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Kate (2021)   The dying protagonist subgenre is a difficult one to get right. The customary approach is one of world-weary resignation on the part of the poisoned or terminally ill party that sweetens the pill, suggesting they’re being done something of a favour. It’s also a smart idea to give them some sort of motive force, in order to see them through the proceedings before they kark it. Such as a mystery to solve; there’s a good reason D.O.A. is generally seen as a touchstone in fare of this ilk. Kate fumbles on both counts, leaving the viewer with a rather icky poisoning

Point Blank (1967)   The Cliff’s Notes for Point Blank require one to note its nouvelle vague influence (fractured time lines and the ilk), but the likelihood is that anyone coming fresh to the film now will be fully au fait with its various stylistic and narrative devices, so assimilated are they into the mainstream. Still striking, however, is John Boorman’s stylistic sensibility, coming on like a noir comic strip brought to life, yet shot through with Technicolor purpose. It’s an existential mood piece, yes, but it’s translated into the language of an action spectacle, one with a particularly dark sense of humour. Steven

Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)   You can’t read a review of Assault on Precinct 13 with stumbling over references to its indebtedness, mostly to Howard Hawks. That was the preface when I first caught it on Season Three of BBC2’s Moviedrome (I later picked up the 4Front VHS, below). In Precinct 13’s case, such couching can feel almost like an attempt to undercut it, to suggest it isn’t quite so commanding or original, actually, because: look. Even John Carpenter was entirely upfront about his influences (not least Hawks), and that he originally envisaged it as an outright siege western (rather than an, you know,

Bloodshot (2020)   If the trailer for Bloodshot gave the impression it had some meagre potential, that’s probably because it revealed the entire plot of a movie clearly intended to unveil itself in measured and judicious fashion. It isn’t far from the halfway mark that the truth about the situation Vin Diesel’s Ray Garrison faces is revealed, which is about forty-one minutes later than in the trailer. More frustratingly, while themes of perception of reality, memory and identity are much-ploughed cinematic furrows, they’re evergreens if dealt with smartly. Bloodshot quickly squanders them. But then, this is, after all, a Vin Diesel vehicle. A stranded

Promising Young Woman (2020)   I’ve been having little luck finding commendable Oscar-nominated fare this season, and Promising Young Woman is no exception. Heralded as a satire, Emerald Fennell’s movie would be better labelled a polemic, one with all the subtlety of the pillow used to smother protagonist Cassie halfway through the third act. Attracting adjectives in the “brave” and “audacious” range, the picture comes armed with the loaded dice of a soft target – rapists deserve retribution – no one is likely to disagree with, such that it’s consequent suggestion – all men are potential rapists or at very least complicit

Get Carter (1971)   Inspiration to a generation of pretenders, the likes of the Ritchies and Vaughns. It’s curious to see Get Carter’s Wiki-page suggesting its reappraisal as a classic was down to the likes of these two and Tarantino, as I recall it being held in esteem before that. I think the real distinction comes via the shift in its appreciation; before their input, it was regarded as respectable but nasty, and the latter took the most emphasis. After the revellers in nu-gangster violence were through, Get Carter became nasty but cool, the latter taking the most emphasis. And there is a

The Good Liar (2019)   I probably ought to have twigged, based on the specific setting of The Good Liar, that World War II would be involved – ten years ago, rather than the present day, so making the involvement of Ian McKellen and Helen Mirren just about believable – but I really wish it hadn’t been. Jeffrey Hatcher’s screenplay, adapting Nicholas Searle’s 2016 novel, offers a nifty little conning-the-conman tale that would work much, much better without the ungainly backstory and motivation that impose themselves about halfway through and then get paid off with equal lack of finesse. It’s evident

Inglourious Basterds (2009)   His staunchest fans would doubtless claim Tarantino has never taken a wrong step, but for me, his post-Pulp Fiction output had been either not quite as satisfying (Jackie Brown), empty spectacle (the Kill Bills) or wretched (Death Proof). It wasn’t until Inglourious Basterds that he recovered his mojo, revelling in an alternate World War II where Adolf didn’t just lose but also got machine gunned to death in a movie theatre showing a warmly received Goebbels-produced propaganda film. It may not be his masterpiece – as Aldo Raines refers to the swastika engraved on “Jew hunter” Hans Landa’s forehead, and

