Hitting the bullshit's eye

Chances are you must have either heard of or heard Meryl Streep’s speech at the Golden Globes. The words chosen by Streep not only condemned the bullying culture promulgated by the likes of Donald Trump but also called for confidence among the journalists. No surprise why the actress was all over the Internet from Twitter to Tumblr; her speech has to be one of the most watched events of 2017 so far. What’s interesting about this particular event is it tackles something with the level of urgency that’s required. Even the most intimidating breed needs a steady reminder. Within a few days, Trump will be occupying the White House and going by the selection of his cabinet, one can predict distaste in the not-so-distant future. Anyway, going back to Streep, her speech was magnificent as it delivered the message to the messagee without naming him even once. The kind of stuff that makes this messenger a pure legend.

Racist ruminations

Leonardo DiCaprio is living. The 41-year-old isn't presently shooting or signed up any film project since The Revenant (2015). Being the classic role model for work-hard-party-hardest, DiCaprio is nowadays in the news either for his humanitarian causes or bohemian excursions. And this peaceful boat was disturbed yesterday when the news (rumours?) of him being approached to play Rumi surfaced on the Internet. The initial reaction to this piece of possibility has been explicitly negative. How can a white guy with an American accent portray a Persian poet/philosopher/thatguywhosaideverythingawesomely? Fair enough. But, here's what i think should be the ideal case: DiCaprio takes up the project and plays Rumi regardless of what the online world thinks. Later, everybody would be able to throw in their one cent on whether he did a good job or not. Until and unless a biopic happens, our racist apprehensions are nothing but that. After all, didn't a dude who couldn't even speak an Indian language—let alone appear desi—portray Gandhi so bloody brilliantly? 

Pointless analogy

Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) is a fantastic film. It's the kind of cinema that lays bare itself while doing the same to you. And when i say you, i'm addressing everyone who is a constituent as well as a beneficiary as well as a victim of capitalism. That's the beauty of Scorsese's filmmaking. He isn't shy to laugh at us for who we have become. 

But that's not the point of this silly blog post. 

The reason i decided to type 10 lines is something caught my thought this morning. In the aforementioned film, cocaine turned out to be an able supporting actor. And every time you see someone snort a line, the punctuation to the shot is complete with the person tilting his/her head back. Now, not to overstretch imagination here, but don't wolves also tilt their heads back? The only difference being one species sighs while another howls. 

Finally!

Now that a bazillion Internet memes have subsided and a thousand lame jokes have died a natural death, i think it's the appropriate time to appreciate Leonardo DiCaprio's debut Oscar win. For someone who'd spent his entire life in front of the camera, that golden baldie must mean a lot to him. He was 19 when he earned his first nod back in 1993 for What's Eating Gilbert Grape (notice how the title didn't have a question mark; maybe because the film was an answer). Martin Scorsese watched this film even before the nominations were announced and noticed the young talent. They bumped into each other later and according to a story, the legendary filmmaker patted DiCaprio's back asking him to keep up the good work. They were to team up within a decade for Gangs of New York (2002) and have been teaming up again and again since. In this bargain, both of them ended up making brilliant films. Out of DiCaprio's five nominations for Best Actor, two came from Scorsese's films. Which makes you wonder whether 23 years is a really long wait. After all, Al Pacino bagged his first Oscar (and so far his last) on his seventh nomination. He hasn't been nominated in over two decades now. And that's also where my worry for DiCaprio lies. Once you've got the baby, will you continue to strive for perfection? Ennio Morricone would be excused because he's 87 and the music composer finally won his first Oscar this year after scoring 500 film credits and six nominations. DiCaprio, at 41, can't afford to be excused. 

The dark shade of agenda

"If you want to end racism, stop making everything about race." 

- Morgan Freeman 

Whenever a person hijacks a cause to promote one's personal agenda, the cause suffers. And that's exactly what is happening with the Oscars. The Academy, as we all know by now, is white, old and elite for the most part. So, the charges of racism against it ain't a surprise news. But over the years, there have been more than enough instances that proves things are changing. One can't measure the rate of the paradigm shift simply because Oscar isn't a race where film personalities run and win. It's a very complex process. The mechanism is so tiring that a lot of the films (some very deserving) give up even before the nominations are announced. Speaking of which, it's ridiculous of the Smith family to spiel just because Will Smith's work didn't get recognized by the Oscars. So much so they have decided to boycott the annual ceremony next month. 

