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[Spoiler-free review] Here is the best way to know that you are in an author film. It is impossible to imagine that it was made by someone else. The tenth feature by Quentin Tarantino (creatively referred to as his ninth, no doubt to give him a retreat after his various proclamations "I'm leaving after 10 movies!") Is a Hollywood fable. The film begins in 1968 and ends in the summer of 1969 when the very pregnant actress Sharon Tate, Roman Polanski's new wife, and his guests from the house were all brutally murdered by the Manson family. No matter how many filmmakers could have made a film about this infamous year in California, but only Tarantino could have done Once upon a time … in Hollywood.
Historical events, at least real, have never been as sacred to Tarantino as the history of cinema. Whenever he is immersed in "history" – Django unleashed, without glory – it's like emotionally charged prefabricated worlds from which to turn one's own idiosyncratic threads. In this regard Once upon a time is no exception. For this viewer, however, his latest film feels closer to the mind pulp Fiction. It is tempting, though inaccurate and flippant, to describe Once upon a time … in Hollywood like a movie length riff on this restaurant scene pulp Fiction POV servers "Marilyn" and "Elvis", with all the famous actors posing as other famous actors.
Even if we spend an intermittent moment with the rising star of the time, Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie, bright, if not much more, given the limits of the role), it is more decorative than subject. The story is about Tate's fictional fictional neighbor, TV star Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio, on his best lap since Parties) and his double stuntman Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt, still a bading movie star!). Dalton and Booth are minor players in Hollywood, their glory years behind them. Dalton has been reduced to appearances as star in various TV shows and Booth rarely works as a stuntman, earning his life as a full-fledged friend. Booth's main work is Dalton's.
We spend a lot of time with the two men in the car to go to the star's home. Among the many glorious and amusing visual touches (Barbara Ling is the decorator) is a detail cut out of a poster or film thought is a bad picture of Rick Dalton's face, which marked Dalton's parking lot … his home. Booth's nicer car takes the unmarked spot right next door.
The first time I went to Los Angeles alone in the early 2000s, I did not rent a car. The mistake – which I accused of living in New York where everyone walks – was easily apparent. There were few user-friendly sidewalks for pedestrians. People were watching. Each subsequent trip involved a lot of time by car, rental or rental. Sometimes the distance between your destination and your destination is quite short, but try to inform the traffic. The time goes on indefinitely. My mind continued to drift to all this vehicular stasis during the lengths of the film. "Where does this picture go and why does it take so long to get … Ooh, this scene is fun!"
Once upon a timeThe connective tissue of his episodes is spent in the streets and highways of Los Angeles, with Booth leading us, or Dalton, or, in a particularly memorable scene, welcoming foot badists, Manson, acolyte Pussycat (Margaret Qualley), through the mythical city. Once upon a time… has been described as a "hangout" movie that is the most enjoyable way to refer to its indulgent time of nearly 3 hours … and perhaps also the most accurate.
However, unlike the frankly boring production times of Tarantino's recent films (I absolutely can not The Hateful Eight) Once upon a time is a surprisingly nice way to spend three hours, with the exception of two politically dubious sequences. Fortunately, a brief scene that we wish to see disappeared makes a kind of joke about violence against women (a strange misstep given the benevolent treatment reserved for Tate's subplot). The other opponent Bruce Lee (a hugely entertaining camaieu of Mike Moh) to Booth in a half-performative dice fight for the team on the set of one of Dalton's shows. This battle scene serves as a narrative to show the audience how great Booth is since we only know him as a rundown stuntman. Surely there was a way to put this in place without the ridiculous suggestion of equating it for Bruce Lee (my older one at the screening, a long-time friend of mine, chose the scene as his last favorite, "As that minority, so sick of 'Mighty Whitie!'.
These two scenes aside, the film is funny, visually memorable, and even quite seductive, which is usually not an adjective that anyone would give to an image of Tarantino.
Dalton is briefly attracted to Italy and catches the leading roles he can not get in Hollywood (Al Pacino has a lot of fun in his seductive role). However, most of the image concerns the industrial city itself and its intertwined mixture of affluent (Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski), hangers (Emile Hirsch, Jay Sebring, close friend of Tate), former lovers ( Dalton) and poor (Booth). All this in addition to the marginal inhabitants (the Manson family) who are geographically close but live in a totally different world.
Although several glorious scenes and reenactments of historic film marquees remind us of Tarantino's love for the history of cinema, the film's stealthy subject seems to be the loneliness of celebrity and its stealthy homage to 1960s television. Sharon Tate walks around the city stopping to watch one of her movies, she feels tremendous pride when the audience reacts well to her performance. Yet in every sequence in which she looks radiant with happiness, she is remarkably lonely. Later, it's strangely moving (and funny!) When Dalton is too excited to watch an episode of FBI he invited with Booth, who seems to be his only friend. In the best and longest episode about Dalton, we spend a day with him on a stage where he struggles with his dialogue and ridicules himself alone in his caravan before meeting a star child (Julia Butters, major scenes stealer) who inspires his game.
The scene that, for this non-Angelenos, works to signify this better movie experience as a whole, complete with all its meanders, arrives early. At first, it looks like "why did not you cut that?" The scene is a solo affair with no obvious narrative purpose. We are in the car with Booth as he drives to Dalton's expensive home, walking the streets of Los Angeles as if he was filming a waterfall scene. This indulgence, which only concerns the atmosphere, is transformed into something moving, fun and hazy dreaming (cinematography of Robert Richardson, winner of three Oscars) as the road lengthens and the historical sites furrow. Finally, we end up at the legendary Van Nuys Drive In. Our destination is, surprise, not the historic movie site, but a wasteland behind.
Booth lives in a small caravan that he shares with his pit bull Brandy (probably the most entertaining character of the film). She waited docilely for her meal on the couch. A can of dog food slips grotesquely and slowly slides into his can – falling into his bowl with a memorable gelatinous plop. Then, a second, of different color but no less revolting, lands on top, splashing on the ground. She licks her lips in anticipation, comically. The weather continues to lengthen. Booth / Tarantino has not finished preparing this meal yet. In a surprise, Booth pulls dry foods from the cupboard and sprinkles them randomly and chaotically. It's too much. he should not to be delicious. Maybe not, but we are hungry. Brandy is finally given the sound signal and jumps off the couch.
What a mess but also what a treat!
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