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What makes Once Upon A Time in Hollywood so different? OK, Quentin, you had me at hello with your greasy porno theater janitor foot-fellating excitement over a 60's soundtrack, Brad Pitt's abs and access to Harvey Weinstein's trophy room. But what's to make this anything but a repeat of Pulp Fiction (an OK movie, in this miserly critic's judgment), or that godawful sexist racist old man fantasy The Hateful Eight (my third favorite film of his)?
Ahhhh...the 60's. A time when pot wouldn't get you high and acid might kill you. It was a great time, apparently. I wasn't there. Freedom, good music, cinema verite and jump cuts, all on graceful display here. Thankfully, Tarantino is just as quick to condemn hippie scum as a hook-handed World War II vet. But those hills sure are sunny.
All you need to know walking into this are two names. Sharon Tate and Charles Manson. They're the yin and yang here, angel and devil shoulders. Much has been tweeted, twittered, twat (?) of Margot Robbie being abused by the patriarchy for not having enough screen time. In a banal attempt at politeness, I'll just say that I hope to never meet any of these people.
Manson we see even less, and he's all but present in scenes where he's only mentioned. Omnipresence, word of the fuckin' day. On the surface it's all fun and games, but he's lurking there in the corner with the rat. Where Inglourious Basterds was a swashbuckling rewrite of history, and Hateful Eight a wistful meditation, Hollywood has it both ways and succeeds, delightfully. You know when the characters walk out in slow motion while a cheesy pop song plays? It's an out of body experience. Hasn't happened to me, until now.
Oh yeah, there's an all-star cast. But the spotlight is shone square on the two leads. The supporting players get a stray line or two, but don't come expecting an Al Pacino redemption role ("Dunkaccino", anyone?). I appreciated how DiCap gives Rick Dalton a stutter. Tells you all you need to know. Great choice, great actor.
However, I think we'll all agree that Brad Pitt runs away with this thing. Another great comic performance from him, in the vein of Kalifornia ('93), Burn After Reading ('08), and Arrivedurrci. If I look half as good at 30 as this cocksucker does at 55, I'll quit booze and cigarettes forever.
Some lines are off-putting ("pumpkin puss"?), some characters are questionable (white OJ), some scenes out of place (quick, dig up Sally Menke's corpse!) So what? They are the work of a craftsman, and the best talent Hollywood has left. And I mean likely the last of it. Fuck Jordan Peele and his poetry slam squad of scissors. Name another movie you've seen this year with this loud of a presence, and I'll show you a home movie of a Downs Syndrome kid at a piano recital.
RATING: 9/10