Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywoodâ€
is a mad, wild romp through a film geek’s mind—a hallucinatory homage to
America’s dream factory. It’s also a funny/sad farewell to a time when people
believed in the dreams the factory once delivered on a regular basis. Rick
Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is an actor who once had a popular TV western series
called “Bounty Law.†The series got canceled and he’s making a living playing
villains in guest star roles in other TV series. His agent Marvin Schwarzs (Al
Pacino) advises him to go to Italy to make spaghetti westerns lest he finally
fade into bad guy oblivion. Dalton’s friend, stunt double, and confidence
booster, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), thinks it would be a great idea, especially
since Dalton’s drinking is beginning to impact his career.
Tarantino plays this story line out against the backdrop
of Hollywood as it was between February and August 1969. He has us follow the
two friends behind the scenes of studio backlots, in restaurants, and parties
at places like the Playboy Mansion, where we are inundated with references to
dozens, if not hundreds, of films and TV shows of that era. Hardly a frame of
film rolls by without a movie poster appearing on a wall, a black and white
image on a TV set somewhere of some old show, or a word of dialog spoken that
does not hearken us back. Hollywood Boulevard was even given a facelift, with
false 1969 fronts placed over the current buildings. Booth lives in a house in
the Hollywood hills next door to the home of director Roman Polanski and his
beautiful wife Sharon Tate. He only wishes he could establish contact with them
to give his career a boost.
As Dalton struggles to conquer his alcoholism and
remember his lines, we follow Cliff around downtown LA running various errands in
Cliff’s Cadillac Eldorado. He eventually picks up a young female hitchhiker
named Pussycat (Margaret Qualley). He turns down her offer of sex fearing she’s
under 18, but agrees to drive her out to the Spahn Movie Ranch where she’s
living and where he and Rick used to film Rick’s series.
When they get to the ranch, the movie takes a detour into
dark territory. Cliff finds a group of mostly female hippies living there and
Pussycat asks where “Charley†is. When she learns Charley is out somewhere she
says it’s too bad and tells Cliff: “Charley would probably like you.†Cliff wants
to visit with ranch owner, his old friend George Spahn (Bruce Dern in a part
originally intended for the late Burt Reynolds) but Squeaky Fromme (Dakota
Fanning), the leader of the girl hippies, says it impossible. Cliff is not one
to be trifled with and forces his way into George’s bedroom and determines,
even though he’s in bad shape, he’s not being taken advantage of.Tension builds when Booth finds the tire on Rick’s
car slashed. He has a violent confrontation with the scuzzy hippie who did it.
The scene is filled with Tarantino’s patented brand of tension, but only serves
as a teaser for what is to come.
And what is to come? Plenty, but to reveal the
astonishing ending to “Once Upon a Time . . . “ would be to ruin it for anyone
who hasn’t seen it yet. It is an ending both shocking, gratifying, and oddly
enough, hilarious beyond all expectations. It provides a cathartic release
after two and a half hours of building tension and inner rage that leaves you
breathless at the end. Tarantino’s writing has never been sharper. His ability
to foreshadow events, and to plant story ideas that become important and useful
at the climax are masterful. His skill as a director is at its peak. He gets
performances out of DiCaprio and Pitt I never would have thought they could
deliver. They supposedly based their characters on Burt Reynolds and his stunt
man buddy Hal Needham. I can see Reynolds in DiCaprio’s performance, but to my
mind Pitt seemed more like Hollywood stunt-man legend Jock Mahoney, who had
that same calm, confident swagger in real life that Pitt affects.
One of the highlights of “Once Upon a Time . . .†is the
much-talked about scene between Cliff and Bruce Lee (Mike Moh) on the set of
“The Green Hornet.†Lee is shown arrogantly boasting that he could defeat
Cassius Clay in a fight, which causes Cliff to laugh out loud. Lee says he
would teach him a lesson for laughing but his hands are lethal weapons and if
he accidentally killed him he would go do jail.“Anybody who kills anybody by accident goes to jail,†Cliff says. “It’s
called manslaughter.†Which prompts a quick round of hand-to hand combat. The
outcome is a bit of a surprise, but Lee, to say the least, makes quite an
impression.
There are so many things to like about this film, but it
is not without its shortcomings. Tarantino’s foot fetish is becoming a joke and
a distraction. His treatment of Sharon Tate is pretty shallow, as some critics
have complained, but only if you are looking at her as a real human being and
not the symbol of a lost age, as Tarantino intends. The film is a bit long, but
frankly I wouldn’t cut a single frame, and in fact I hope the Blu-ray contains
additional footage that wasn’t used. All in all, this is the movie of the year,
and a must-see for anyone who loves old movies and TV shows.
John M. Whalen is the author of "Tragon of Ramura". Click here to order from Amazon.
