Kill Bill: Volume 2 (review)
Killing Bill, Part Deux
Chapter 6: The Return of the Flick Chick
(in black-and-white, with funky rear-projection)
“I’ve thumbs-downed a hell of a lot of movies to get to this point,” she purrs. “I’ve been on what the movie geeks refer to as a roaring rampage of reviewing. But that’s nothing to what I’m gonna do now. Now, I am gonna trash Bill.”
Chapter 37: The Math Question No One Will Confront
So, is this the four-and-a-halfth film from Quentin Tarantino? Is it part two of the fourth film from Quentin Tarantino? Is this the fifth film from Quentin Tarantino? The TV ads and the trailers and such have been suspiciously mum on this point. I mean, a tally is not something we’re used to hearing — who cares if Hot Wheels will be the fifth film from McG? who cares if New York Minute will be the third film from Mary-Kate Olsen (she’s a producer, you know)? — but the issue was raised in the hubbub around the fourth film from Quentin Tarantino, Kill Bill: Volume 1, so I think we’re owed an answer on this pressing matter.
Chapter 75: Quentin Still Loves Himself (Lest You Thought It Was Only a Summer Thing)
The massacre at Twin Pines Mall or Two Pines Wedding Chapel or whatever the fuck “has since become legend,” his film snickers, and so like a nasty little kid pulling wings off some helpless creature, he say “Ha ha, you guys are suckers for making my crappy self-indulgent movie a legend, now I’m gonna fuck witcha, it wasn’t really a wedding, can you believe they actually pay me for this!” and rearranges things, the cool black-and-white imagery of the dead bride in her pretty dress having served its purpose to tantalize you in the volume-oneth film. Dangerous, these guys who believe their own press.
Chapter 75a: Critics Are Stupid (Except for Me)
It’s all their goddamn fault, praising Tarantino’s every fart as sheer genius! magnificent! a triumph! just so they don’t get labeled old coots who don’t get the stuff the kids like. It’s because of them that Tarantino gets away with hiring guys who appear to have totally fried their brains back in the 60s, like David Carradine. It’s because of them that Tarantino can go whack off to Uma’s outtakes while a bonobo chimp or perhaps one of those really smart parrots that can count to a hundred and knows colors gets to edit the film. The pretty knobs on the Avid editing machine… they turn alllll the wayyyyy arounnnnnnd and make the scenes draaaaaag out forever.
Chapter 75b: 136 Minutes, Not 1:36
Jesus H. Christ with a Hattori Hanzo sword, that’s two hours and fifteen minutes. And there’s only about 37 minutes of actual content. The other 99 minutes consist of multiple angles on Michael Madsen’s face — which no film calls for — as he’s “emoting” and long moments of David Carradine trying to remember his lines, and then trying to deliver them.
Chapter 75c: Quentin’s Self-Commentary on His Own Meta-textual Realization of Some Crap or Other
(featuring actual quotes from the film!)
“I’m done — get me out of this hole!”
“As you know, I’m quite keen on comic books.”
Chapter 337: The Passion of the Bride
Beat her up! Shoot her! Tie her up! Throw dirt in her face! Make her scream and cry and sob and bleed! Whip it! Whip it good! ← enjoy my retro hip funky pop culture ‘tude slathered with sadistic death fetish. yum!
Interlude: Shaolin Critic Technique
(in Mandarin, subtitled)
There is no movie — there is only a reflection of yourself. You must be one with the movie before you can defeat the movie. Only the pure of heart can face down the bad soul of the movie.
Exercise: Shove a pencil through the laptop screen breaking neither the pencil nor your concentration.
Exercise: Tear up press notes using nothing but your strength of character.
Chapter 338: Quentin Thinks You’re Stupid
He must, or else he wouldn’t have thought you’d buy “the most dangerous woman in the world” suddenly losing all her cool and calm and training so that she can get stuck in a situation where she can get beaten up shot tied up dirt in the face scream cry sob bleed. Unless you think that’s as delicious as Tarantino does.
Chapter 3,911: Everything Quentin Wants You to Know About What Gets Quentin Off (But That You Never Needed to Know and In Fact Wish You Were Still Ignorant Of)
Two lanky hot blondes with sheets of golden hair in their faces — Uma, preferably smeared in blood and dirt, and Daryl — kung-fu-ing the crap out of each other. Add phallic swords. Repeat as necessary.
Chapter 56,832: In Which I Allude to Comic Books, Which All the Cool Kids Are Reading and So They Will Love Me, by a Process of Transference
Have you ever read Milk & Cheese? These badass dairy products rock. I mention them not merely to be hip but because they are relevant to our discussion here today in that they tolerate no cockfuckery — in fact, they are militantly anti-cockfuckery to the point of going on arson sprees or bat-wielding rampages when such are called for by the idiocy of the world. Not only am I cool and awesome to be dropping the name of a small-press comic that’s got no corporate bullshit bringing it down, man, but also I would like them to turn their calcium-heavy ready-to-rumble grins on Tarantino. Let’s see him escape their cow-juice-powered rage!
The Last Chapter: Quentin’s Low Opinion of Women Is Hailed as Romantic (But Not by Me)
Women belong to men or to babies, and the change in ownership happens in an instant. Women do not belong to themselves. Isn’t that sweet?
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