violence

Tuesday’s Reviews – High-Rise (2015)

films, fucking beautiful, review, social climate, Tom Hiddleston, violence

I can’t deny that I’ve been super bad this year at getting round to all of the films that I wanted to see. I had plans to watch Ben Wheatley’s adaptation of J. G. Ballard’s 1975 dystopian novel but, thanks to my flaky friends, I never managed to see it at the cinema. Then, because I continue to be useless at life, I have only just got round to it. Still, that’s something to celebrate, right? So I decided, in lieu of any current release to talk about today, I’d give my opinion of a film that almost convinced my that Tom Hiddleston could be an okay Bond. Although, I remain unconvinced and will forever dream of a world in which Idris Elba doesn’t feel too old to take the name over. However, there is no denying that Hiddleston absolutely dominates in this role. As he does in basically all of them at this point.

Still, High-Rise is about more than its lead actor and, thanks to director Ben Wheatley, the novel is as unsettling, dark and funny as it needed to be. There have been a great number of directors and screenwriters who have attempted to prepare the novel for the big screen treatment, starting with Nicolas Roeg way back the 70s. It may have taken 40 years to make it happen, the themes within Ballard’s novel are still incredibly relevant today. High-Rise came out the year that Margaret Thatcher became leader of the Conservative Party, you know, before everything went to shit. Still, Ballard foresaw the UK’s bleak future and set his novel in a version of Britain where greed was taking over and the social tensions were reaching boiling point. Ben Wheatley and screenwriter, Amy Jump, make the decision to keep the action situated in the 1970s. This is more than a little disconcerting as we, in the present, are looking into a past that is looking into a future that has already happened. The costumes and set-dressing may seem kind of ridiculous but it provides the film with some fantastic visuals and gives the whole thing a more depressing air. The people in this film are dreaming of a bright future that we all know cannot happen.

Trying to escape his bitter past, Dr Robert Laing (Tom Hiddleston) is more than happy to throw himself into the world of the High-Rise. The all-purpose community built into a technologically advanced block of flats is the future for society all designed by the mysterious yet well-intentioned architect, Anthony Royal (Jeremy Irons). He lives at the top of his own creation with his unsatisfied wife (Keeley Hawes). As the floors decrease so too does the social class of the inhabitants. Laing is on floor 25 and manages to find an in with both those below and above him. He makes quite an impression on his upstairs neighbour Charlotte (Sienna Miller) with whom he forms a romantic attachment and, for reasons unknown, he catches the attention of Royal himself. Although, Laing is more than comfortable with the lower levels and befriends Richard and Helen Wilder (Luke Evans and Elisabeth Moss).

As it turns out, paradise isn’t quite as perfect as everyone expected and the sheer technological strain on the building proves to be too much. Blackouts occur regularly and the lower levels find themselves suffering more than the upper ones. Far from the unified building that Royal hoped for, this has created a deep tension bubbling under the surface waiting for the perfect time to erupt. And erupt it does. What begins as a seedy party full of alcohol, drugs and sex in the hallways quickly leads us into violence, sexual assault and all out class warfare. Wheatley is the perfect director to take on the task of portraying the buildings descent into chaos. There is an unnerving mix of beauty and degradation on display which shows the binary natures of the society that has emerged. You can genuinely feel the grubbiness that is overtaking the sleek design of Royal’s building. Despite the terrible things presented on screen the whole thing is very dreamlike because everything is presented in such a beautiful way. Wheatley is quite the artist.

Still, High-Rise won’t be for everyone. It features little, if any, exposition but throws you in at the deep end hoping you’ll catch up. In terms of creating the chaotic and disconcerting atmosphere that Wheatley craves it works wonderfully but for those relying on a deeply engaging narrative may find it lacking. It tells the story well enough but, in order to stay faithful to the spirit of Ballard’s style, it often makes the storytelling a little difficult. Rather than a coherent narrative you can expect an almost episodic structure of increasingly unpleasant moments. We all know where it’s heading, thanks to the opening scene set three months before the major action, but it’s hardly a straight path getting there. Which, if you as me, is perfectly fine. Yes, this film doesn’t have the traditional narrative structure some may desire but Wheatley manages to create such arresting and memorable snippets that it’s difficult not to feel engaged. In High-Rise we have, though not a traditional story driven thriller, is a dark, funny and thought-provoking drama that will give you all the chills as you realise how much we can still learn from it.

Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)

Colin Firth, comic book, Mark Strong, Matthew Vaughn, Michael Caine, review, Samuel L, spy, violence
There are plenty of films that I get excited about but am too embarrassed to admit to. No matter how much I try and hide it, I’ll always have the soul of a 12 year old boy. The bottom line is that swords, guns and explosions are fucking awesome and if your film trailer is full of them then I’m gonna want to see it. It’s led to a lot of misguided film experiences and is the main reason that I don’t completely hate Michael Bay’s Transformersfilms. Upon first seeing the trailer for Matthew Vaughn’s Kingsman: The Secret Service, I knew it was the kind of film I wanted to see but without anyone finding out about it.

Back in 2010, Matthew Vaughan and co-writer Jane Goldman re-imagined the world of superhero movies with Kick-Ass and introduced us all to the profanity spouting Chloe Grace Moretz. It was a fucking superb film that achieved massive success and spawned a less than great sequel. Obviously feeling comfortable adapting Mark Millar’s work, Vaughan and Goldman are back to reinvent the classic spy film by bringing The Secret Serviceto our screens. No matter how fucking amazing Skyfalland the rest of Daniel Craig’s Bond reign has been, there has been something lacking of late. No longer is there any room for the raised eyebrows, timely quips and batshit crazy gadgets. Thankfully, Vaughan has noticed a gap in the market and adapted Millar’s story to fit the bill. Kingsman does for Roger Moore era James Bond what Guy Ritchie did for Sherlock Holmes… only better.
Kingsmanis refreshingly self-aware and is littered with cheeky nods to all aspects of pop culture. Colin Firth’s suave Harry Hart wear Harry Palmer-style glasses, wields an umbrella in a way that John Steed would be proud and casually references 80s classic Trading Places. Of course, it is Bond that prevails over all and Ian Fleming’s much-loved agent is regularly alluded to or mentioned out-right. In an attempt to make amends for a past mistake, Harry takes urban youth, Eggsy, under his wing to turn him into a gentleman and a trained killer. The first part of the film is a delightful mix of My Fair Lady, The Apprentice and The Ipcress File. The moments between the pair are full of chemistry so it’s a massive fucking shame that the plot strives so hard to split them up.
For, whilst Eggsy is taking part in the most stressful job interview ever, Harry’s time is spent trying to find out what internet mogul Richmond Valentine (Samuel L Jackson) is planning. Valentine is a megalomaniac with a keen interest in environmentalism. As classic spy villains go, he isn’t up there with the best but does provide a few memorable moments throughout the proceedings. Ultimately though, he is woefully eclipsed by his blade-legged, assassin side-kick, Gazelle. A powerful opponent who can easily chop you in half with her prosthetics: the paralympics meets Kill Billif you will. Of course, regardless of his ranking in the super-villain hall of fame, Valentine is a pretty good foil for Hart and the rare moments that they appear on screen together are fucking brilliant. I’m never normally sure what I think of Colin Firth but there is no doubt he had the time of his fucking life. There is the now infamous scene set in an extremist Church when Harry, not fully in control of his senses, takes out an entire congregation of angry Christians. Graphic it may be but fun it most certainly is.
That’s the thing about Kingsman, the fact that it was independently funded meant that Vaughn was able to get away with more without fear of censorship. The violence is perhaps over-the-top but is handled in such a cartoony way that it might not matter. For every potentially dubious moment of unnecessary there is the fucking genius scene of henchmen’s heads exploding in time to Land of Hope and Glory. Whatever your thoughts on the violence argument that will always be raging within Hollywood, there is no doubt that Kingsmanis a stylish, brash and incredibly fun film. The only real let-down that I can see is Vaughn’s treatment of the class system. He makes several attempts to openly criticise the upper-classes whilst simultaneously celebrating their lifestyle. Kingsmanplays with a certain tradition of spy thrillers and inadvertently places the men at the centre of that genre on a pedestal. This is understandably at odds with all of Harry’s reassurances to Eggsy that it is the man underneath that counts. Still, it makes little difference in Matthew Vaughn’s joy-filled celebration of a certain style of cinema. You’ll make it through to the credits perfectly happy and, if you’re like me, excited for the next one.

