my dearest friend drove the Challenger down a winding country road at a hundred miles an hour? Not so much. But Kiwi stunt woman Zoe Bell, as herself, is a braver woman than I am.

And of course Stuntman Mike shows up to spoil the fun, and also the Challenger's paint job.

Okay, here's the thing: if you were, like me, a little devastated about the ending of Vanishing Point and not because you were attached to Kowalski, you are probably not going to like the ending of this movie any better. However...

I said to someone recently that when I watched Tarantino and Rodriguez do interviews for this movie I had the irresistible impression that if they were in high school together, Quentin would get stuffed into a lot of gym lockers and garbage cans, and Robert would have to rescue him. I think I've changed my mind. I now have this impression that some other kid entirely would be the target of bullies, and the two movie nerds would come along and fish him out of the dumpster, brush him off, share their lunch and then cheer him up by imagining all sorts of Technicolour vengeances against the bullies. I mean, vengeance involving killer robots from outer space. They'd storyboard it, and everyone would feel better (although in the current climate they might also all get kicked out of high school--ooh, there's an idea for a character!)

Anyway, you know how we tell each other that bullies are really cowards and fold when their victims fight back? Turns out Quentin believes it too, or at least he does in this movie, which leads to the very best turn-the-tables, take-that-motherfucker ending I have ever seen in any movie anywhere. When Kill Bill came out a number of reviewers noted that despite the ass-kicking qualities of the female characters in that movie, there was an undertone of misogyny. I didn't see the second half so I didn't form an opinion. But let me tell you, there is no uneasy undertone in this one. We're coaxed into an attachment to the characters and the movie doesn't let us down. Awe. Some.

So: should you see this movie before it leaves the theatres? Oh hell yes. Get the big popcorn, and make sure you save most of it for the second movie. Apart from everything else it'll give you something to hide behind during the juicier parts of Planet Terror.

Oh, and I must have the soundtrack, just for the Grindhouse theme. Truly, this thing is a masterpiece from one end to the other. No, really.