Star Wars Episode VII- The Force Awakens…With A Bang

In many ways, the latest Star Wars episode, helmed by new-age whizz-kid J.J Abrams, is like the little and lovable droid BB8. Like that little troublemaker, this film whizzes by here and there with breakneck speed, stirring up the fading old generation, resurrecting memories of a bygone past and also egging the newbies to this since-time-immemorial galaxy to action. That is what is first and foremost remarkable about the long-awaited ‘Episode VII’- a film which honors both tradition and innovation.

While other film sagas are either forging new brave paths (the multiple superhero franchises) or trying to return to bombastic roots (the last James Bond outing for instance), Abrams’ film has done something rare- a fascinating blend of both the old and the new and a smooth puree in which both ingredients complement each other to heady results.

There should be something said for a blockbuster that does its job so neatly- clearly understanding the mammoth expectations- hopes from audiences who wanted to land on solid ground after being whisked away on prequels that did not quite match the original swashbucklers- and successfully meeting them, as well as countering fears of a film blowing it out of proportion. And even as ‘The Force Awakens’ does it all, the bigger triumph is how it exceeds these hopes and turns into a bona fide masterpiece- a classic crowdpleaser in every sense.

We begin, faithfully, with John Williams’ iconic swells, the famous crawl of a synopsis on the star-studded galaxy skies before Abrams throws to us the first hint of promise- flashes of muscled, fearsome and ruthless Stormtroopers heading for obvious onslaught. Right from the relentlessly paced beginning skirmish to the swift character introductions, the pace is ruthlessly quick- hurtling across the main chunk of the story like a star-fighter on lightspeed, pausing barely for a breathtaking explosion or a breathless moment of intensity.

Simply put, the years have passed between the end of the Empire and a new evil force ruling outer space but the main gist is this- Luke Skywalker is missing, the Rebel Alliance is now a smaller group known as the Resistance, led by the inexorable Princess Leia (obviously) and you know the rest. Like the first seminal ‘Star Wars’ film, Episode VII follows the well-worn tropes to extremely effective results, driving a taut narrative hinging on familiar elements. So, does it have nifty droids hiding secret plans? Yes. Does it have long-awaited confrontations with lightsabers? Check. Cue also space battles, iconic people spouting iconic lines, evil villains destroying planets with a flick of switches and lovably quirky creatures all around and we already have a tasty stew of all the spice and soul that makes the entire saga so delectable.

Except for the fact that Abrams, being every bit a fresher to this world, uses the same tropes to innovate and deviate from formula. So, our new ragtag heroes include both shades of the tried-and-tested- cocky, smart-mouthed rebel pilot Poe Dameron with the ever-helpful BB8 for company- and the newly intriguing-a Stormtrooper who chooses to leave the First Order behind and is unceremoniously named by the former as Finn, after the two initials given to him as a name.

The snappy, tongue-in-cheek mood is set very early on with these two intrepid heroes sharing an improvised bromance in the middle of the action. Between a terse escape in a legendary TIE fighter, the two inevitably bond by introducing themselves in a flurry of sweaty confidence. Soon, the two begin bickering about their goals and it is this light, whip-cracking casualness that makes the proceedings even more enjoyable. It easily replaces the more formal tone of some of the sequels and prequels and makes for a grand, snappy time all throughout.

Actually, the new creations are all a lot of fun- in particular this film’s markedly determined move towards the post-modern conventions. While both Finn and Poe are endearingly heroic, the real fireworks are handled, impressively so, by Daisy Ridley’s smashing good Rey, a Mad Max-like scavenger living in a literal junkyard who, like a farm-boy, a long time ago, looks up to the skies in the hope of escape from it all. But as the racing plot presents numerous convolutions and misadventures, it is as if Han Solo would say- ‘Escape now, hug later’.