While criticism of Earthquake usually concentrates on its flaky Sensurround effects,
the film’s more important flaws lie in a confused approach to the genre and –
especially – one character who really belongs in a different movie altogether,
writes BARNABY PAGE.
Although it remains one of the
best-known of the early-1970s all-star disaster extravaganzas, Earthquake (1974) was less successful
commercially than Airport, The Towering Inferno or The Poseidon Adventure, and did not
enjoy the critical acclaim of the latter two.
It probably suffered in the
short term from being released only a month before Inferno, and in the longer term from its over-reliance on the
Sensurround system; watched now, though, it is flawed largely through
discontinuity of tone and the uneasy co-existence of both a strong human
villain and a natural threat. Still, the film casts interesting light on the
genre as a whole, sometimes complying with its standards and sometimes
departing from them.
At the time Earthquake must have seemed something of
a sure bet, overseen for Universal by Jennings Lang, a veteran
agent-turned-producer who was more or less simultaneously working on Airport 1975, had lately been
responsible for some high-profile critical successes including Play Misty For Me and High Plains Drifter, and was a supporter
of Sensurround.
Director Mark Robson had only
a few years earlier delivered the hit Valley
of the Dolls. Co-writer Mario Puzo was riding high on The Godfather,and
Charlton Heston, although his fortunes had waned somewhat during the 1960s, had
been revived as a star by Planet of the Apes.
In Earthquake he would again be one
of those square-jawed “Heston heroes who lack irrational impulsesâ€, as Pauline
Kael memorably put it (though not referring to this movie); he had lately
played a number of characters who defended civilisation against all odds, in
films from El Cid to Khartoum and Major Dundee, and even had a recent disaster-movie credit in Skyjacked.
Yet somehow none of its
creators could quite make it jell, and we are never sure quite what kind of
film we are supposed to be watching. It may not have helped that Puzo
apparently left the project to work on The
Godfather Part II and was replaced by the obscure George Fox, who – from
what I can discover about him – seemed to be as interested in researching
earthquakes for factual accuracy as in crafting an engaging drama. He wrote a
little about the production in a book, Earthquake:
The Story of a Movie, that was published to coincide with release of the
movie.
From early on in the film, we
feel it doesn’t quite have the slickness of the disaster classics. Earthquake belongs to a genre that at
heart took itself very seriously, yet it is more humorously self-referential
than them – not least when Charlton Heston reads, very woodenly, a script with Geneviève Bujold, who plays a wannabe
actress. Another character, Victoria Principal, mentions going to a Clint
Eastwood movie; and in one of the film’s most visually striking sequences we
later see this Eastwood flick, running sideways during the quake before the
projector conks out.
One could even take the
repeated joke of the Walter Matthau character, drunk at a bar and ignoring the
earthquake while randomly spouting the names of famous figures (“Spiro T.
Agnew!†“Peter Fonda!â€), as a comment on the all-star concept.
But at the same time Earthquake is also bleaker than many
others; by contrast Airport is upbeat
and even Towering Inferno, which ends
on a prediction of worse fires in the future, also offers the hope that better
architecture can prevent them. In Earthquake,
however, the ending is distinctly mournful – with its semi-famous final line,
“this used to be a helluva town†and
the comment that only 40 people out of 70 trapped in a basement survived. (The
death tolls in classic disaster movies vary, from negligible in Airport and Inferno to near-total in Poseidon;
numerically, Earthquake sits in the
middle, but it is clearly much more about destruction than salvation.)
And italso has more sheer nastiness than all the others combined,
notably in the miserable marriage of Heston and Ava Gardner – made all the more
bitter by the way Heston feels obliged to save her and dies in the attempt,
when he could have reached safety with his newer love Bujold – and in the
repellent character of Jody, the retail worker and National Guardsman played by
Marjoe Gortner.
With the star power of Judy Garland and Gene Kelly, a
riotous score by Cole Porter, sensational choreography, and truly eye-popping
Technicolor, on paper Vincente Minnelli’s The Pirate has all of the trappings of
the smash hit musicals of the Golden Era, though went on to be an example that
this mathematical equation to success in the film industry was not as
predictable as it appeared. As a reinterpretation of S.N Behrman’s play by the same
title, which poked fun at the tropes of the swashbuckler genre, the film
traipses into the less traversed waters of satire, actively differentiating
from the mainstream musical narratives of the time arguably to a fault. Despite
being one of Minelli’s most notorious box office flops and having been eroded
from cultural consciousness unlike its cinematic relatives such as An American
in Paris or Meet Me in St. Louis, a quiet but impassioned debate has survived
into modernity; is The Pirate a lost experimental masterpiece that dared to
explore the social taboos of 1940s American culture, or a forgettable misstep
with glaring tonal and narrative inconsistencies?