Death Proof (2007)   In a way, I’m slightly surprised Tarantino didn’t take the opportunity to disown Death Proof, to claim that, as part of Grindhouse, it was no more one of his ten-official-films-and-out than his Four Rooms segment. But that would be to spurn the exploitation genre affectation that has informed everything he’s put his name to since Kill Bill, to a greater or lesser extent, and also require him to admit that he was wrong, and you won’t find him doing that for anything bar My Best Friend’s Birthday. My recollection of the movie was one of, as the phrase goes, hot garbage. Hotter

Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)   It sometimes seems as if Quentin Tarantino – in terms of his actual movies, rather than nearly getting Uma killed in an auto stunt – is the last bastion of can-do-no-wrong on the Internet. Or at very least, has the preponderance of its vocal weight behind him. Back when his first two movies proper were coming out, so before online was really a thing, I’d likely have agreed, but by about the time the Kill Bills arrived, I’d have admitted I was having serious pause that he was all he was cracked up to be.

The Avengers 6.15: Noon-Doomsday   Noon-Doomsday isn’t exactly bad, but it’s incredibly slack, ripping off High Noon so redundantly that Brian Clemens had every right to tear Terry Nation a new one (he promptly went away and ripped off The Maltese Falcon instead, to miraculously better results). The effect is not dissimilar to watching a New Avengers episode where, for long sections, nothing much happens while simultaneously taking itself all-too seriously. Hyde: Do you intend to dine with him the moment he’s up and about? Tara: Yes. Hyde: Then I predict a remarkable recovery. In this High Noon, Steed’s laid up with a broken leg in a safe house in the

The Avengers 6.13: Game   If you’re casting around for villain seeking revenge… look no further than Peter Jeffrey (4.9: Room without a View, 5.15: The Joker). In The Joker, he wanted payback against Mrs Peel. This time, Steed’s on his list. Jeffrey’s a formidable presence even in a limited role, of course, and Game – a disappointingly spartan title – can at least boast variety of content, particularly during the finale. Steed: It’s odd, though. Who would send me a game of Snakes and Ladders? Monte Bristow’s motivation is the court martial he received years before – in 1946, for black marketeering – from six

Death Wish (2018)   I haven’t seen the original Death Wish, the odd clip aside, and I don’t especially plan to remedy that, owing to an aversion to Charles Bronson when he isn’t in Once Upon a Time in the West and an aversion to Michael Winner when he wasn’t making ’60s comedies or Peter Ustinov Hercule Poirots. I also have an aversion to Eli Roth, though (this is the first of his oeuvre I’ve seen, again the odd clip aside, as I have a general distaste for his oeuvre). And also, mildly to Bruce when he’s on autopilot (most of the last

Upgrade (2018)   There’s a host of readily identifiable, familiar elements from genre fare in Leigh Whannell’s sci-fi B-movie, taking in such disparate flicks as Death Wish, Robocop, Knight Rider and Monkey Shines – and Venom, despite coming out of the gate a month earlier than the Tom Hardy starrer. And its premise, of an unstoppable, inventive AI that can see far beyond the humans who spawned it, couldn’t be called especially novel. Nevertheless, Upgrade comes with enough personality to be its own thing. Whannell, long-time producing partner with James Wan turned director on Insidious: Chapter Three, may not have quite the same versatility behind the camera as his long-time

Mandy (2018)   Sometimes you’re left scratching your head over a movie, wondering what it was about it that had others rapturously raving while you were left shrugging. I at least saw the cult appeal of Panos Cosmatos’ previous picture, Beyond the Black Rainbow, which inexorably drew the viewer in with a clinically psychedelic allure before going unceremoniously off the boil in a botched slasher third act. Mandy, though, has been pronounced one of the best of the year, with a great unhinged Nic Cage performance front and centre – I can half agree with the latter point – but it’s further evidence of