Let's take a step back and see where they are going with this. 

If these black powerful personalities didn't have their skins in the game, they would have been far more believable. Presently, their attitude comes across as that of a sore loser. They conveniently forget that the 21st century has been starkly different when compared to the previous one. In the past 15 years, we saw how the so-called minorities from the world of entertainment made their presence felt. When they do that, too much credit is bestowed upon their talents while not enough shoutout is given to the industry. On the contrary, the entire industry—Hollywood in the aforementioned scenario—comes under the radar of unfairness when the racism card is flashed. What Will's move does is it weakens the case of those black actors who are going to be awesome and shall deserve recognition in the future. If a black actor wins an Oscar next year, murmurs will be in the air on how s/he got it just because the Academy didn't wish to be the villain anymore. The whole merit on which an award (big or small) is supposed to be based on will be eroded. 

And for what? 

Just because Will Smith and his wife thought he did a splendid job in Concussion (2015)? 

Guess what, all the five actors who got the nod this year were superb. Eddie Redmayne just pushed the threshold of identity in The Danish Girl. Michael Fassbender did to Steve Jobs what Forest Whitaker did to Idi Amin and Jamie Foxx did to Charles Ray. Bryan Cranston brought Dalton Trumbo back to life and it's a shame that his film earned only one nomination. If one excuses his aversion to lose weight for the role (you can clearly see that the thin body double wasn't convincing enough), Matt Damon owned Mars. Lastly, Leonardo DiCaprio did everything humanly possible to earn his nomination. So, if Will thinks that he should be guaranteed nomination every single time he chooses a non-blockbuster film, then he's sorely mistaken. Maybe he needs to accept that his colleagues were better. Or that the jury on nominations is as democratic as it's private. It's not answerable to anyone. Not even to him no matter whether he thinks he was extremely awesome in Concussion. Also, if he doesn't wish to be a part of the circus, kindly leave but try not to make it a race issue. Because that issue is much bigger than his million dollar cheques. 

Leonardo DiCaprio is white.

The Academy has ignored for over two decades now. 

He goes back and works harder. 

Wolf-crying racism ain't his style. 

Will, learn something from him.

Be like Leo. 

On top of the world

The year was 1974 and a French wire-walker named Philippe Petit wanted to walk on a wire. Not a big deal, right? Oui. The only problem being he wanted to do that between the two tallest buildings at that time: World Trade Center (WTC) in New York City. Both were at least 100 meters taller than Eiffel Tower to give you an idea how high they really were. Imagine the amount of vertigo that will induce in a human body no matter how trained it is. To make it more difficult, the act was not only dangerous but also illegal. He gathered few accomplices—that included his girlfriend—in France as well as the USA to make his crazy dream a reality. To cut a long story short, he pulled it off beautifully. One fine early morning, New Yorkers gathered on the streets below, looking up at the sky with their palms working as their visors, trying to understand what was going on. Why and how would a man walk on a rope stretched between two ugly buildings? Yes, ugly. What's little known about WTC is that New Yorkers didn't immediately fall in love with this monstrous piece of architecture. Most felt those two buildings were just bullying the sky behind by obstructing the sea view. Weren't they just two tall blocks with no external grace whatsoever? People's response to them was quite similar to what Mumbaikars felt about Ambani's Antilla. But, but, those who gathered on the street were relieved, if not ecstatic, when Philippe completed his stunt. They applauded in unison even when police arrested Philippe. Of course, his act became a global news eventually but what's worth noting here is he unwittingly played a key role in making New Yorkers love those twins. I wonder how he must have felt like when he saw them crumbling down on 9/11. After all, he was the only one who got the best view from those buildings.

NB. I wrote this blog post after watching The Walk (2015), which i feel everyone should. If not the entire movie, then at least the final half an hour. It's filled with moments that take you on his 280 feet journey across the wire. One step at a time. The climax marries art with philosophy so as to make us understand that he wasn't just defying gravity up there. There is a point when he feels absolute peace, something he admittedly never felt before or after. His initial fear turned into resolve, overlooking how close (given the distance from the ground!) he was to death. However, if you want to peel off the cinematic touches, then you should watch Man on Wire (2008) to see what drove him to this madness. If you remember, when this documentary won the Oscar, Philippe balanced the golden statue on his chin. What is not well known is he practised that move at Woody Allen's house on one of the many Oscars he had won. Yes, Philippe was THAT confident of his documentary winning the Oscar!

