It’s hard to imagine any Tarantino epic ever doing badly in the box office, seeing as his fan base is a collectively devout one; that is, ever since the release of his magnum opus Pulp Fiction. But the iconic director’s typical formula went awry in his latest feature film, The Hateful Eight. Building upon the pillars of precise dialogue, over-the-top gore, and outrageous, comic book-like characters, Tarantino has created highly quotable works known the world over. For a while, it seemed that Tarantino did not plan on making Hateful a motion picture but a lawsuit instead. He relented, though, and the product is a gritty, offbeat Western set sometime after the Civil War, and possibly Tarantino’s meanest yet.
Shot in 70mm Panavision, the film opens with an image of Jesus on the cross, slowly zooming out to show a lone carriage, all backed by the sinister sound of Ennio Morricone’s orchestral soundtrack. The carriage stops at the sight of Major Marquis Warren, played by recurring Tarantino favorite Samuel L. Jackson, stranded without a horse but bound for the town of Red Rock. Along with stagecoach O.B Jackson (James Parks), John “The Hangman” Ruth (played brilliantly by Kurt Russell), and his soon-to-hanged captive, Daisy Domergue (a perfectly vile Jennifer Jason Leigh), are revealed within the carriage, fully enveloping the frame, from Warren’s point of view. After a long exchange Ruth agrees to let Warren come along, to ride out the coming blizzard at Minnie’s Haberdashery just before town. Walton Goggins makes his appearance as Chris Mannix, claiming to be the newly appointed sheriff of Red Rock--and a comically benign racist (His role is unchanging yet his character ages well on screen).
As for the duration of the 187 minute runtime (yes, that’s about 3 hours), past the busted down door of Minnie’s saloon, we meet a cast of fantastical characters, among them both new and returning faces from previous Tarantino films. Tim Roth (Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction) plays persnickety Oswaldo Mobray, a somewhat nomadic hangman, Michael Madsen (Kill Bill) as dodgy yet dramatic Joe Gage, Demián Bichir as shady Bob the Mexican, and Bruce Dern as Sandy Smithers, a retired Confederate general with a dirty past.
While the settings change minimally and the dialogue seems to run long, it’s the characters that keep Hateful pulsing. The inherent provocativeness of Tarantino’s vision of a post-Civil War Wyoming is not unlike his previous works, but it does cut deep at the messy issues of racism, and partly to misogyny, in a blasphemous, oblique way. (There’s enough mention of n*****s and b*****s to fly over the heads of Tarantino fans and into the faces of the newly initiated.) Overall, the characters do well with riddling out such a convoluted message, due to their distinctive personalities, but they are not used to their full potential. The purposeful disparity from their stereotypical and/or historical stations creates characters too rich, too ambitious moreover, to fill even a 3-hour story. Domergue and Warren are two such examples, while minors like Gage get only a slick pre-mortem hair flip.
But, as with any Tarantino flick, the eye-socking, bullet-busting, and blood-curdling violence is in wicked abundance, sufficient for filling in the cinematic cracks. To parallel the plot’s developments is the deceivingly cozy saloon, shielding the characters from a blizzard while one rages inside; it’s the icy atmosphere that makes anyone’s actions well-followed in the tense, distrustful room--and it’s clear who’s in charge. Warren acts more of a sheriff than Mannix who's bent on pushing him over the edge. Ruth lays down the law as well, but from the comfort of the wet bar. Mobray, Gage, and Smithers keep to their respective corners, providing molding clay and fill-ins for both the plot and Warren’s sometimes disturbing monologues.
And at this mention, the murder mystery theatre that Hateful becomes--undeniably so with a voiceover intermission by Tarantino himself--is just one of the imaginative stops throughout the film. If it were Clue, Warren would be Tim Curry (in only his role, thank you) and the others a motley rendition of Mr. Boddy’s guests. The saloon is not, however, a large multiple story mansion, but a one room log cabin; it isn’t long before revelations are made and murders are committed. One mystery abounds, though--and ends in the demise of a few characters and a pile of their own bloody vomit. We don’t receive any of the comic relief Clue could provide, but we do get a very similar rendition of a whodunnit ending, which is entirely bloated by its end.
Speaking strictly from the standpoint of an avid Tarantino fan, Hateful is dazzlingly disturbed, a showcase of his bold approach to addressing social issues, directly and through the fantasy of film. For others, while it isn’t his best historical fiction piece (watch Inglourious Basterds to see a Jew militia take on Hitler), he certainly captures the audience through an intense walkthrough mystery game and its equally colorful pawns.
Let the flaws of the film hang, and enjoy the show for what it is--after all, “looks can be deceiving.”
And it’s Quentin-freaking-Tarantino, folks.