Iron Man 2 (2010)   Difficult second album syndrome. So difficult, the main architect subsequently surrendered control to – or was tactfully pushed aside for – Shane Black, and the trilogy ended on a blissful high (although, mileage on that view varies). Iron Man 2 is as typically over-stuffed as has become the de-rigueur cliché for sequels, and you’d have hoped studios would have learnt by now. Two villains (neither of whom quite come together, one through intent – he’s vaguely comic relief – and the other through being a bit shit). Two Iron Men (well, one War Machine and an Iron

Jaws: The Revenge (1987)   Jaws IV is, of course, one of the worst movies ever made, one of the biggest stinkers ever to have erupted from Hollywood. That’s the received wisdom, at any rate, seemingly even underlined by its stars, with Michael Caine famously citing it as paying for his house, and that, despite not having seen it, he was “reliably informed that it is, by all accounts, terrible”. But what if it isn’t? What if Jaws: The Revenge is actually – not a high bar, I know – the best of the Jaws sequels? “But the premise is ludicrous” I hear you cry.

Ben-Hur (2016)   MGM has been entirely consistent in plundering its back catalogue for remakes. At least, to the extent that they never at any point suggested quality results were a determining factor. You’d have thought a redo of one of their greatest success stories would have presumed more care and reverence, but Timur Bekmambetov brings the same level of depth and discernment to Ben-Hur he did to Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. About the best you can say for it is that’s it’s relatively concise in the telling. Not that MGM didn’t throw money at the property ($80m of the $100m budget, with

Black Panther (2018)   Like last year’s Wonder Woman, the hype for what it represents has quickly become conflated with Black Panther’s perceived quality. Can 92 percent and 97 percet of critics respectively really not be wrong, per Rotten Tomatoes, or are they – Armond White aside – afraid that finding fault in either will make open them to charges of being politically regressive, insufficiently woke or all-round, ever-so-slightly objectionable? As with Wonder Woman, Black Panther’s very existence means something special, but little about the movie itself actually is. Not the acting, not the directing, and definitely not the over-emphatic, laboured screenplay. As such, the picture is a

Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)   One of the most interesting aspects of what can often be a rising level of tedious repetition over the extended awards season is the manner in which pictures are reappraised as the spotlight intensifies. A frontrunner can be reduced to tears as an accusatory critical challenge, usually political or (in historical or biographical cases) factual, begins to hold sway. Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri has been the recipient of the lion’s share of such flak this year, but I somehow doubt Martin McDonagh intended his picture to be held up to scrutiny as an exemplar

The Fog (1980)   The Fog has its fans, but I tend to concur with Carpenter’s acknowledgement of the movie’s issues; it represents his first serious stumble, lacking both the sure, driving pace of his previous horror classic and its sense of humour (despite a surfeit of in-jokes, mostly on the character name front). This is a short movie, but one that never really hits its stride. What The Fog undoubtedly has going for it, though, is superb, highly memorable and evocative photography from Dean Cundey – it’s no coincidence that, when he stopped working with the director, the latter’s days delivering the goods were

The Avengers 4.23: The House That Jack Built   The House That Jack Built was okay when it was Don’t Look Behind You, and certainly didn’t need repurposing again (although this time more directly copying the original) as The Joker.  This is a near-solo Emma outing, and very much played straight. Which is fine, but it doesn’t really have all that much in the way of intrigue, instead hoping some splendidly psychedelic sets will be enough to hold the attention. Steed: By the way, I should have a look in the cellar. Might see if the old boy’s laid any wine down there. In fact,

Star Trek: Nemesis (2002)   Out of the ST:NG movies, Star Trek: Nemesis seems to provoke the most outrage among fans, the reasons mostly appearing to boil down to continuity and character work. In the case of the former, while I can appreciate the beef, I’m not enough of an aficionado to get too worked up. In the case of the latter, well, the less of the strained inter-relationships between this bunch that make it to the screen, the better (director Stuart Baird reportedly cut more than fifty minutes from the picture, most of it relating to underscoring the crew, leading to a quip

Nocturnal Animals (2016)   I’d heard Marmite things about Tom Ford’s sophomore effort (I’ve yet to catch his debut), but they were enough to make me mildly intrigued. Unfortunately, I ended up veering towards the “I hate” polarity. Nocturnal Animals is as immaculately shot as you’d expect from a fashion designer with a meticulously unbuttoned shirt, but its self-conscious structure – almost that of a poseur – never becomes fluid in Ford’s liberal adaptation of Austin Wright’s novel, such that even its significantly stronger aspect – the film within the film (or novel within the film) – is diminished by the dour stodge