Much against yourself

One of the most grueling onscreen interviews has to be from The Departed (2006). It's set in FBI's office where Leonardo DiCaprio's character can't wait to shed his family's ill reputation by becoming a cop. The proverbial good guys. But it can't possibly be THAT easy for him so, the interviewer is tough on him. Tough is actually an understatement. Mark Wahlberg was brutal. At the end of the interview, it becomes obvious why what just happened happened. Leo's integrity wasn't under the scanner. It was his perception about himself and where he comes from. He wasn't supposed to be deluded. You see, it's easy to let go off one's family roots but once you do that, you are on your own. That interview was an assertion of this ground reality.  

The coulda-woulda theory

I don't remember the last time i shared a video on my blog. However, i felt like sharing this piece by Marlon Brando from the movie On the Waterfront. If you haven't seen the film yet, you should try to watch it. It's been around for more than 60 years now and has inspired thousands of actors around the world. As far as the storyline goes, if you've seen Aamir Khan's Ghulam, you'll understand how Bollywood just can't help getting inspired by Hollywood. Anyway, there are three excuses why i posted this particular video: 

1. It's one of those monologues that have stayed with me for years now. The way Red (The Shawshank Redemption) or Tyler Durden (Fight Club) refuse to leave me alone. Their words are always around, poking fun at my realities and their sheer resemblance with cinema every now and then. Na, i'm not complaining. 

2. There's a reason why i feel Marlon Brando (along with Meryl Streep) is the finest actor of all time. Just pay attention to the change in his expressions as he delivers one line after another. He's not a plain vanilla. The manner in which he stares and lowers his gaze, twitches his chin, tilts his head and relaxes his cheeks. Wonder how much a camera misses the likes of him! 

3. You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let's face it. Just that i don't have anybody to blame, unlike him. 

When Iris talked to Travis

There's an understated scene in Taxi Driver (1976) that shows the vulnerability of an anti-hero. Robert De Niro's iconic Travis Bickle meets Jodie Foster's nubile Iris in a shady hotel room. His intention is to save her from the pimp (Harvey Keitel) who is obviously misusing her innocence. The initial dialogues exchanged between Travis and Iris is not extraordinary. She is behaving with him the way she would with any other customer while he rejects all her advances. Logic doesn't dawn upon her until the moment he shoves her onto the couch. In a different universe, that's something a Prem Chopra or a Ranjeet would do before raping the hero's sister/wife/dog. But in this case, Travis is trying to do something right. After she gathers herself from the push, he tells her he's not like others and he REALLY wants to help her escape even though it isn't established whether she wants the same or not. However, he makes her promise him to have breakfast at 1am—prostitution doesn't agree with sunrise for a reason—the next day. Before he leaves the room, he walks back to her and introduces himself before cupping her left cheek complimenting "Sweet Iris" to her amused look. That also happens to be the sweetest moment in the movie, seconded by the final scene when he refuses to accept fare from Betsy before driving away into the night.

N.B. If you haven't watched this movie, you deserve whatever spoilers i (unintentionally) let out above.

Why birds don't fly

During my days as a film journo, i met Q (director of films like Gandu and Tasher Desh) in a cafe. An insightful personality, he admitted that being a filmmaker, he takes it upon himself to test his audience. His point was pretty simple: You can't always spoonfeed people. Months later, i read Nicolas Winding Refn saying something similar vis-à-vis Only God Forgives. Mr Refn went a step further though by confessing that his original intention is to fuck with the minds of those who'd bother to watch his much-derided movie. In his defense, being filmmakers, they have every right to do the way they please in their medium of expression. So, there's no point in taking up a stand on the subject of so-called artistic integrity. But the question remains: Do they really achieve what they wanted with their methods? Turns out Alejandro González Iñárritu did—and how! His Oscar-decorated Birdman was as genuine it could get. One of those rare films wherein you're taken on a walk without your hand being held. Despite all of that, people found its climax open-ended—confusing, according to some—when it's not. Whichever way you look at it, a great film is always open to interpretations. Hence, i'm forwarding mine although i could be wrong as i usually am.

