Greg Easterbrook is a tedious bore when it comes to movies, it seems. I have to wonder if there's something in the water at The New Republic that makes all of its house writers love pointless, ugly European film-making?
We went to see Kill Bill this weekend, Dave and chromal and I. It was a lot of fun, despite what the inevitable "violence bad!" scolds have to say. I'm not going to say it's a particularly good film, but it was one hell of a movie. The only real problem I had with the movie is that Tarantino is batshit crazy, and simply refuses to ever give up the cheap joke. It could have lost about a third of the script and still held together. Even in his flash-and-violence-only film, he still talks too much.
At least he managed to resist the temptation to cast himself. Again.
Update: It seems as if it's Joyless Scold Week over at The New Republic. Whee!