The Esteemed Critic Reviews Once Upon A Time In Hollywood; Hereditary

The Critic has had a troubling relationship with Quentin Tarantino. As a teenager, he loved Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction; as a young adult he also enjoyed Jackie Brown and Kill Bill. Inglourious Basterds was uneven but had moments of brilliance, and the same could be said for Django Unchained. Tarantino's style was set, however; colorful dialogue, B movie plots, big name actors and myriad homages to classic cinema, with all of it ending in violence. If there's anything the Critic tires of, it is an artist that repeats himself. Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is Tarantino's ode to sixties Hollywood, yet he can't help but be revisionist, of course. Just like how the Nazi leadership fell to machine guns and flames in Inglourious Basterds, the Manson family's murder of Sharon Tate, which people often mark as the moment the supposed idealism of the 1960 died, does not happen in Once Upon A Time. Margot Robbie plays the starlet as a bright, fun-loving embodiment of Hollywood fame. In contrast, DiCaprio plays Rick Dalton, a nearly washed up TV cowboy who happens to live next to Tate and Polanski. He has an interesting relationship with his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), who has been blackballed by Hollywood for possibly getting away with murder. As Dalton carves out a niche in the changing Hollywood scene, Booth becomes acquainted with the Manson family, culminating in a climax that features a rampaging pit bull and an immolation by flamethrower. All of it is somehow believable. Those filthy, dirty hippies who destroyed the golden age of Hollywood (and America!) are annihilated by the very victims of their hedonism. Revisionist? Of course! Who cares? Not I! Tarantino lets actors sink their teeth into dialogue like no one else. I give Once Upon A Time In Hollywood four Reservoir Dogs.

Addendum) Once Upon A Time In Hollywood features a ridiculous amount of bare female feet. Tarantino's foot fetish is well-known, but never before has he been this unrestrained. Dirty feet, greasy feet, feet with weird toes--this film's got 'em all. If you have a phobia of feet, stay far, far away from this one.

Hereditary is a horror movie with a great twist. The Critic despises twists, but Hereditary's is so shocking and out of left field that even the Critic cannot complain about it. There is an ungodly (oh!) amount of tension in this movie, so thick you could cut it with a buzzsaw. Like Midsommar, director Ari Aster's subsequent film (review here), there are some incredibly disturbing scenes--a disembodied head covered in flies, for instance--but there are no jump scares or bad CGI. This is the kind of film that sticks with you and you find yourself thinking about at the wrong times of night. Demonic possession is just the worst, amirite? Especially when its perpetrated by your own family. On the Critic's personal horror movie scale, this one's slotted between Alien and Freddy Got Fingered. In other words, I recommend this movie.