Directed by:
Quentin TarantinoScreenplay:
Quentin TarantinoCinematography:
Robert RichardsonComposer:
Ennio MorriconeCast:
Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Demián Bichir, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern, James Parks, Dana Gourrier (more)VOD (5)
Plots(1)
Six or eight or twelve years after the Civil War, a stagecoach hurtles through the wintry Wyoming landscape. The passengers, bounty hunter John Ruth (Kurt Russell) and his fugitive Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh), race towards the town of Red Rock where Ruth, known in these parts as "The Hangman," will bring Domergue to justice. Along the road, they encounter two strangers: Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a black former union soldier turned infamous bounty hunter, and Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), a southern renegade who claims to be the town's new Sheriff. Losing their lead on the blizzard, Ruth, Domergue, Warren and Mannix seek refuge at Minnie's Haberdashery, a stagecoach stopover on a mountain pass. When they arrive at Minnie's, they are greeted not by the proprietor but by four unfamiliar faces. Bob (Demian Bichir), who's taking care of Minnie's while she's visiting her mother, is holed up with Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth), the hangman of Red Rock, cow-puncher Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), and Confederate General Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern). As the storm overtakes the mountainside stopover, our eight travelers come to learn they may not make it to Red Rock after all... (The Weinstein Company)
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Reviews (18)
I'm sick and tired of the over-the-top violence in Tarantino's films, and I write this as someone who enjoys Fulci and similar masters of horror gore. Unlike most, I enjoyed the first hour more, with the witty dialogues that, if fleshed out to a greater scope, would have made a fine play. But then Quentin breaks free with his explicit bloody charge and it all goes to hell. This is a symptom in all his recent films, you know exactly what is coming in the next few minutes. Moreover, as the story unfolds, it makes less and less sense, with a verbal diarrhea that feels unnatural thrown at the viewer. Would real characters talk this mechanically? I still can't get enough of Pulp Fiction to this day, it's a masterpiece where everything clicks, but ever since Kill Bill, which was Tarantino's last great film in my eyes, his work has become more and more distant. There's no longer any excitement on my part, just cautious curiosity, and that's a shame.
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Even though Quentin Tarantino is not my cup of tea, I am always curious about his next movie. However, after the years I already know that he will surprise me with nothing else than the fact that he keeps roping one acting ace after another into his movies. That may be the reason why I still cannot miss single one of his movies. And The Hateful Eight again did not disappoint. If I wouldn’t blame the actors, whom I hold in high respects, I would blame the film itself, which incredibly overacts. The 182 minutes of footage really show Quentin’s big confidence as he thinks that I will fall for a film this long. The problem is that he stretched a good premise twice as long than this kind of film would deserve. For example, the first scene in the post chaise is incredibly deadening and boring, and nothing fundamental happens there. The film gets a really interesting touch only towards the ending, when something finally starts to happen. At the time you can expect basically anything because everybody playing in this movie has a character so absurd that the audience knows that anything can happen. Actors with their polished English from the American countryside create the impression that almost every line uttered in the movie is a catchphrase. And there is quite a lot of them. Tarantino again did not disappoint. However, it never ceases to fascinate me that his fans still buy everything he makes. Just switch the locations for the Second World War and you get Inglorious Basterds. Switch it for the America filled with gangsters and you get Pulp Fiction. Is this movie really that original as it pretends to be?
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Tarantino's Ten Little Blacks... I mean, bad guys in a nearly three-hour intimate snowy movie in a western style. If his plan is still valid, that after ten films he ends up with cinematography and starts with the theater. If so, we have many reasons to feel excited about that. In a same way that the staging department will be since the will be supposed to clean the stage from tons of blood after every performance. And although I have some fundamental reservations about the way it is built in the Eighth (and that it is almost a repetition of the fourth chapter of the Inglourious Basterds) and the tension between the characters should have been even bigger, but on the other hand, brilliant dialogs and cast were flawless. And as a fan of Goggins, I appreciate how he seized the opportunity when someone finally gave him adequate space in the film.
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With such perfect cinematography and the wonderful old-fashioned Ennio Morricone soundtrack, this simply can't go completely wrong; but I was still expecting something more. Quentin Tarantino's repeated love for the Wild West promised to rid itself of all the small flaws that afflicted the otherwise wonderful Django Unchained, but this is a step backwards. The never-ending dialogues about nothing surprisingly often remain never-ending dialogues about nothing, and it is only when the reveals start coming in the second half that the film finally succeeds. The pace never drops, every shot has fatal consequences, and the resolution of the last plot twists even manages to nail you to your seat despite its bloody black humor, proving that this ride was worth it. Still, I would be happy if Quentin moved on from Western-themed stories (or, in this case, half-bred cowgirls) and went somewhere else. Because in the stagecoach chapters, his previously commonplace sins against the audience have started to creep back in, and instead of a symbiosis of the creator and the viewer, his fetish for reference and drawing things out are appearing again after all these years.
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An almost detective-like Tarantino, with amazing casting at its back moves the genre into entirely uncharted waters (well, snowy hills) while still remaining himself. A well balanced team of actors, headed by Samuel L. Jackson, gives masterful performances, supported by amazing dialogues and catchphrases. The stunning camerawork offers breathtaking sceneries - at times like from another world - and Morricone’s music is gloomy and cold in a way we haven’t heard for a long time. A quality piece. So you’re just starting to imagine it all, right?
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