The Dinner by Herman Koch

books, Herman Koch, mental illness, review, violence
After finishing the disappointing Summer House With Swimming Pool a few days ago I decided to dip my toe a little further into the pool of YA fiction. I started reading the much praised Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell because she’s all anyone on the internet seems to fucking talk about these days. I can’t say I was blown away and, after getting bogged down in the awful teen melodrama, I took a peak at the ending (which incidentally I do a fair amount of the time and I see nothing wrong with it). It didn’t really fill me with any great desire to finish the book any time soon. Therefore, it seemed like fate when, after an early finish from work gave me a bit of charity shop time, I found a cheap copy of the Herman Koch novel that preceded the topic of my last review. 

I finished The Dinner on the same day that I bought it. I started reading it on the train home and finished it during the early hours of the morning. It’s probably one of the few times I’ve been willing to lose sleep thanks to a work of fiction when it didn’t have a knock on effect on my grades. (I know this probably loses me lit nerd points but I really fucking love sleeping.) Although, I’m not sure if it really counts. I have to say that about two thirds in (maybe not even that much) I kind of gave up on a lot of the detail and skim read the remainder of the narrative. 
Its a narrative that centres around two brothers and their wives sitting down to dinner in a fancy restaurant to discuss the consequences of their son’s violent behaviour. Obviously taking more than a little inspiration from the brilliant We Need to Talk About Kevin, The Dinner sets out to discuss the nature of evil and how far parents can be held accountable for their child’s actions. However, don’t let this connection fool you into thinking that The Dinner is anywhere near as accomplished as Lionel Shriver’s work. Shriver was a master at placing key moral decisions into her readers’ hands and littered the narrative with shrewd anthropological insights. Koch is clearly writing for a different audience. 
The Dinner suffers from the same problems that I found in Summer House. We are once again introduced to an unreliable narrator, Paul, who spends most of his time delaying the rather thin story with constant side notes, stream of consciousness and in-depth descriptions of the meal he was sitting down to. Taking its structure from the courses being served up to our narrator, Paul, and his companions, the novel sets out to take a few pot-shots at the indulgent bourgeois lifestyle of its protagonists. What we actually get is endless description of the pretentious fare and elaborate setting. If Koch is holding up a mirror to anything, it is the self-satisfaction and arrogance of contemporary authors. 
Thankfully, Paul is not just unreliable but also extremely unlikeable. As we are all well aware it is not the job of the narrator to be a nice person but, in order to be a successful one, they do have to be interesting. From the start there is something a little unhinged about Paul’s thoughts and actions. His is hot-headedness, obsessive behaviour and deep-seated rivalry with his elder brother all act as warning signs to deeper psychological issues. However, Koch’s decision to explain away his narrator’s actions with reference to an unnamed neurological disorder only obliterates any potential interest in two of the novels central characters. If everything these characters are doing is just part of their programming then there can be no judgement based on their actions. Pretty much the entire novel is rendered moot because it was a natural response.  
Forget Lionel Shriver, the best comparison I can make for Koch’s writing is one of those really over-the-top soap operas. It’s as if the writer has such little faith in his own abilities to hash out a decent narrative that he resorts to creating tension in a more artificial way. There are several minor revelations at the end of chapters that would fit in nicely before an ad break (“I’m his brother” dun dun duh *cut to toothpaste ad*). There is an ever present sense of secrecy and ambiguity that never really pays off. Koch will jump back and forth in time, slowly revealing more hidden details, until the narrator finally reveals the ‘truth’ (or at least the truth that he is willing to reveal).  Rather than neatly building the tension until the horrific revelation, everything just ends up falling short of the readers’ expectations: ultimately the novel feels more than a little shallow. 
That being said, I won’t completely discount The Dinner. I think, had I not made the subconscious decision to finish the whole thing before bed, I would have finished the book properly. I’m sure at 1 am it’d be difficult for most people to give much of a shit about this guy’s endless flashbacks. This earlier novel has the benefits of a much clearer structure than Summer House and a clearer storyline. It doesn’t have the punch of works like We Need to Talk About Kevin but it is entertaining and fast-paced. It scrapes the surface of some key social points and suits any reader who enjoys witnessing the cracking facade of these supposedly happy middle-class families.  
However, all this just means that it’s more frustrating that there is so much potential within Koch’s work. There are moments of sheer literary joy and, within his pages of superfluous prose, there are fantastic one-liners to take away. With his affectless and misanthropic narrator, Koch is well on his way to a decent novel. However, thanks to a fair few crucial narrative decisions The Dinner becomes nothing more than a superficial tale from a writer who would perhaps be better suited to writing for a more visual outlet.