Pirates of the Caribbean: Salazar’s Revenge aka Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales (2017) The biggest mistake the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels have made is embracing continuity. It ought to have been just Jack Sparrow with an entirely new cast of characters each time (well, maybe keep Kevin McNally). Even On Stranger Tides had Geoffrey Rush obligatorily returning as Barbossa. Although, that picture’s biggest problem was its director; Pirates of the Caribbean: Salazar’s Revenge has a pair of solid helmers in Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg, which is a relief, at least. But alas, the continuity is back with a vengeance. And

T2 Trainspotting (2017)   “First there was an opportunity. And then there was a betrayal.” The story of making of The Beach? I had been of the view that Danny Boyle was dicing with artistic death by revisiting past glories, particularly given Trainspotting’s dismissal of those who inevitably get old, past it and deteriorate, but this – and maybe it is just that nostalgia talking, an active conversation the picture cannily embraces and foregrounds, almost metatextually so – is his best picture since those glory days. He can’t resist overdoing the directorial dazzle at times, and screenwriter John Hodge’s conceits don’t always come off,

The Avengers 3.23: The Outside-In Man   The Outside-In Man sees the return of Ronald Radd from Season Three’s Bullseye, this time as Steed’s boss Quilpie, but the standout turn comes from James Maxwell (Wade in the later The Superlative Seven, Jackson in Underworld) as the mysteriously returned agent Mark Charter, who has spent five years in prison but is miraculously released just as the traitorous Sharp, whom he had been sent to kill when he was caught, is on a visit to Britain as an ambassador for Aburain. Helen Ratner: You don’t know what it’s like to be made a widow. Cathy: Yes, I do.

The Avengers 3.7: Don’t Look Behind You   Better known for what it isn’t, the Emma Peel remake episode The Joker, than in its own right, Don’t Look Behind You is an intermittently effective old-dark-house riff in which Cathy receives an invite from medieval costume expert (tenuous!) Sir Cavalier Rasagne (Steed comments that he sounds like an opera) and is soon subjected to spooky goings-on. The problem is, atmospherics can become exasperating if they’re allowed to go on and on and on. And they do, an interlude with Kenneth Colley aside. When explanations and unveilings are eventually forthcoming, Cathy’s phantom menace is revealed

The Dressmaker (2015)   A gleefully warped, jet black comedy from Jocelyn Moorhouse, one that, for the most part, manages to juggle its potentially jarring shifts in tone and plot. The Dressmaker is a revenge drama, a murder mystery, a comedy of small-town jealousies and a morality play concerning dark secrets, in which Kate Winslet’s pariah arrives home and, like a vindictive version of Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, transforms lives through her special gift of seamstressing. But Moorhouse’s approach is closer to Joe Dante’s The ’Burbs, such that the outback settlement of Dungatar is populated by larger-than-life grotesques and crazies, and is fuelled by

Jason Bourne (2016)   The Bourne Jasonity, as it is also known, makes one wonder a bit. Did the added luxury of time, notably absent from the pressure-cooker production schedule of the previous Greengrass-Damon Bourne efforts, ultimately have a negative effect on the end result? Does Bourne need conflict and up-against-it difficulties to make something special (there were copious reshoots on Identity too, of course)? Because Jason Bourne isn’t anything special. It’s a serviceable thriller, but as a Bourne movie, and the high standards by which the series is rightly judged, it’s something of a disappointment. Which leads one to doubly question the wisdom of blowing the cobwebs off Damon’s

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)   I don’t love Star Trek, but I do love Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. That probably isn’t just me, but a common refrain of many a non-devotee of the series. Although, it used to apply to The Voyage Home (the funny one, with the whales, the Star Trek even the target audience for Three Men and a Baby could enjoy). Unfortunately, its high regard has also become the desperate, self-destructive, song-and-verse, be-all-and-end-all of the overlords of the franchise itself, in whichever iteration, it seems. This is understandable to an extent, as Khan is that rare movie sequel made to