That does not mean that Episode VII skimps on the fun or the drama amidst the spectacle. Instead, there is enough room for nostalgia of a glorious past, as well as some lovably old-fashioned sense of romantic chemistry among both the new and old players. What always entertains in these parts is both the clash and complicity between the two generations-both the newbies and ace veterans have their own moments in the sun- Finn, Rey and Poe are all reliably well-versed with the gadgetry around them, even in the legendary and evergreen Millennium Falcon while the always cocky Han Solo and his trusty sidekick Chewbacca are still badass with their blaster and crossbow respectively.

Unlike most of the ‘Star Wars’ films, this one makes the crucial difference by being grounded in an earthy, gritty template. Abrams is always a buzzkill with the action but he handles it even more deftly this time around. The super-charged sequences of intense galactic raids, ricocheting space battles and the tense blaster standoffs are all captured in fascinating coherence as well as spectacular scale but the smartass dialogue and character development remain always in focus. And instead of opting for big explosions, ‘Episode VII’ is more content to let the fireworks explode in its revelations- which, with typical Star Wars spunk, can be rather unforgettably intense.

So, how does this Episode actually rank with the other outings? Well, to be honest, it more than satisfies our hunger for a film that can escape the ill-will of the prequels (well mostly Episode I and its Jar Jar Binks) and match the thrilling originals. While most critics opine that Abrams has doffed his hat-and in style-to the 1977 George Lucas masterpiece, the even more fascinating thing is it is more alike the spectacularly larger-than-life ‘Return Of The Jedi’- a threequel that got so much right and presented its pulpy entertainment tropes with epic elegance (this one even borrows two great creatures from that film). But what makes this film as swashbuckling (if not more) as the original trilogy is how effortlessly thrilling it is. ‘The Force Awakens’ plays a familiar, even predictable story but keeps the clocks ticking with relentless suspense- its more intriguing characters given enough room to fill frames with heroism and menace. The end result is a film that constantly surprises, delights, thrills and-thanks to a couple of solid reveals-stuns us to silence.

The cast is also clearly having a ball in this comeback party. Newbie John Boyega is infectiously slippery as Finn, pretending halfway to be a Resistance fighter to woo Rey. Oscar Isaac is positively dashing as Poe Dameron, coming off as a new-age Wedge Antilles with fiery eyes, just missing more screen-time and finally we have the great, great Harrison Ford playing Han Solo like his signature role- armed with the same wisecracking muscles as well as enough emotional tenderness replacing an earlier cynicism. His moments with Carrie Fisher, looking great as ever as Leia, bring back all those wonderful memories. Adam Driver, slated as this film’s mighty villain, has the look right and mashes both gravel-voiced gravitas and wild-eyed edginess with flair but his essence- with a metallic mask and all- is a tad too literally inspired from an earlier iconic galactic bad-ass. As a character puts it, ‘There is too much of Vader in him’ and his menace does feel a bit misguided, somewhat ruining the great exterior with a lack of real focus.

It does not really matter. Everyone knows that the ‘Star Wars’ saga was solely about good defeating evil and that is exactly why some of us fanboys love Yoda more, despite Darth Vader being so darn legendary. J.J Abrams has delivered something to rival Lucas’ original fresh vision. ‘Episode VII’ is a classy, gorgeous entertainer, in which the Force awakens with a big, universe-sized bang and yet plays it cool so that everything feels mesmerizing and irresistible. Towards the end, Leia confesses to Han that she always hated to see him leave, despite his flaws and he still drives her crazy. We have the same feelings for a saga like this full of drama and excitement and hell, it is bloody good to see it served back on a platter as beautiful as this.

My Rating- 4.5 Stars.

The Martian- Survival By Science

The Red Planet is not just a fellow planet for Earth in the Solar System.

More than any other planet, even as Venus is famously associated with love, the sandy and scarlet Mars continues to enjoy a special place in the realm of imagination of us Earthlings. We have entertained fantasies of extraterrestrial life residing in it, which is why we have had stories by H.G. Wells and Ray Bradbury. We have often marveled at its exotic stature as an alternative setting to pulpy fiction, which is why comic book geniuses Edgar Rice Burroughs and Alan Moore have portrayed it in all its glory. And we have often nursed starry-eyed dreams t set up camp in that strange place, which is why we love ‘Total Recall’.