12 Years a Slave (2013)

Benedict Cumberbatch, Chiwetel Ejiofor, emotional wreck, Michael Fassbender, review, slavery, violence

We will constantly be told that 12 Years a Slave is groundbreaking and necessary filmmaking and it is true. A year after Quentin Tarantino placed the slave trade under his unique spotlight, Steve McQueen takes a more sombre look at that bleak part of American history. Comparisons can and will be made to Tarantino’s revenge Western but, aside from the theme that unites them, there is little to be drawn from such an association. Tarantino locks his slaves inside a cartoonish world where the damaged Django is able to gain some sort of catharsis through his violence. Steve McQueen makes this film knowing that there can be no easy answers. Whilst you could easily walk away from Django Unchained feeling that some form of justice has been served, there is nothing to shield you from the horrible truth in McQueen’s third film. Rather than revenge, we are being served up the unpalatable truth. 


12 Years is the adaptation of the 1853 memoir of Solomon Northup, a freeborn black man who lives with his wife and children in New York. Thanks to his unquestionably trusting nature, Solomon is tricked, drugged and kidnapped in Washington and sold into slavery. We follow Solomon’s journey from the capital to the plantations of Louisiana where he is passed from the hands of a money-hungry trader (a despicable Paul Giamatti) to the benevolent but weak Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch) and, finally, the malicious Edwin Epps (Michael Fassbender). Solomon is stripped of his freedom, dignity and his name, having been giving the moniker Platt. He must hide his past, keep his head down and do everything that his masters expect of him.

Solomon is played by the hugely talented Chiwetel Ejiofor. There is a stark and uncomfortable contrast between the Solomon we see in the opening scenes and the man we see bound and helpless. The free man walks confidently around his home town and happily interacts with his neighbours. Then we suddenly see him chained up in a dark and dank cell before he is violently beaten by his captors.  It is a horrifying change.The violence and language of McQueen’s epic are intended to make its audience uncomfortable but it is presented in such a way that it affects on a deeper level. You are not seeing images that are simply shocking and disgusting but something that is barbaric and illogical. McQueen doesn’t have to do a lot here and just lets the narrative speak for itself. Through McQueen’s lens, slavery is seen in uncompromising brutality.
12 Years treats us to the typical McQueen style of precise framing and shots held onto just long enough to make you uncomfortable: the unflinching gaze. It is on Ford’s plantation that Solomon is given some respect but the caring owner does not control his staff quite as well as he should. The diabolical overseer (Paul Dano) takes a disliking to Platt and goads the slave into standing up for himself. In response, Solomon is hung from a tree with his feet barely touching the ground and gasping for breath. His fellow slaves go about their business behind him but the audience is held face-to-face with the violence for much longer than they’d like.
Then we have the harrowing scene towards the end of the film where the downtrodden Patsey (Lupita Nyong’o), already having been subjected to Epps’ uncontrolled lust and sexual assault, is savagely beaten. As Solomon is forced to dole out this punishment, the camera circles the scene showing the horrifying effect this has on both Patsy and Solomon.
McQueen focuses a great deal on Solomon’s face, which places an enormous amount of pressure on
Ejiofor. His face, and most importantly his eyes, becomes the emotional centre of the film: carefully conveying every necessary emotion. You never see Northup admitting defeat and, through every awful encounter, Ejiofor lets a hint of determination shine through. This is acting of the greatest quality and Ejiofor deserves every award and nomination he’s been given.
Alongside him are equally Oscar-worthy performances that ensure the drama on screen never feels melodramatic or mawkish. Nyong’o, in her film debut, is spectacular but harrowing and plays Patsey with a fiery tenacity. It is a breathtaking start to her career and I am still outraged that she missed out on the BAFTA she so obviously deserved.
Though the most memorable performance, by far, comes from Michael Fassbender as the savage Epps. Epps starts off as potentially cartoony: a drunk and sadistic man who delights in breaking his slaves and terrorising them with fake bible verses. However, he is given extra depth through his obsession with Patsey and his strained relationship with his wife. He is an utterly terrifying presence who, despite being only a second away from violence, is far more dangerous. Fassbender provides us with a disturbing and awful portrayal of a slave owner who has become just an inhuman as the people he owns.
12 Years is a film that unpicks the intricacies of American slavery – the power-relationships, the daily horrors and the overlooked practices – and shows it to be nothing more than madness. This is an angry, intense and stylish examination of the slave trade that is meant to challenge the audience (I for one was an emotional wreck by the time the credits rolled) and one that will stay with you long after it ends.

