Django Unchained
Quentin Tarantino's brutal revenge western is a thrilling return to form with inspired performances from Christoph Waltz, Jamie Foxx and Samuel L Jackson.
Django is a long film, undoubtedly, at two hours and 45 minutes, and Tarantino may even have been tempted to split it into two, like his Kill Bill movies. But Django relaxes and luxuriates in its long form, balancing deadpan moments of awe and reverence for the landscape, lovingly photographed by Robert Richardson, with the frantic orchestration of tension and violence, cheekily giving us crash-zooms on to important faces.
The movie is managed with Tarantino's superb provocation and audacity, with a whiplash of cruelty and swagger of scorn. It is superbly acted by Christoph Waltz, Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Leonardo DiCaprio and, particularly, Samuel L Jackson, who creates a masterpiece with his chilling character Stephen, the grey, stooping servant-elder to DiCaprio's unspeakable slave-owner Calvin Candie.
Just to make liberals everywhere uneasy, Tarantino and Jackson make Stephen the biggest, nastiest "Uncle Tom" ever: utterly loyal to his white master, and severe in his management of the below-stairs race in the Big House. He fixes everyone with a chillingly shrewd, malevolent stare made even more disquieting by an unsettling Parkinson's disease tremor — an inspired touch. Stephen is overwhelmed with disgust for uppity racial politics (though that isn't how he phrases it) and he and Tarantino drop the satirical N-bomb, targeted with sadistic tactlessness and muscular bad taste at the white man's Vichyite collaborators in the Old South. Slavery is a subject on which Hollywood is traditionally nervous and reticent. Perhaps it takes a film unencumbered with good taste to tackle it. Lars Von Trier's Manderlay was one. Here is another.
Django Unchained is messy, overstuffed, and overlong, in a way
that suits it just perfectly.
There’s a logical point at which you think Django Unchained
should end, and then the movie goes on for another 40 minutes.
Django is out for blood. So is Tarantino, but he doesn't sacrifice his humanity or conscience to do it. In this corrective to Gone With the Wind, he sticks it to Hollywood for a Mandingo-Mammy fixation that leaves the issues of slavery out of mainstream movies. He sticks it to Spike Lee, who once objected to Tarantino's use of the n-word in 1997's Jackie Brown, by spraying the word like machine-gun fire. And he sticks it to pundits who think he crosses the line by reveling in Django's vengeance. Wake up, people. Tarantino lives to cross the line. Is Django Unchained too much? Damn straight. It wouldn't be Tarantino otherwise.
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