Directed by:
Quentin TarantinoScreenplay:
Quentin TarantinoCinematography:
Quentin TarantinoCast:
Kurt Russell, Rosario Dawson, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Tracie Thoms, Zoë Bell, Vanessa Ferlito, Rose McGowan, Sydney Tamiia Poitier, Jordan Ladd (more)VOD (3)
Plots(1)
In Tarantino's Death Proof, Austin's hottest DJ, Jungle Julia, sets out into the night to unwind with her two friends Shanna an Arlene. Covertly tracking their moves is Stuntman Mike, a scarred rebel leering from behind the wheel of his muscle car, revving just feet away. (Dimension Films)
Videos (3)
Reviews (15)
Terribly restrained and, mainly in the first half, boring. It was real torture sitting through the first group of girls and, until stuntman Mike (the great Kurt Russell) comes on set, nothing happens. And normally Tarantino knows how to create an atmosphere. The mysterious music and the shot of the car hidden in the darkness is much more powerful than the car revving. A change comes with the nice conversation between father (sheriff) and his first-born son (deputy), which is definitely the best of all the dialog scenes (in terms of screenplay). The second group of girls has clearly more charisma (headed by Rosario Dawson) and more fun. The icing on the cake is the final car chase which is absolute genius and breathtaking. That’s why it’s a shame that the self-centered screenwriter Tarantino has to spoil all of director Tarantino’s good work. But maybe after this kick in the ass Mr. T. will pull himself together and start work on Inglourious Basterds, because it really is high time.
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As a full-fledged film it’s essentially useless, and that was not expected from Tarantino. Grindhouse excels exactly in what it should, to pay perfect homage to all possible B-movie genres and older films. You can expect amazing gimmicks (old picture, sound distortion, Kurt winking at the camera), which, mixed with quality ingredients (an excellently insane plot and stylish execution), create a decently entertaining appetizer primarily designed for hardcore fans of the director. For a regular viewer, it is still a bit unusual, even considering the fact that, from this director, are somehow expecting something to jump at you from the screen.
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The girls are hot (maybe too hot) and anyone who only looks at their mouths the entire time might get bored eventually. They talk about nothing and that's why most people brush off the dialogue as a weakness. But anyone who's been eyeing Warren's bar, where there are a lot of posters, a cool jukebox, and good drinks being poured, will understand that Quentin has got things figured out pretty damn well. Every now and then the girls drop a suspiciously familiar line from another film and everyone with half a brain realizes that someone here has studied the history of (not only) trash pretty damn well. Although the pulp aesthetic is quite foreign to me, I enjoyed this delightful ride with Quentin as much as Stuntman Mike enjoyed his car.
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Just like with Kill Bill, I have to say that this kind of filmmaking completely misses the mark for me, albeit for somewhat different reasons than Tarantino's previous film. As surprising as it is that a film by a cult pop culture director is set in the blue field, it is rather proof of the absolutely exceptional position that Quentin Tarantino currently holds in the film world. While Kill Bill was a brilliantly and precisely shot trash, with gallons of blood, dynamic action, beautiful women, and a few memorable lines, and the interest and favor of film fans was no surprise, Death Proof is the least audience-friendly film, and it doesn't make any effort to win the favor of the audience, and the director made it for his own pleasure and the pleasure of the same nutcases as him. Death Proof is a tribute to a certain trash subgenre, where Tarantino, unlike the Coen brothers, doesn't play with genre principles but tries to achieve the maximum condensation and extraction of the genre essence. It is a strongly non-narrative film, where style is everything. In fact, the plot can be successfully summarized in four lines. The characters don't really have personalities and are rather types that are supposed to fit into a certain genre box. I've read something similar in small-run alternative lesbian-feminist comics from the 70s. The men who appear in the film are almost exclusively weaklings who beg for attention and sexual satisfaction from dominant women, who are characterized by strong vulgar language and are so cool that after a while it becomes boring or irritating due to the excessive stylization. The villain, according to this concept, has a macho appearance, but beneath the tough facade, he is incredibly weak and cowardly... I think the ability to captivate the average viewer is minimal, and so the current reviews are evidence that if Tarantino were to shoot a 90-minute recording of a washing machine drum spinning, there would undoubtedly be comments from users saying that at first glance they were hesitant and only understood Tarantino's creative genius in full extent after the second viewing. It doesn't make sense to judge Death Proof as a good or bad film, because Tarantino knows his craft and that is not the problem. But it is so self-centered that it is almost inedible from my point of view. Overall impression: 25%.
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A clever director's whim, a traditionally listenable soundtrack, and occasionally nice cameos. That's all Quentin Tarantino has given me and this desperate spectacle made me so angry. Two completely identical parties of overdressed silly kittens with annoying dialogue, making even the conversations from the worst of the director's scripts seem like genius. And on top of that, a main villain who disappears for long minutes, resulting in one unsexy dance and one tired car chase. The video rental weirdo has run out of ideas and becomes just a weirdo again who enjoys watching somewhat strange movies. I don't blame him, but in that case, he shouldn't boast about any "the best" labels. More than a decade later, undoubtedly the worst Tarantino movie, fortunately meaning rock bottom, from which the only way was up, fortunately several floors up.
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