McQueen doesn’t hide the realities that were faced by many behind witty word-play, suggestions of great change, or violent revenge narratives. He offers a painful, emotional and unrelenting view of what thousands of people faced less than 200 years ago. There is no happy ending here: just the haunting image of a broken man. Forcing you to face up to the corporeal realities of slavery, 12 Yearsis set to become a modern classic that goes to show just how powerful cinema can be.

Django Unchained (2012)

Christoph Waltz, cowboy, Jamie Foxx, Leonardo DiCaprio, Quentin Tarantino, review, slavery, violence, Wild West

There is no way anyone with a deep knowledge of film can ignore the influences that have prepared the director for his latest work and there are plenty of sneaky in jokes for them to pick up on. The film would comfortably sit within the history of blaxploitation cinema (with links to films like 1975’s Mandigo amongst others) and, no matter what Tarantino tries to tell us with his talk of “Southerns”, there is little to suggest that Django Unchained would be uncomfortable within the world of Spaghetti Westerns. From the opening credits using the old Columbia logo to the blood-red titles and the whip zooms, the whole thing screams Western. There is an obvious homage to the 1966 film Django thanks to the use of the theme song over the opening titles and a brief cameo by the original Django’s Franco Nero. The final credits of the film utilises music from another influence They Call Me Trinity from 1970. The two films have dramatically different tones with Django being a gruesomely violent melodrama whilst Trinity is a more comic affair where the hero prefers to forgo violence for cheekiness. These two pieces of music sum up the slightly bipolar tone of Tarantino’s latest historical epic. We are treated to an outrageously violent, gruesome Western/blaxploitation hybrid alongside a keen sense of comedy and fun. Although, is this kind of duality the correct setting for a film dealing with such a controversial and risqué topic?

Django Unchainedopens to find our hero, scarred but not yet broken, chained to his fellow slaves before a life changing encounter with German born bounty hunter Dr King Schultz (Christoph Waltz). In need of Django’s help to track down three of his targets, the eloquent stranger offers him the chance to be free. Luckily the recently released slave proves to be a natural at this killing for money malarkey and they go into business together. Years in captivity don’t really seem like the usual training ground for a gifted assassin but Django could easily be up there with the best bounty hunters; standing as an equal alongside Rick Deckard, Boba Fett and Dog. The films first act, following Django and Schultz chasing bounties across the snow covered mountains and plains of Tennessee is incredibly enjoyable and, though not all of it is relevant, is full of genuinely funny moments. Their brief encounter with an inept band of the KKK is pure Mel Brooks.

