Speaking of movies shown in class. This would be the perfect primer for Ego 101: Film As Self-Gratification.
Allison Anders’ part— I liked the boobs, but that was about it. It felt like the first act to a really dumb movie (which, I guess it kind of is) I know I wouldn’t have wanted to see the rest of the movie if it carried on with the witches but I really was expecting to come back to them somewhere other than just the "oven of witches" line. Hoo, boy, that was clever dialogue. Glad it made the veins on Tim Roth’s neck stick out for the umpteenth time—hey, if you want over-actors why not just hire Gary Oldman instead, huh? It might have bee clever to put the blonde woman that comes out of the tub at the end of Anders’ piece in the Tarantino piece at the end. No explanation need be given and it would have made as much sense as having the Jennifer Beals character there but, if this movie is anything, it isn’t clever. And, with Alexander Rockwell as executive producer, I can see why Beals turned up again.
Speaking of Rockwell... remember that song, "Somebody’s Watching Me"? Well, Barry Gordy Jr. appears to have more talent in his little finger than Alexander Rockwell’s whole body. What a dumb and tedious little skit he devised. Once I found out it was all a "game" I just wanted it to end. That Armand Assante impersonator was really getting on my nerves and again, we have a pretty unsympathetic protagonist—Tim Roth was an inconsistent dweeb.
The Rodriguez part? I kept hearing how good this was. Well, surrounded by shit, it does look okay and it moves at a quicker pace but it just left me kind of cold—not nearly as wacky or funny as I think he thinks it was. Sorry Robert.
And now.... for our main attraction. The reason you came to see this movie.... that’s why we put it at the end... the one... the only... Quentin "the size of my chin is only surpassed by my ego" Tarantino!!! This section has everything a Tarantino fan could expect: A ripped off story, pop culture references, long takes with a steadicam, the "F" word about fifty more times than Harlem Nights, QT’s "cool" car, QT’s annoying voice and rhythm of speech, and—did I mention—Quentin Tarantino himself playing a squeaky voiced tough guy director? He’s Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley all grown up!
At one point he talk about how much money his last movie made. A thinly veiled brag about Pulp Fiction? "How much? Seventy One Million. No, no, no, that’s not foreign, that’s not video, that’s domestic. That’s butts in the seats." Can’t you just hear how he’d say that? Can’t you just picture me squirming in my seat at every grating word out of his mouth? At another point there’s an interminable, intolerable shot of him just speaking to the camera (Tim Roth’s POV). I swear he just cleared the set, took off his pants, turned on the camera and started at it. "I was just strokin' my ego, Ma!"
I think when film history turns its lazy eye to this movie it will either glance over it completely or just shudder and think to itself, "Gosh, that was worse than New Yorks Stories!"
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