Spoiler Alert: The film actually ends when Michael Keaton's Riggan Thomson shoots himself on the stage in front of the crowd. Technically, that is. Whatever happens next is pure fantasy. A possibility. An abstract vision of everybody who is involved in the making, especially the writer-director. Remember the next scene shows Thomson in a hospital? And for a pleasant change, Birdman is not bothering him anymore. In fact, this is the first time we don't get to hear him brainwash Thomson. On the contrary, we see Thomson telling him to fuck off and to add weight to that moment, Birdman is shown flushing the toilet. A shitty goodbye of sorts? Maybe, just maybe, because Thomson died on the stage itself, Birdman can't be interested in a dead protagonist. On the brighter side, Thomson is no more and with him dies his demons too. He's finally free...like a bird. Makes sense? 

Conclusion: Filmmakers should fuck with us—or our minds, whichever is less appealing—more often. 

Starry-eyed

There's a lovely scene in A Beautiful Mind where Russell Crowe's schizophrenic genius and Jennifer Connelly's diligent lover have a moment to themselves under the clear sky. For someone who had spent his childhood staring at the unfathomable wonders of heaven, one can imagine how fluent he must be with the stars. To prove his mettle so much as to entertain his ladylove, he draws images out of them like the way we'd create images out of clouds. The best part was she seeing exactly what he wanted to show her.

A beautiful mind meeting another, indeed. 

Two's company and three, epiphany

She, my brother and i were recently in a tea café—i don't know what such a place is called because the menu was full of tea and so were the quotes on the walls—and we were wondering what to order. Unconcerned about food, my mind—propelled by the endless carnival of beverages on offer—went straight back to the turn of twenty-first century. The evening of 31^st December, 1999. To celebrate the dawn of a new millennium, Star Movies had premiered Titanic on the eve of 2000. That happened to be the first as well as the last time i ever watched it. I remember wanting to grow up and become Leonardo DiCaprio’s straighter-than-arrow hair. Anyway, it's funny how an epiphany chooses its own sweet time and moment to strike us. Coming back to the more pragmatic present, while sitting at that cute little round table, i suddenly recollected that scene when Captain Smith plays with a slice of lemon in his teacup before drowning it with his spoon. I’d like to claim that i also understood the significance of that scene. Perhaps that white-bearded gentleman already foresaw the sinking of the ship-that-won’t-sink. Perhaps not. But during the pleasant afternoon the three of us gathered, it was unmistakable how the aforementioned scene just struck me before i went on and on boring two of my dearest people. Also, it was uncanny how each one of us had watched that epicness of a movie together—well, almost—15—well, almost—years ago.

Universally splendid

You think you’re bored and that’s why you’re here? NO. You are here to server a bigger purpose. You are here to make somebody rich(er). No, not me. Christopher Nolan and his team of gifted ones. You are here reading this crap so that i can let you realize that his Interstellar is something you can’t afford to miss. In case this world isn't enough for you, the epicness it exudes might make you understand that our planet is simply great regardless of what we're busy doing to it. It's not just about our planet. There's so much to unknow about the universe we are part of. Besides, why should we deny ourselves a chance to look beyond what is obvious. This behemoth of a movie acknowledges so many things at once. Also, it’s one of those films you shouldn’t download and ruin by watching on a 17-inch screen. Remember Gravity from last year? Good. This film pushes the boundaries—both physical and abstract—a bit further. There are cryptic clues with answers hidden in somewhere. And that could be your heart.

PS: When/if i grow up, i want to be Nolan's ghost. You'll get why only after watching the film. 

To PR is human

The first rule of a David Fincher film is you just don't shut up about it. You go on and on and on until everybody in your vicinity safely assumes that you have some profit to cut from this uncharacteristic promotion. Fuck them. He's David Fincher. One of the finest filmmakers who ever decided to pick up a camera in order to share his dreams and theories with all the warts intact. The manner in which he questions us, the way we are as an entity, our society and the God that we've created is mindboggling. 

*pauses to breathe deeply*

I don't think there would have been a Fight Club—at least with the awe we look at it today—if a filmmaker of his calibre and patience wasn't there. The novel could have been adapted by anyone but what Fincher did to Chuck Palahniuk's baby was what you'd LOVE to do to your existence. But you can't or won't or shan't or meh. Speaking of meh, why is marriage so overrated? I've said more than enough on this topic and it'd be fair only to let Fincher say/ask what he has to through his latest release, Gone Girl. The three questions  that the film begins with only to address them in the craziest fashion ever before only to end with the same are worth watching this masterpiece. Unlike the question i'm going to ask: What exactly are you waiting for?
OK.
I get it.
Torrents.