In the midst of all the gabby narrative in Ridley Scott’s ‘The Martian’, we have then fleetingly captured but mesmerizing moments of reflection. The eponymous space survivor explores the world around him with an understanding yet awed perspective, viewing it as not only benign but also exotic and uncharted, like an explorer discovering a new continent. It is in moments like these that Scott’s film reaches unprecedented emotional depths, gushing with unabashedly poignant wonder.

The rest of the time, however, is ruled by smarts and that is what makes the difference. ‘The Martian’ is a swashbuckling romp, hurtling from the barren Mars to the chaotic Earth in rugged yet rhythmic poetry. This is Scott’s belated terrific return to form, delivering mainstream entertainment confidently yet driven by that most elusive thing for today’s blockbuster cinema- intelligence.

We begin with the most predictable of all setups. In a twist on the opening of ‘E.T’, we see a botanist stranded on an alien world, after his fellow space-truckers all head away home. The problem, inevitably, is this world is not just millions of miles away- it is also totally desolate. This means that there are no aliens to help this outsider contact his home. So, yeah, all is doomed for Mark Whatney, as he admits in his video log in his sole camp in the Martian outposts. And yet, less than a reel later, he is fired by the resolve, not just to survive but also thrive.

From then on begins a whip-cracking Robinson Crusoe-like template for Scott to follow but what really sets it apart from being a typical survival story, like say ‘Cast Away’, is how the narrative shuttles from Mars to Earth to capture all the frenetic chaos to rescue this space-traveler from a planet which mere mortals still don’t fully understand. The stage is set for a charged conflict of interests- amidst the NASA top brass and their quirky subordinates together scrambling for some way out of this tangled situation, even as they are increasingly awed by Whatney’s determined efforts to make this strange planet habitable.

So, we have two finely dusted sides to this narrative wedge- one, focusing on all the probable delays, accidents and misfires on Earth to get supplies to Whatney and the other depicting, with hilarious snap, Whatney’s foolhardy adventures and his unabashed will in setting up camp till help arrives. ‘Mars is going to fear my botany skills’, he announces with typical, sardonic pomp and off he goes, growing crops out of leftover potatoes, laying down manure made out of the stored wastes of fellow astronauts and even more, indulging all his whims and fancies in a world that just seems to bend to his order. What unites these two twin-narrative threads is the endless barrage of jargon and detail flowing between the characters in their wordplay and actions. As Whatney would put it, Scott often ‘sciences the shit’ out of the pulpy premise and backs up both the tension and adventure with brains, rather than bombast.

But while brainy science often aids these proceedings, what ‘The Martian’ also has in spades is spontaneous wit and warmth in its plot movements. Drew Goddard superbly adapts Andy Weir’s sardonically comic adventure novel, often nailing the breakneck pace and roaring, absurdist humor with smack-down dialogue and wisecrack characters all around. There is a touch of delusional obsession in Whatney’s self-willed forays in Mars, the way he muses that he might have colonized the planet for himself, the way he chafes at the conditions hurled at him across space and more. There is a tender sincerity in this man too, the way he insists that his old team is not to be blamed for his situation and the way he chooses to distinguish himself as heroic, even in the biggest of perils.

None of it, however, becomes mawkish thanks to how Scott and Goddard handle the other human aspect of this tale. The team on the ground- consisting of an excellent Jeff Daniels as a reluctant, protocol-bound NASA director, a brazen Chiwetel Ejiofor as his rival- a scientist hell-bent on making contact with Whatney and the various quirky team members- are people who find themselves stumbling upon ingenious, improvised solutions that often turn out to be helpful. And then, there is also Whatney's erstwhite team, played by a stellar cast including Jessica Chastain and Michael Pena, who also stick loyally to their stranded comrade, especially in the excellent cliffhanger climax.

