It’s a sad lot handed down to the undead; we’re trappedsomewhere between life and the afterlife, forced to feed on theflesh of the living and puppet to the whims of the sick bastardswho brought you here.
In my case, I was once an internationally known critic of film,loved and renowned, feared by my peers. Now look at me. Slave tothat walleyed freak Vincent Gallo, trapped in this hellhole, LloydCenter, center of the city, until his devious plans are realized. Idon’t want to kill Roger Ebert, I never want to see that corpulenthack again, but if I ever hope to rest, then I’m forced to doGallo’s filthy deed.
But people don’t let zombies onto buses, and with my half rottenlegs walking is out of the question. In fact, I’m so weak that evenif I got to Ebert I probably couldn’t do anything to him. So I’mstuck living at the mall, feeding off the practically meatlessbodies of bulimic teenagers in the food court and watching movies.So since no one else will hire a half-dead vehicle of Satan, I’llreview for you.
This week I saw “Kill Bill: Volume 2” Quentin Tarantino’svaguely anticipated follow up to last year’s aptly titled “KillBill: Volume 1.” In the six years since the release of the abysmal”Jackie Brown,” I had almost forgotten why I loathe QuentinTarantino so much. “Volume 1” was a fast-paced, funny homage to thechopsocky exploitation films of his youth. There was gore,amputations, witty dialogue and the rapturess Uma Thurman. It wasrefreshing and fun, and left me anxiously anticipating “Volume2.”
Too bad for me.
Where as “Kill Bill: Volume 1” was a two-hour homage to theslice and dice of Hong Kong cinema, “Kill Bill: Volume 2” is atwo-hour homage to Quentin Tarantino’s big, fat mouth.
The action and gore of “Volume 1” are replaced with themeandering trademark Tarantino dialogue, plagued with pointlessnessand pathetic attempts at pop culture reference. Even amouress UmaThurman comes off flat here in an entire movie that feels like adeleted scene from “Pulp Fiction.” It makes perfect sense that thisfilm is divided into two volumes; “Kill Bill: Volume 1” is acompletely different movie than “Volume 2,” mainly because it’sgood.
I wish I could wrap my zombie lips around Quentin Tarantino’sgiant head. One bite of that guy’s massive face would keep me goinglonger than a week’s worth of binge-and-purge cheerleaders. If Icould just do a shish kebab with the chins of Quentin Tarantino andJay Leno, I’d be the world’s happiest undead film critic.
Or, better yet, if I could just braise the beef fingers ofMichael Madsen who, incidentally, was one of the bright spots of”Volume 2,” I wouldn’t have to eat for days. Madsen, who’s made acareer of playing vicious toughs, does an excellent job, reallyextending himself for this role as, well, a vicious tough.
Also memorable is the performance of David Carradine as the evilBill. His truly hilarious bad guy mannerisms are classic, andCarradine does a great job of making Bill seem like a multifacetedcharacter, no matter how Tarantino intended it to be.
The real highlight of this movie is the soundtrack. No matterhow terrible Tarantino may be as a writer/director, he can reallymake a soundtrack. You’ve got to have respect for someone who canfit Charlie Feathers and Ennio Morricone in a movie, not to mentionthe brilliant Rza-produced score.
“Kill Bill: Volume 1″‘s soundtrack sold two million copies inits first day of release as a video/DVD and “Kill Bill: Volume 2″made 25.6 million dollars its opening weekend, finishing at numberone in box office receipts. I’ll tell you one thing, though: thatsecond-rate hack Quentin Tarantino didn’t see one red cent of thiszombie movie reviewer’s money. Even though I had to eat my waythrough three theater employees and half an assistant manager, Ifinally convinced the fine people at Regal to refund the cost of myadmission. I may be doomed to walk the planet for eternity, halfwaybetween the worlds of the living and the dead, but please, don’twaste my fucking time.