N.B. Even if you've read the Gillian Flynn novel on which the film is based, you should still watch it. There's no way your mind can beat Fincher's when it comes to imagination. Sorry.

Damage control

Sometimes, all we need is a guy like Terminator to promise us that he'll be back. Or Rajnikanth to embrace us and whisper "Everybody's gonna be alright" in Tamil accent. But most often than not, both these events don't take place—ever. So we're left at our own mercy which is actually scarier than we think it is. Throughout our life, if we notice, nobody has done us more harm than we ourselves. It's an inborn quality to damage yourself. Either by thoughts, words or action  No catalyst needed. You yourself is more than enough. The worst part about this destructive system is an individual has the propensity to believe that s/he's only damaging himself/herself but the truth that's impossible to do. You always end up hurting those in the branch. It could be anyone from your friend to family to mere acquaintances. And that's why we wonder why certain things don't happen to us. Like an iron-clad Arnie giving us a thums-up or a lungi-clad Rajni hugging us—at least once.

Sunshine calling

On the last day of 2013, i tweeted suggesting that i wanted to wake up in 2014 as Steve McQueen (the director) because i had recently watched 12 Years a Slave and i couldn't get a grip around this guy's genius. He's made three feature films so far and each one of them is a masterpiece in its own right. Undistilled awesomeness! I can't wait for his next endeavour. In the meanwhile, i want to wake up as a different person. It happens to be someone whom i used to abhor for his utter lack of depth in script-related choices. Matthew McConaughey, ladies and gentlemen. Here's a brawny actor whose talent kept getting wasted in one bland film after another. And then one day, he woke up realizing his folly. Thanks to that epiphany, he's going through a cinematic high. His homoerotic performance in The Paperboy was dignified although the movie was a Grade 1 disaster. Nevertheless a remarkable upswing from his surfer dude image. Later, his mildly psychotic lover act in Mud further raised the tempo, culminating in the spectacularly flamboyant Dallas Buyers Club where he plays an emaciated AIDS patient. If you easily pitied Tom Hanks's Andrew in Philadelphia, you would find it difficult to extend the favour to McConaughey's Ron. Oscar nomination is for sure—a win would be better. Oh, that's not it. He had a fitting cameo on Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street and the latest TV series True Detective appears sleek with him in a commanding (yet unmistakeably unbrawny) position. And if that's not enough for a peak, there's his leading role in Christopher Nolan's Interstellar which would hit us early November. Heck of a climb!

All things yapped and praised, i don't wish to wake up as anybody else. Just glad that these amazing guys manage to get up on the right side of their career. Everyday, lately. 

Why doesn't Leo turn into a chameleon?

He's indubitably one of the finest actors in recorded history. And he has bedded so many supermodels that he must be knowing Victoria's secret. His playboy image notwithstanding, he brings to his craft a touch of unforeseen dedication. But Leonardo DiCaprio is rarely seen in heavy makeup. Or crazy costumes. Or for that matter, a makeover. He finally managed to break his onscreen good-guy image with a racist act in Django Unchained last year. Oh yes, he put on an accent in Blood Diamond and bulked up for J. Edgar although the awards didn't roll in. Speaking of which, his second film What's Eating Gilbert Grape earned him an Oscar nod. For the record, he played a mentally challenged boy in it with such panache that the drool-worthy Jack Dawson had to redeem him four years later. Of course his career literally launched into new heights post-Titanic with dismissible bumps in the middle. The new millennium saw him collaborate with bigwigs like Scorsese, Spielberg, Ridley Scott, Clint Eastwood, Nolan, Luhrmann and Tarantino. He's doing great but wouldn't it be greater to don on a mask for a change or build six-packs or something? Johnny Depp has been so much into character that you may not even remember the last time you saw his face in a film. Similarly, it's impossible to separate Wolverine from Hugh Jackman. Brad Pitt went a step ahead and wore a skirt in Troy. When was the last time Leo did something crazy or wasn't similar to how he looked like in his previous film? He'll be turning 40 in a couple of months and has already starred in 24 full-length movies. The Wolf of Wall Street will be 25th. Does he look different in the trailer?