 In that sense, ‘The Martian’ defies nerdy intelligence, prizing gritty, grungy innovation in face of order and formality, its real heroes the unsung geniuses and wizards who often stay in the backdrop and dole out buzz-kill solutions for unexpected problems. There is a real, crackling camaraderie between these people too and it itself comes handy in saving the day eventually.

Scott has always been known for a heavy-handed directorial hand- his films reveling in the glory of their visual scale while sticking to coherent, intelligent storytelling. But ‘The Martian’ stands out as a triumph for him- simply because how light and bouncy it feels. There is no weighty subtext here- this is a survival thriller, pure and simple and driven by clarity and purpose. This is a film that makes its fairytale story compellingly thrilling, engrossing and even believable to a large extent. This might not have the dark intensity of his ‘Alien’ or the over-reaching ambition of ‘Prometheus’ but like the boisterous and emotionally rousing ‘Thelma And Louise’, this is an energetic romp that delights with smarts rather than just spectacle.

And it is further aided by a stellar man at the crux of things. Matt Damon, playing Whatney, gives further evidence as to his already-solid acting chops and then some. This is the kind of character that he is born to play- a winning mix of nerdy prudishness and a fiery cynicism that brings a delicious edge to his clean-cut character. We revel in his bravado, in the way he scathingly dismisses disco tunes accompanying him on his forays, the way he christens him as a pioneering explorer in this land, the way he grows a beard and calls himself a pirate and- and most crucially- when he breaks down, seconds before on his final homeward bound. This is after all a Martian that we really want to bring back on good old Earth.

My Rating- 5 Stars.

Steve Jobs- Perfection Made Human

There is a Steve Jobs we know and a Steve Jobs we read about. On one hand, there is the rebellious, eccentric and heroic entrepreneur who broke ground rules of computing and gadgetry, created a much-loved technology giant and inspires millions with his never-say-die attitude, even beyond the grave. On the other is a more complex portrait- a difficult leader, an even more insufferable team member and a flawed man with a sketchy past who simply did not tolerate anything less than perfection.

The best part about Danny Boyle’s turbo-charged character portrait of this lauded and controversial figure, penned superbly by Aaron Sorkin, is that it explores both these dimensions- both the shiny and the sketchy- both the gleaming, flawless surfaces and the bewildering tangle of wires inside the man who taught us how gadgets could be both fun and art.

‘Steve Jobs’, therefore, does not act out like a textbook biopic as one would expect- it skimps gleefully, bravely on Jobs’ bare beginnings, his garage partnership with best friend Steve Wozniak or even his way of spouting ideas for the legendary products that he rolled out. Rather, this is a tense, little character study, filmed and acted to perfection, and yet at heart about a really, really intriguing character at its crux.

Sorkin is the man who re-imagined the origins of Facebook as a feverish dream born out of alcohol-fueled frustrations of social alienation at college. This time his clean-cut and incisive narrative strikes harder in envisioning its titular wunderkind as an urban Caesar through three momentous occasions of his life.

It would be safe to say how much Boyle explores the behind-the-scenes psyche behind both the man and his creations. The film begins in 1984, amidst the hotly awaited launch of the Macintosh, Jobs’ pet project which would go on to bomb in the market. We see Jobs fussing over (of all things) the voice-demo that can make the product launch a real stunner. ‘Fix it’, he orders tersely, brutally to his chief engineer Andy Hertzfield, who can only look at this tyrant of a visionary with bewildered eyes through chunky glasses.

The Jobs of the movie is not exactly the smiling, tongue-in-cheek portrait of the man that we love so much. Sure, this Steve has a smart, fast mouth but barbs flow out of it instead of wisecracks. We see Jobs with an ice-cold resolve to get it all right- from the big details to the little quirks (his insistence to have all the exit lights dimmed for a greater impact)- and the way he lashes out, sizing up Hertzfield by threats of humiliation, sparring with his trusty marketing manager Joanna Hoffman over the pricing and often waxing eloquent about all his visions.

