
A scene from Inglourious Basterds.
SCALPINGS, disembowellings, mutilations, baseball bat bludgeonings and other assorted fits of violence aside, Quentin Tarantino’s latest film, Inglourious Basterds, is a World War II film you can take your Holocaust survivor grandparents to see.
Why? Because in Tarantino’s occupied France the Nazis are crushed in a violent explosion of ignominy and physical pain, and also because the film succeeds where most other World War II films fail. It’s a ripping hoot.
Sometime after the Macaroni Combat (Italy’s hammed-up answer to films like The Dirty Dozen) exploitation movies of the ’60s and ’70s, people stopped making camp war adventures, opting instead for earnest pathos- drenched allegories about the human spirit in the face of overwhelming adversity. Suffice to say, Inglourious Basterds is a World War II epic with a difference, primarily because Tarantino is not bound by hopeless reverence, discretion or even reality. His plan is simple – take the most insidious, unsympathetic lot in recent history and brutalise them.
It’s not an original concept, but sometimes it’s not the trailblazers that get the kudos for spawning genres and sub-genres. In this case, Tarantino’s signature filmic mash-up, which is heavy on knowing nods and homage, has spawned a sub-genre affectionately named “Jewish revenge porn”.
The great man introduced himself with a “How ya going mate?” attempt at the Australian accent on the red carpet of the film’s Australian premiere.
“You could call it a Jewish revenge fantasy,” Tarantino says, mock- baulking at the “Jewish revenge porn” title through a cheeky grin. But he clearly likes the moniker. He might as well have given a nudge and a wink at the end of the sentence. Read the full story