In a change from the scheduled proceedings I’ve decided to write up some of my thoughts on Tarantino’s latest film, Once Upon a Time In Hollywood. Like any of his work after Reservoir Dogs this release was hotly anticipated not least because of the big names plastered on the poster: DiCaprio, Pitt, Robbie.
I must admit, I was going into this film with the awareness that Tarantino is now considered ‘over’, or ‘cancelled’ – whatever the right word is at the moment – because of the publicising of how he treated Uma Thurman on the set of Kill Bill. This was a Thursday night swallowed up by 2 hours 45 minutes of a film from a director who I don’t think you’re ‘supposed’ to like anymore. But anyway.
In my first year of uni I read Emma Cline’s The Girls – a really enjoyable book which is set in California, ’69, and slowly brings the Manson cult from the fringes of the narrative into the main plot line. A similar thing is happening in Once Upon a Time. Whilst ageing b-list actor Rick Dalton and his stunt double Cliff Booth try and navigate middle-age and wearing careers in Hollywood, stick-thin ethereal white girls roam the streets thumbing lifts. A mass of pale skin, hair, and limbs moves ghost-like in the background sun carrying groceries back to Spahn Ranch whilst golden DiCaprio and Pitt speed around the Hollywood hills to Dalton’s house, located next-door to Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate. Once Upon a Time is Tarantino’s first film apart from Harvey Weinstein, and the inclusion of convicted child rapist Polanski seems clumsy and oftentimes appears uncomfortable on-screen. A necessary evil, I suppose, given the story.
The story of the film itself is bizarre, sprawling, seemingly gratuitous and indulgent. The camera spends an age lingering over Margot Robbie as Tate – so excessive it’s like a parody of the the introductions in film noir of the femme fatale character. Tate’s depicted as utterly harmless, happy, naïve, sweet. And Tarantino doesn’t break our hearts by having Tate’s face smashed in or knifed by the Manson family at the end – the end that the news reporter overtly confirms we’ve ‘all been waiting for’ – instead sidestepping historical accuracy for the sake of a good old fight scene wherein the good guys triumph. Throw in some slapstick comedy and a heroic dog for good measure. The flamethrower …. what the hell was all that about? Of course, Rick Dalton’s artistic integrity/self-worth arc coming full circle …. neat. It’s beyond me why Pitt’s character had the murky past of killing/not killing his wife if not for some more needless violence against women. The women in power – like Janet, the wife of the stunt co-ordinator and one in her own right – are portrayed as jabbering and intolerable. The fight sequence between Booth and Bruce Lee was nearly completely passable. Why? Is this funny?
There’s a six-month sojourn to Italy for Dalton with some bad films made there, and a new Italian trophy wife brought home. Up until the point of the break-in, I was finding Once Upon a Time entirely forgettable. Even now, until the Maya Hawke cameo in the Manson car there aren’t any shots or sequences that struck me as particularly interesting or memorable. It’s just another love letter to LA in ’69 and the end of Hollywood’s Golden Age. It’s clear Tarantino had plenty of fun with his star-studded cast (Luke Perry, Emile Hirsch, Dakota Fanning, Austin Butler, Al Pacino, to name a few) and casting big characters like Sam Wanamaker, Bruce Lee, Steve McQueen, Polanski, Manson. But I think that’s all it is – showy fun. There’s not a lot of substance. The appropriate socio-cultural references are dropped in here and there to appeal to the hot filmic currency of the minute, nostalgia, and in case we forgot the year Tarantino reminds us every few scenes with a temporal subtitle. We get references to Ali, a stereotypical sixties party at the Playboy Mansion, Cliff Booth throws a peace sign to ‘Pussycat’, the crackle of t.v. and radio is just at a discernible enough volume to hear snippets of Nixon presidency coverage. Everything is shot and edited in that simultaneously colourful and obsessively brown palette that reminds me of Woodstock pictures and tassled jackets – which incidentally DiCaprio dons as ‘Caleb DeCoteau’.
But – but!!!! What I can say for the film is that the last sequence was genuinely entertaining. Tex, Susan and Patricia turn up and I was preparing for, if not the murder of Tate, then the murder of Dalton which I think I would’ve found somewhat more poignant because he’s such a desperate character and is finally getting his break. It would’ve been in particularly bad taste for Tarantino to use his violent inclinations to depict real murders. So, instead, he beats the shit out of the girls who’d kill Tate. Tex gets off comparatively lightly, and everyone lives Happily Ever After. Dalton befriends his neighbours in the middle of the night after a triple homicide. Except, Manson’s still alive, probably angry that the trio didn’t make their killings look ‘witchy’.
It’s a really fucking weird film. I don’t get why he’d have the idea for it or what he was trying to do or say with it. It’s jumbled, only half-serious and completely irrelevant to the time we live in now. Escapist fun or indulgent trash? Either’s probably too extreme, but neither wouldn’t sit right. It kept me interested, but I won’t be rushing to find another three hours to set aside to re-watch Once Upon a Time In Hollywood.
hbiswriting 