Sorkin has an assured gift for words and Boyle uses them as the main pyrotechnics in the film’s hurtling narrative as we see people around Jobs, from his technicians, to his peers and his seniors to even his friends and family all crumble before the sheer demanding facade of this self-made man. The film revels in the emotionally tense chaos of these verbose confrontations all set before the three main product launches depicted and the characters seize it all to set the stage on fire.

Yet, the bravest move that ‘Steve Jobs’ takes is how it often explores the twisted monster behind the iconic inventor. There are great depths of narcissism in this Jobs, the way he snarls on learning that TIME Magazine did not pick him for the cover, or the way he refuses to acknowledge his own creation as a possible failure on all counts. ‘Musicians play their music, I play the orchestra’, he announces at one point. There is also a murkier side to this man- revealed blankly in his fears of alienation stemming from his own adopted childhood- a fact that Sorkin and Boyle use perceptively to explain some of the man’s determination to prove his worth.

However, as said earlier, the film does not shy in celebrating Jobs the visionary and this is where Boyle infuses the film with real heart and soul. Steve might not have a ‘Rosebud’-like some sign of a childhood or youth (hell, he even does not spare his vitriolic outbursts to best chum Steve Wozniak as well.) but he sure has a conscience. That throbs in the form of his illegitimate daughter Lisa, a girl he sees grow up from a little 5-year old musing about her name to a fully-grown girl realizing his faults. It is a masterstroke of narrative storytelling and Sorkin and Boyle relish every opportunity to let this outsider to the jargon-filled chaos unveil the tender core beneath the perfection-obsessed tyrant. Also, we might never completely side with a man like this; but beneath those icy eyes, we see the honest resolve of a man willing to change the world.

Boyle, a gifted visual stylist, buttons his trademark flourishes down for this mostly precise narrative but ‘Steve Jobs’ also revels in its visual portrayal of the twisted circuits behind the inventions and his inventor. Choosing to film the three pivotal launches- the Macintosh, the Black Cube and the wildly successful iMac- in contrasting film formats (with the aid of regular Alwyn Kutchler)-the director tells us a vision of the eponymous visionary that burgeons as the narrative gathers unprecedented depths. The way he captures the three events in the story are perceptive and ingenious- a smoothly orchestrated long-shot connects the narrative timelines, the film hushes sneakily at moments of reflection with a seething tension; in one instance, while in another- a soaringly spectacular moment- we see Jobs at his finest- speaking volumes about how he is all poised to change the world and how the people will understand it.

Kate Winslet is absolutely stellar as Joanna Hoffman, crafting a formidable equal, in terms of wordplay and forceful gravitas. Here is a person that Steve finds closest to a confidante- the one on whom he shoves his frustrations with the imperfections within himself and in the world around and crucially the same who eventually sizes him up and compels him to face the reality. Pretty much everyone is spot-on as the various actors on the fringes of Jobs’ life- in particular Jeff Daniels as a surprisingly affable John Sculley, who switches from foe to unlikely father figure and Seth Rogen as Wozniak, increasingly exasperated over Jobs’ self-centered obsessions as well as his stubborn refusal to acknowledge the Apple 2 team. He is also responsible for a great reference to The Beatles, admitting that he is tired of being a ‘Ringo’ instead of being a ‘John’. Jobs, in typical Sorkin-style snap, replies back, ‘Everybody loves Ringo’.

Yet, it would be a grave injustice not to give credit to the man handling the reins of this film. Michael Fassbender might not look like Jobs- hell, he does not even have the famous smile that Ashton Kutcher got so well in that bland 2013 biopic- but as he starts ripping through the shreds of the man’s smooth veneer, barking the fiery dialogues with a sadistic relish, trying his best to be an utter scumbag even as people match up to his expectations, he totally grabs our attention. And that is not all. From fussing over the picture of a shark for a launch demo to indulgently pursuing his fervent obsessions, down right to the poignant admission that he is ‘poorly made’, he eventually becomes the famous man, armed with that self-destructive zeal and yet worth rooting for, even with his failings. It is a performance of energy, slithery brutality and even unexpected tenderness.

