A Constant Visual Feast

I tend to avoid conversations about Quentin Tarantino; the ones I’ve had inevitably have led either to fart-sniffing back-and-forths over who “gets” the most of his references, or stuffy nitpicking arguments over his movie fetishism, as if he’s the only filmmaker ever to make movies that are about “the movies” at their heart*. That’s tedious. 

On the other hand, I could talk about Jackie Brown all day, which signals how much I like the movie and how much it means to me as one chapter in Tarantino’s modestly sized body of work. I want to be in this movie. I want to walk around in this world. I want to have the kind of conversations Pam Grier and Robert Forster have, the mundane ones that feel true to life, and elevate with every word Grier says and every attentive, caring glance Forster gives her. The sweetness in these moments carries over all, even Samuel L. Jackson murdering Chris Tucker in cold blood.

Dig on my full thoughts about Lionsgate’s recent 4K release over at Cool Material.

*None of his movies expresses this better than Inglourious Basterds, if you ask me, where cinema becomes a literal weapon for torching fascism.