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1, keeps winding up for another awesome display of virtuosity and then getting shot, Raiders of the Lost Ark-style–the first time with rock salt, the second with a dart full of truth serum that forces her to confess absolutely nothing of consequence. Our heroine, the deadly sword-wielding assassin of Vol. The martial arts guru played by Gordon Liu dies from eating poisoned fish heads. When Budd (Michael Madsen), the ex-assassin working as a bouncer in a titty bar, gets chewed out by his thoroughly despicable boss, we expect him to go ballistic and trash the place–but instead he just hangs his head and lumbers off to unclog the toilet. 2, on the other hand, is a study in frustrated expectations. Even the out-of-sequence narrative feels, at this point in Tarantino’s career, more like reflex than innovation.
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1, like martial arts movies generally, is a mechanized ballet. But, as it happens, it’s also truer to the source material and a more thoughtful take on the depersonalized attraction of violence. Fuck that, says Tarantino–his version is all cold surface, blank stare as tribute. In Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Ang Lee tried to give martial arts films a soul. Its raison d’etre is the choreography and the beauty of the shots. 1 unwinds glacially without narrative function or even, really, suspense–we all know how this is going to turn out, after all. Kill Bill isn’t exactly Henry IV, but Quentin Tarantino’s two-part epic is surely derivative and exploitative–and thank God. What a rip-off artist this guy is–secondhand plot, secondhand characters, and secondhand themes, all tossed together with a healthy dose of gratuitous violence to please the groundlings and no regard whatsoever for narrative probability.īut enough about Shakespeare.