‘Steve Jobs’ ends with Jobs, finally making the computer that would relaly transform lives- after two earlier attempts that only revealed his shortcomings. By then, the man is older, wiser and a better version of his fiery youth but he has lost none of his demanding obsession for innovation that eventually fuels him to success and glory. Like all thrilling unconventional biopics, Boyle’s film is honest in its study but in the celebratory climax, we are all happy to side with Steve, awed by his genius, willing to forgive him. Few films can manage to do such a trick- balancing wide-eyed adoration and scathing criticism with a finesse that rivals even the arty perfection of an iPhone in your palm.

My Rating- 5 Stars.

The Hateful Eight- Eight-Barreled Brilliance

In Quentin Tarantino’s world, you can never ever trust anyone.

For in his cinematic world, populated by elements of genres as eclectic as crime drama, Blaxploitation caper, Kung Fu actioner and war thriller and endless stream of devilishly intriguing characters, you might find yourself trapped in a relentless onslaught of nervy fear and dread in closed spaces, in elaborate conversations, before everyone starts drawing and firing at each other. And then, in the middle of a bloodbath, you find that your friends are the ones aiming at you and you can only trust your foes.

All of this nerve-wracking paranoia comes in hefty chunks in his eighth feature film- a film which might seem like a fellow Western genre piece to his last gleaming red dynamite stick, ‘Django Unchained’- there is weighty talk of racial tensions in this film too. However, while that film was a showier piece, a blazing wallop of black revenge against the ‘white dogs’, ‘The Hateful Eight’ is a different beast- a film which plays down typical bombast and instead chooses a template of sheer, claustrophobic menace.

This spells itself new territory for a writer-director best known for orgasmic celebrations of violence, tension and verbose fireworks- but fans, let’s not forget his simmering, taut breakout film ‘Reservoir Dogs’- a ticking yarn which crammed together several scoundrels all doubting each other. ‘The Hateful Eight’ does something deeper and more visceral- cramming together disgruntled rogues and then letting the threads of insidious hatred unravel with unmatched mastery.

The time is sometime after the blood-splattered Civil War, the place is a far-flung, snow-bound Wyoming and we are instantly introduced to bounty hunters and the bodies they carry- both live and dead. Bearded bounty hunter John Ruth is carrying along damned prisoner Daisy Domergue to Red Rock to hang her and he tows along, reluctantly fellow mercenary Major Marquis Warren, a wild-eyed old-timer who carries a letter from none other than good old Abe Lincoln- as a way to get along with white Americans in a country that has not really changed even after a war.

Together, with a blizzard roaring, the three come across a bizarre cast of characters- a ‘son of the gun’ who needs to reach to a town to be its sheriff and four peculiar gentlemen in a weather-beaten haberdashery where they stop by and wait for the storm to end. Little by little, the doubt lingers in the air, the suspicions begin and as a fire crackles up nicely along with stew and coffee, Tarantino lets his slow-burn potboiler simmer, cook and unfold with relentless intensity.

This is a mostly solemn narrative, as intended by both the director as well as his crew. Master lensman Robert Richardson refutes the trademark stylistic flourishes and quick takes and instead shoots the increasingly sobering narrative nimbly and intuitively, choosing to linger over horses plowing through the snow, fur-gloved arms tinkering over piano keys and booted feet stomping on creaky wooden floors with thundering menace. All of it is scored, in an uncharacteristic masterstroke, by Ennio Morricone, offering us a haunting, elegiac score that throbs with deathly menace and dread. Tarantino himself chooses to cut his fascinatingly sneering characters some slack- allowing enough space between the film’s talky first half and the incendiary volcano of gore in the latter.

What does not change, however, is the typically terrific punch of the dialogue- always a Tarantino trope and this time the narrative packs in more potency than pulp- the words themselves more pointedly sharp rather than just pithy. Devoid of pop-cultural touchstones, the long-winded and often delectable conversations pack more seething anger, tension and visceral emotions between the lines than has been the case with Tarantino.

