Death Proof

The full-length version of Death Proof opened here in the UK on Friday but somehow I can't seem to muster the interest to go. In fact, I can't seem to muster much interest in it full stop. Time was when a Tarantino film was an event. A must-see. A multiple see. I still remember the Reservoir Dogs press screening where a woman in the row behind mine got up in a huff at the ear-slicing sequence and then stormed out, noisily, only to return a few minutes later because she'd forgotten her handbag. And I distinctly remember my first day at my first ever Cannes Film Festival because I went to the first ever screening of Pulp Fiction. What an introduction that was. I was at Empire back then and we were obsessed with all things Tarantino. We had a VHS copy of Dogs even though its release was pulled (or banned, I don't recall the specifics) and we played it every day in the office, non stop. Over and over again. The same with True Romance when that arrived. QT could, we believed, do no wrong. (Well, there was Four Rooms and Destiny Turns On The Radio but we forgave him those indiscretions.) Jackie Brown wasn't a big hit but it remains my favourite of his films. And the Kill Bills had enough moments to allow for their bloated running times. Plus there was Lucy Liu. With a sword. And Sonny Chiba.

Which brings us to Grindhouse. And as early readers of reel world matters will attest, I was genuinely excited by the prospect of it. So why the change of heart, or, rather, the lack of enthusiasm? I'm not sure. I was looking forward to the two films for the price of one deal plus trailers that Tarantino and Rodriguez originally hatched. I would have gladly sat through a three-hour Grindhouse movie but, alas, that wasn't to be as the movie was split in two and each segment fleshed out. At 80 minutes Death Proof sounded like a hoot. At two hours it sounds like a chore. I'm meant to be seeing Rodriguez's full length Planet Terror tomorrow. If I make it, I'll let you know what I think.