The Revenant  (2015)   Alejandro González Iñárritu’s latest Oscar contender is a gruelling, man-against-the-elements – and mauling grizzlies – gore-fest, a technically astonishing piece of work with quite incredible cinematography from Emmanuel Lubezki amid the blood, bile and phlegm. The Revenant also features a deeply committed performance from Oscar contender Leonardo Wilhelm DiCaprio. Such an adherent to his art is he, he even ingests, and regurgitates, a piece of raw bison liver. What the picture lacks, though, is a profound engagement in his character’s plight, a plight that extends from the visceral to the ridiculous as unfortunate incident after unfortunate incident piles upon

The Gift (2015)   Joel Edgerton’s feature debut as writer-director (he has several prior screenplay/ story credits, including The Rover) showcases the also-starring actor’s deft touch with the thriller genre and evident facility with his cast, eliciting an outstanding, against-type turn from Jason Bateman. One does wonder, however, if he’s a better ideas man than deliverer of a finished screenplay, as this might have been improved with a few more drafts. Certainly, Edgerton has studied the suspense masters, or at very least late ’80s/ early ’90s domestic psycho thrillers (Fatal Attraction, Sleeping with the Enemy, Single White Female, The Hand that Rocks the Cradle etc.)

Quantum of Solace (2008)   Way to throw all Martin Campbell’s good work under a bus, Marc Forster. Quantum of Solace isn’t a Bond movie that turns bad, the way Die Another Day turns bad, although its action sequences set a new standard for lousy incoherence, but it’s utterly banal, lacking drive or momentum in a similarly manner to earlier Bond-out-for-revenge escapade Licence to Kill. The entire enterprise feels like the makers are fulfilling an obligation to continue their story directly from Casino Royale, rather than actually having one to tell. At every turn the finished picture is bereft of the inventiveness and freshness that informed its predecessor.

Spectre (2015)   The appearance of Spectre supremo Hans Oberhauser (who are they trying to kid, right?) in the trailers for Bond 24, announcing himself as the author of all 007’s pain gave some who watched it, myself included, understandable pause. That, and the shards of photo pointed to the Bond series yielding to that ever-unwanted obsession of Hollywood, the accursed backstory. For Bond this is particularly numbskulled, as he’s one of the shallowest characters ever to grace the silver screen – something to be celebrated, rather than rooting around for blusher to bring out his pallid texture. Fortunately, Spectre mostly doesn’t make too much

Goldeneye (1995)   Casino Royale appears to have been crowned the once and future king of the Bond reboot, and it is the better movie, but the decisions made during the extended hiatus leading to Goldeneye proved far more decisive and crucial to the continued relevance of the series as a viable box office franchise. As with the Craig films (thus far), Brosnan’s era failed to make good on its initial promise, but it had all the tools to do so if it had elected to pick the wheat from the chafe. Goldeneye revitalises and reenergises Bond in a manner still palpable two decades on. It fails in two significant areas,

Star Cops 5. This Case to Be Opened in a Million Years   Another superb title, but Philip Martin’s debut for Star Cops, despite a twisty narrative and a number of red herrings, can’t quite live up to it. This one goes completely overboard with the stereotypes, to such an extent you can’t quite believe this is supposed to be played straight, and not a commentary on such things (as with Martin’s excesses in the earlier Gangsters). Suffering the most are the Italians, completed with Joe Dulce-style ker-razee accents that wouldn’t be out of place if the “French” policeman from ’Allo ’Allo went

Blue Ruin (2013)   If Jeremy Saulnier’s gripping, low-key revenge thriller is guilty of anything, it’s underplaying. That’s not so much a criticism as an attempt to explain why it might not have found the widest of audiences. From its measured, assured unfolding to muted lead character, Blue Ruin is a finely crafted slow-burn suspenser. It’s also pretty much an anti-revenge flick. Vigilante justice is dispensed by one wholly ill-equipped for it, but so ravaged by the effects of loss upon his psyche that he is compelled to act. There is no uplift or catharsis resulting from the actions of Dwight (Macon