From a supposed hangman waxing eloquent the difference between frontier justice and civilized justice, to a man admitting that he ‘feels naked without a gun’, only to be replied back that the man asking for the same can protect him as well, from Warren explaining how Lincoln addresses him personally as ‘Dear Marquis’ and not as ‘Major’ to a point in which a room is divided into two American states so as to avoid potential confrontations, Tarantino’s command of the spoken word, both elaborate and snappy, still fascinates, even as it often scalds with both hilarity and horror. There is much of the latter between the verbal standoffs, in ways that shock and stun but there is also a lot of the former- even as it drips in between the hushed claustrophobic spaces all of a sudden and without warning. The humor is pitch-black, profane and uproarious- at a point, a woman, impressed with a vicious man’s French, demands desperately to be asked something to which she can reply ‘Oui’- but none of it overwhelms the inevitable terror of the proceedings.

This applies not only to the film’s blood-splattered brutality that detonates with split-second ruthlessness but to also the film’s glorious subtext about the harsh world in which the film’s denizens reside. Tarantino has mastered his violence this time around- it is gratuitous, shockingly misogynist but crucially painful, organic and vital- the film unafraid to revel in the terrifying hell unleashed on these uniformly devilish rascals. But it is his acidic portrayal of the world around them that makes ‘The Hateful Eight’ really so devastating.

This is an unforgiving world in which racial minorities still have to scavenge for some shred of acceptance for which they are willing to compromise their morals. The lines often burst with seething racism and sexism from men who live by a twisted conduct. Visually too, this is a harsh, ugly and unfurnished world- the one time when we see the sun shining on these snowy badlands is also when we see a victim degraded to morbid depths.

The writer-director also unveils the hidden, tender core beneath the rugged exteriors of these men. At one point, both Warren and Ruth admit that Lincoln’s supposed mention of his wife Mary Todd in the letter ‘gets to them’ emotionally. One of the men talks about spending Christmas with his mother while other- obviously impressed with another’s military exploits-starts acting as a de facto aide to the same.

The performances are universally spectacular.

Kurt Russell, as Ruth, is in terrific form, playing a Southern hillbilly who displays an often fatherly possessiveness about his shackled prisoner, Samuel L. Jackson is extraordinary as Warren, exhibiting, in a classic Tarantino flourish, a well-known distaste for ‘stupid animals’ and a taste for food as well and spouting lengthy soliloquies of death and violence with sneering menace. Michael Madsen and Tim Roth (two actors taken from ‘Reservoir Dogs’) are reliably excellent in their roles as shy introvert and smooth-talking executioner, Bruce Dern is even better as an idle, disinterested Confederate general and Jennifer Jason Leigh is a revelation as the screechy and grungy Daisy, full of vitriol, armed with a glimmer of insidious mischief and sizing up the men around her with her bloodied teeth in the film’s finest, most outrageously brilliant scene.

And yet, the film utterly and solely belongs to Walton Goggins as Chris Mannix, a sheriff totally out of his league in the film’s startling twists and turns. It is his character- a man giving to boasting of exploits with The Lost Cause- that lends Tarantino’s film its heart of whimsy and the film, a character closest to a hero. Right from his sing-song Southern delivery to the confident way in which he commands the film’s murky final half hour, Goggins creates recklessly only character in a crew of otherwise murderers and liars who we actually root for.

Tarantino employs some of his regular tricks here too- the chapter-divided narrative also jumps back and forth in time and space- but for most part ‘The Hateful Eight’ stays staunchly and stubbornly inside its cooking pot of hatred and violence before bubbling over with scalding gravy of blood and guts. Revenge is not on the menu here and the film’s sad climax is far from the celebration that the director usually hands us. While Tarantino has doffed his hat in style at Peckinpah and Leone, there is a starker similarity with John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing’- with the only difference that in this brilliant film, the insidious, murderous creature lies beneath the skins of its characters. And it is unleashed with only disaster for all.

My Rating- 5 Stars.