The film:
To an almost touching degree, Inglourious Basterds recognizes that the vengeance driving so many films—and certainly Tarantino’s own—is a cinematic impulse, a fantasy of light and sound, a bonfire of highly combustible nitrate film stock, cleanly separated from common sense and actual history.
The Director:
He’s enormously talented, almost unceasingly creative, but weirdly divorced from the questions we face daily and the implications of his characters’ codes. In the words of the six-fingered man: He’s got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, and it’s going to get him into trouble one day.