Licence to Kill (1989)   Defenders of the Dalton era point to his second and final outing as the one that saw the shape of things to come. If only the public had been as receptive to its tone as they were seventeen years later. Such down and dirty, gritty 007 adventuring (in other words, Bourne-infused) would be feted when Daniel Craig grimaced his way into the role, encumbered by massive pectoral muscles while mistaking a pained expression for the heavy emoting. There’s something to this, but in silhouette form only. Licence to Kill is stricken on the rocks of flaccid editing and

John Wick (2014)   For their directorial debut, ex-stunt guys Chad Stahelski and David Leitch plump for the old reliable “hit man comes out of retirement” plotline, courtesy of screenwriter Derek Kolstad, and throw caution to the wind. The result, John Wick, is one of last year’s geek and critical favourites, a fired-up actioner that revels in its genre tropes and captures that elusive lightning in a bottle; a Keanu Reeves movie in which he is perfectly cast. That said, some of the raves have probably gone slightly overboard. This is effective, silly, and enormous fun in its own hyper-violent way, but Stahelski

Mad Max (1979)   It’s most common for movie series to peak begin on a high, before anyone had an inkling there would be further chapters, and then inexorably decline. A few notables buck the trend, however. Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn is one, where the comic energy makes its predecessor look threadbare by comparison. Mad Max 2 (or The Road Warrior) is another, a movie that fully embraces propulsive, kinetic action and the mythic potential of its protagonist. While both these elements are in nascent form in Mad Max, it’s really by reflection of what came after, and Mel Gibson’s star-in-waiting status, that George Miller’s

Sabotage (2014)   Is David Ayer an on-again, off-again director or does he just get lucky despite himself? Sabotage comes along with such an apparent absence of basic filmmaking wiles, one ends up veering towards the latter conclusion; the behind the scenes wrangles might lead one to give him the benefit of the doubt, but this isn’t the first time he’s laid an egg. And, as the latest in Arnie’s damp squib of a comeback trail, it’s an ill-fitting suit for his persona yet one that’s so tone deaf as a whole his presence neither couldn’t be said to mar the surrounding

Only God Forgives (2013)   Pretentiousness incarnate, and offputtingly violent to boot.  Those seem the chief accusations levelled at Nicolas Winding Refn’s latest film, with the added slap down that it’s slow and dull. There’s some truth to all those criticisms, although how much they become black marks or virtues is clearly in the eye of the beholder. I liked the film, but Refn definitely exposes the limitations of his thematic content by placing his emphasis in such a foregrounded and aesthetically indulgent manner. I should emphasise that I’m not immune to decrying filmmakers over their pretensions towards pretension. I find

R.I.P.D. (2013)   Roundly slated as a Men in Black rip-off, R.I.P.D. has to face up and plead guilty as charged. It’s Men in Black without the star chemistry and servicing the strictly formulaic plotting of that series’ second instalment. Really though, it’s just pretty mediocre. This has been rather over shadowed by everything else it represents; further evidence that Ryan Reynolds is box office poison and also a huge loser for Universal as one of the biggest bombs of 2013 (barely making back half of its costs). It’s curious how little this feels like a Robert Schwentke movie. His previous pictures at least feel fairly clean and

Prisoners (2013)   Prisoners is a ridiculous, self-important, exploitative piece of schlock masquerading as serious drama. It looks great, boasts a lustrous cast and is directed by Denis Villeneuve with, at least at first, convincing portentousness and all the grim determination that hundreds of thousands of gallons of artificial rain can muster. But it’s a really dumb movie, one that prods at big issues without the brains to do anything with them, and comes up with the kind of eye-rolling twists that wouldn’t look out of place in your bargain-basement standard serial killer fare like The Bone Collector or Kiss the Girls. Prisoners announces itself

Dead Man Down (2013)   The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo‘s Niels Arden Oplev must really like pulp fiction. He takes something as lurid and preposterous as Stieg Larsson’s novel and treats the characters and story as with tasteful restraint. Such respectfulness encourages the viewer to treat it in kind, even if instinctively it’s clear that this is all rather trashy. Dead Man Down is the kind of material that could easily have been washed up as straight-to-video fare with a Statham or a Lundgren. It’s a less than subtle script that he chooses for his first English language film but Oplev

Django Unchained (2012)   Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it