This is totally overdue, but I’ve been meaning to post my thoughts on Tarantino’s latest offering, Inglourious Basterds.  Tarantino is one of my personal favorite filmmakers.  He injects all of his films with such a heartfelt energy; they’re fun rides.  The following review was written for the Independent News, a publication based in Pensacola that I freelance for once or twice a month.  This is the “bigger, raw, uncut” version that was trimmed down slightly for the paper for reasons of space.  Hope you enjoy.

Conversation. In the works of Quentin Tarantino, the scarlet thread that connects them all is the importance he places on dialog. Poorly marketed as a shoot ‘em up war film, “”Inglourious Basterds”” finds its strength once more in Tarantino’s uncanny talent for directing conversation. When his characters sit down to discuss their latest challenge, the viewer is carried along a roller coaster of humor and interest, with a mounting tension that always culminates either with satisfying black humor or Tarantino’s trademark stylized ultraviolence.

Even a nodding acquaintance with the marketing is enough to familiarize yourself with the barest bones of “Basterds’” plot: a group of nine Jewish-American soldiers are dropped into occupied France to wage a terrifying guerilla war on the outlying Nazis, a job that later turns into a mission to assassinate the entire German High Command at the premier of Goebbels latest propaganda film.

However, what was left out of the advertising was that the Basterds themselves serve as the background for a far more complex story, one that involves a very angry young Jewish lady (Melanie Laurent), the sole survivor of her massacred family, who has her own ideas of what to do when the High Command assembles for the premier at her theater.

From a technical standpoint, “Basterds” is a masterful piece of work. The color pallete is diverse and vibrant, yet subdued, changing hue in each chapter and giving one the idea of bright colors without their becoming a distraction. Cinematographer Robert Richardson treats us to some wonderfully lit interiors shot with spectacular camerawork. And as we’ve come to expect, when a character needs an introduction, they get their own set of on-screen titles (often in Tarantino’s own handwriting), or even their own cutaway flashback, narrated by Tarantino mainstay Samuel L. Jackson.

The soundtrack, always a character of it’s own in a Tarantino picture, is big and bold; tossing subtlety out the window and into a mud puddle. Featuring powerful Spaghetti Western scores and even tossing in some well-chosen pop songs, Tarantino has not lost his touch for assembling a soundtrack that is eclectic, yet still oddly coherent.

Thankfully, the performances of the actors are not overshadowed by the bold, cheeky presentation. Christoph Waltz, is a scene-stealer as SS Colonel Hans Landa, a role which won him the Best Actor award at the Cannes Film Festival. Believe the hype, he is superb. Brad Pitt, far from my first choice as hillbilly Basterd leader Aldo Raine, disappears into character in a way that he rarely has before, thanks in no small part from a face that is finally beginning to show some age and leading-man maturity . Also, be sure to take notice of Melanie Laurent, a relative newcomer to starring roles, but plays Shosanna Dreyfuss with the delicacy and emotional power of a veteran thespian.

The challenge of viewing any Quentin Tarantino film is to separate the film from Tarantino himself. The problem is, it’s impossible; because unless you have some knowledge of the man, his films hit you like a mad truck, and just processing them can be a full-time job.

To watch Tarantino himself is to see a mind that moves faster than its corresponding mouth, constantly recalling influences, references, and obscure bits of film history. His attempts to keep up with his own stream of consciousness gives on the image of a fast-talking film geek, slightly too old for the boyish enthusiasm he maintains. But that’s just the exterior of a man who makes films with more joy than anyone I’ve ever seen.

“Inglourious Basterds” is not for everyone. The Basterds scalp Nazis, shoot Nazis, beat Nazis to death with a baseball bat, and the camera doesn’t shy away. But—viewers are also treated to a very gripping drama set in and around occupied Paris. The outstanding finale, set inside a movie theater, is pure Tarantino, giving himself the space to boldly declare his love for the power of cinema up until the very last frame. And, refreshingly, Tarantino does not take the route of conventional WWII films, but gives a surprise ending that defies actual history.

A flawed but brilliant auteur, Tarantino has made a name for himself by penning scripts that brim over with a love for words, music, and a very dark sense of humor. “Inglourious Basterds” is no exception, and marks a spectacular return to form.