As much as I enjoyed Planet Terror, the first half of the Grindhouse double-feature, that's how much I was bored, yes bored, by Death Proof. I thought I might be disappointed, but I wasn't expecting to be bored. The film starts with forty-five minutes of Quentin Tarantino wanking himself on camera.
Well, not literally. But figuratively.
Lots of shots of gorgeous women showing off their bare feet and talking about, well, whatever. You know, in that "Tarantinoesque" manner. It went on and on and on. I can't even imagine how restless the crowd must have been getting at this point during the theatrical run, with this tedium coming right after the madness of Planet Terror. The whole thing was basically a long excuse to set up a lap dance scene with Vanessa Ferlito, and while I enjoy staring at that ass as much as the next guy, I....I....
Hmmm, for some reason, I lost my train of thought there.
At any rate, we then get about five minutes of awesome, and it is very good action. Not enough to excuse how long it took to get there, though. And we get a time card ("14 months later") and...he starts over! A new set of girls, and another endless chunk of dialogue. More foot fetish on display, although this time Tarantino lets Kurt Russell do the foot licking instead of giving that scene to himself (re: From Dusk 'Til Dawn).
It's a relief when Russell reappears, so that we can get the final chase scene started, and while it was appropriately tense and violent, I found myself wondering why the girls didn't just hit the brakes and let Stuntman Mike go past them. At least it would have given Zoe a chance to get off of the car. And then suddenly - the movie's over. The End. Have A Nice Day.
I'm sorry, but this was a bad example of Taratino dialogue sticking in the middle of a genre film that's supposed to grab me by the throat and shake me around. A huge misfire, especially compared to Robert Rodriguez' half of the double header. Two middling stars.
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