Death Proof

It baffles me that many of the Grindhouse reviewers seem to look more favourably on Robert Rodriguez’s contribution – the zombie flick “Planet Terror” – than on Quentin Tarantino’s, “Death Proof.” Myself, I thought “Planet Terror” was a forgettable waste of time. I can certainly appreciate the whole homage impulse, and I liked the little touches like the distressed film and the missing scenes & reels, but it seems to me that if you’re paying homage to something that’s not very good in the first place, what you want to come up with is something that only seems to be a pitch-perfect recreation, but that’s not really because it’s actually better. Rodriguez settled for just a pitch-perfect recreation, thus handcuffing himself to lame dialogue and mediocre action choreography.

(And for me at least, raising the question: do we really need to get all nostalgic for poorly thought out, badly acted movies that privilege sensation and spectacle above all else? It’s not like the grindhouse films were gentrified out of existence – they just got bigger budgets and moved into the rich neighbourhoods, pushing out their tea-drinking, pinkie-raising neighbours.)

“Death Proof,” though, I liked a lot, mainly because it takes the films of the past as mere inspirations rather than blueprints. The result is never anything less (or more) than a Tarantino picture: visually stylin’ but light on story, a bit poky, obsessed with pop culture, and talky, talky, talky.

All of which, frankly, I love.

Tarantino’s thing may not be to everyone’s taste, but I’ll tell you this – 10 minutes into “Death Proof” I already cared more about the characters than I ever did about anyone in “Planet Terror.” Sure, Tarantino does some bravura set pieces, but what I really love about his work is that more than anything else it’s about dialogue: the way people relate to each other via what they choose to say to each other. I mean, in his world, talking about sexytimes is sexier than actual sexytimes: it’s telling that “Death Proof” more or less begins with one of the female characters recounting a night-before makeout session, but a little later, when the same woman is just about to give Kurt Russell a lap dance, we get one of those “sorry, reel missing” notices instead and then skip ahead a few scenes.

And as ever, the dude’s also got primo taste in retro music. During a key scene in “Death Proof” there’s a British Invasion hit that I’d never heard of before (by the punchily named combo Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich) but have now been listening to nonstop for days. And at one point, when the camera zoomed in on a jukebox and previewed the record that was being cued up and I saw that it was this one –

• Joe Tex, “The Love You Save (May Be Your Own)” (buy here)

– I let out a little happy gasp in my seat. (And I figure putting it up here now makes up for posting one of Joe Tex’s more cringeworthy moments a little while back.)

My one gripe about “Death Proof” – spoiler in this para, so bail if you must – is that I was expecting more from the climactic car chase. I mean, the whole premise of the movie is that Kurt Russell is this psycho stuntman who stalks & kills women with his car, but this time he’s picked on the wrong people: two stuntwomen. Which you would think would set up some crazy, head-shaking, high-wire, Kill Bill-style stunts, but that never really comes to pass.

That said, most reviewers seem blown away by the car chase, so perhaps my expectations have been distorted by too much CGI or something.