Hide and seek

Excuse me but i keep going back to movies. Not because i'm short of topics to scribble short paragraphs on but because cinema is something i can relate to. I'm not an authority on music though i listen to almost everything possible but movies are an altogether different arena. Having said that, i'm not an authority on cinema either. At least, not yet. Like my partner-in-downloading-crime Anu once remarked during our usual cine-discussions: "One lifetime is too short to watch all the movies in the world." Because of stark truths like these, nothing can come close to the joy of watching a film (hopefully a good one) and forgetting oneself in the process. Be it two hours or three or even four, a movie grabs you out of your mundane stupor. Entertainment is just a garb in disguise. What's really happening is much deeper than that. I doubt whether a song or a painting or a sculpture for that matter would be capable of doing so. Assumptions apart, what else can explain the spell celluloid has on its audiences? Think about it. You're placed in a dark room with the light beam falling on the screen—not you—and still you remain hypnotized in your seats. You don't have to be at your best behaviour. There are just series of pictures in front of you, not real people to check whether you're paying heed or not. You know that, right? Nevertheless, you stay put as if cinema itself has cast a playful 'statue' on you.

An auteur's touch

Some filmmakers don't belong here. They come from a different place, a different time zone, a different mindset. And they don't bother to change. Such human beings are indeed rare and ought to be preserved from decay. It's in our best interest to not to give in to mortal indifference. But there is very little we can do even though they are totally worth the pain. Their world is similar to ours but they add new dimensions. Not because they have to but because they think they should. What do you do after waking up watching a beautiful dream? You try to share, if you are that type who talks a lot. In most cases, people stay quiet. A filmmaker doesn't have that luxury. If he watches a dream, he has to find ways to share it with others. Sometimes he watches these dreams with his eyes open and he can't wait to let others have a peek. In the quest to be God, new worlds get created and some, destroyed. The thirst to make others believe that there is a perspective possible which is slightly different from our daily realities...is what makes a filmmaker filmmaker. More often than not, obstacles rule. The weather conspires and art suffers. It's easier done than said. Money is least of their worries. However, he keeps scratching the surface until he gets what he desires. He's not your everyday guy. He's a fucking filmmaker. 

2012's must-watch contender

There’s something about Quentin Tarantino’s films that grows on you until you go wow. And then you wonder a bit about what really happened. After all, he’s one of those few directors who writes as brilliantly as he directs. His vision remains undiluted and it shows on the canvas. While he’s at it, he makes sure the entertainment factors don’t compromise themselves under the heavy burden of a message to be delivered. And this is precisely what he has done with Django Unchained.
Released with a few cuts in India, this period film has all the ingredients of a typical Tarantino venture. However, none of them are predictable and the pace is maintained throughout. The story beautifully weaves forward from a cunning yet affable bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) and his calculated eccentricities to a former slave (Jamie Foxx) and his quest to free his wife (Kerry Washington). Set to the south of Mason-Dixon line in an era where racism was the unwritten code of life, an unlikely friendship blossoms between the two protagonists. Both are quick with bullets, motivated, smart and possess colourful shades of humanity.
During their horseback journey together, they come across several characters — one more evil than the other — allowing humour and action to mingle wholeheartedly. To get what they want, a plantation owner (Leonardo DiCaprio) has to be fooled as he technically owns the hero’s wife. But his Man Friday (Samuel L Jackson) won’t let that happen. At least not without a fight. No wonder there follows delightful rounds of mind games, witty dialogues and bloodshed. Speaking of which, blood spills like ketchup and the body count only keeps increasing. Obstacles, no matter how big they are, eventually bow down to gunshots
Intriguingly, racism shadows this marvelous piece of cinema from its very beginning to its end. But historical realities don’t deny the bare setting and that works in the writer-director’s favour. When you pitch a black gunslinger with a German ally against a Francophile American with a black attendant, the racial closure is basically neutral. Meanwhile, the haunting background score with timely cheerful songs contribute to the Western drama.
Speaking of performances, Waltz takes the cherry for his remarkable portrayal of someone who believes in goodness more than his skin. Foxx comes across as a sturdy sharpshooter who won’t leave anything to chance. Playing a villain for the first time in his career, DiCaprio is menacing while Jackson is equally brilliant. However, Washington’s role appears inconsistent. She switches from grief to euphoria like a baby.
The film could have finished quicker as the finale seems draggy. But then, it’s okay to let a filmmaker like Tarantino indulge a bit and let us wonder a bit longer.

PS: This review was published in MiD DAY, my first for an English language film.