It is during his winter as a professional killer that Schultz discovers his companion is married to fellow slave, Broomhilda (a mishearing of the German Brünnhilde by her ignorant subsequent captors). The pair was separated as part of a cruel punishment after an escape attempt so, with the help of his new friend, Django vows to free his love (Kerry Washington). This takes them into Texas to Candyland, the plantation owned by the despicable Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), where slaves are forced to fight to the death for their owner’s amusement and punishments include being torn apart by dogs. Not that it were really necessary but the audience are given a sneak peek into the future narrative thanks to Schultz’s retelling of the old German myth of Brünnhilde and Siegfried. It becomes clear that Django must become a real-life Siegfried and slay the dragon that holds his wife captive.
Jamie Foxx gives a great performance as our hero and fits the part perfectly. He has all the needed swagger and cockiness that is necessary for the leading man in a good Western. He takes to the role of the avenger cowboy with ease and he looks every bit as heroic and deadly as any cowboy thanks to his cool leather costume and shades. He has the swagger and the bravado but he has the all-important heart and just cause that even his more inhumane actions seem acceptable. However, he is surrounded by much better characters so he often seems like something of a bit-player in his own story. Foxx plays Django deadpan which often jars with his more laidback cohort. His is a very serious story sure but he often comes across as too serious and straight that he gets lost.
For it is his companion that demands much of our attention for the first half of the film as Christoph Waltz is simply incredible as Schultz. He shares director Quentin Tarantino’s love of long, flowing dialogue and he delivers his beautifully formed speeches with ease and a certain amount of glee. It is here that we see an obvious separation from traditional Westerns, which put the focus on action above words. Whilst Clint Eastwood went through the script to A Fistful of Dollars removing dialogue, you can easily believe Tarantino went through his adding more in. As you would expect there is a shedload of extreme violence in Django but it is with words that the real conflicts are fought. The key showdowns between our two heroes and their villainous counterparts only go to highlight their immeasurable skill to offer up a fantastic speech. It is words that are important here and notably the vast majority of the white Americans portrayed here are dim-witted and inarticulate.
Well, all but the disturbing and seemingly charming Calvin Candie who portrays himself as the perfect Southern Dandy whilst he simultaneously forces his slaves to fight to the death. DiCaprio really lets go as Candie and sinks to the utter depths of depravity and villainy. It’s spectacular and wouldn’t have worked had he been too afraid to go that far. Candie is one of Django’s greatest pleasures. He is the childish dictator controlling his vast empire when he’s not having a tantrum because someone failed to call him Monsieur. He is portrayed perfectly and goes to highlight that DiCaprio is only getting better. Candie has the sugary sweet outer layer of Southern charm and civility to hide his dark and poisonous centre. Whenever he is on screen there is a very real threat of violence. The dinner table scene that takes place at Candyland is all the evidence you need to show just how volatile this Southern dandy is. It’s a fantastic scene made all the more impressive thanks to DiCaprio’s injury during filming.
However, as awful as Candie is he probably isn’t even the main villain of the piece. Alongside him is his faithful servant Stephen (Samuel L Jackson), an awful Uncle Tom figure who limps after Candie like the slave owner’s own evil Igor. Jackson plays this role in a way that you can accept no other actor could pull off. Stephen appears as the world-worn, white-haired and limping old slave but there is little doubt how much power he holds. Stephen knows how to work the system. He has the brains and the anger to keep all of Candyland in check. Interestingly, it is only Stephen who is able to see beyond Schultz’s artistry with words that provides a mask to his true identity. Whilst his counterpart Django prefers to shoot first and ask questions later, Stephen prefers to see people slowly suffer whilst letting other people carry out his dirty work. Samuel L Jackson does a wonderful job and, along with Waltz and DiCaprio, easily takes focus away from our more reserved hero who often falls into the background.
But what a background it is. Thanks to the work of cinematographer Robert Richardson, who was last seen winning the Oscar for his work on Hugo (a film so beautiful I cried because of the opening shot – FACT!), Django Unchained is an absolutely stunning film. With some amazing shots of picturesque mountains and Southern plains this films is constantly offering a treat for your eyes. These visuals play alongside Tarantino’s use of cinematic clichés like crazy zooms and grainy flashbacks to ensure the end results are incredibly stylish and fresh.
Django Unchainedis Tarantino’s first film since the death of Sally Menke his long-time collaborator which could explain its ever so slightly rough finish. The slave’s road to retribution is a long one with the running time reaching 168 minutes and it doesn’t quite have the overall polish that Inglorious Basterds did. There are a few plot strands and cameo appearances that don’t really go anywhere. (I’m mostly thinking of the mystery behind the woman with the red bandana. What was that about?) Don’t get my wrong, it is fantastic to listen to characters lose themselves in lavish runaway speeches but it does drag everything out a fair bit, especially when it has the tendency to repeat itself. Whilst I did not necessarily find the film lagging a great deal I couldn’t help but feel that it could have been sharper and more refined.
Still I’m not really complaining. I thoroughly enjoyed Django and was kept engrossed in the narrative for the entire 2 hours 45 minute running time. In fact, my only real criticism was the director’s misjudged cameo towards the end of the film. There has been much debate about the use of violence in the film. Of course violence is a major focus for the narrative but it is played out in such an over-the-top way that it simply feels cartoonish. Django’s quest for revenge results in much death and bloodshed but it is so ridiculously unrealistic (it’s the sort of violence that you see in GTA where you shoot a man in the head and it explodes) that it simply adds to the comic effect and the reference to old fashioned Westerns. It’s all relative and in keeping with Tarantino’s main aim. I think it works.
As for the suitability question, I’m not sure. I think there is a sense that the two tones of the film (comic and dramatic) don’t play well with such a big topic. Placing such horrific and realistic acts of violence towards slaves alongside the indulgent and silly deaths of everyone who crosses Django’s path maybe doesn’t sit well. However, Tarantino isn’t attempting to give us a thought-provoking new insight into slavery in America. Instead he has gone back to that time and, in his typical bloody and brash style, has decided to show it what he thinks of it. And perhaps that is exactly how the issue of slavery should be dealt with in Hollywood. What better way to show the absurdity and horror of slavery than placing it in a loud, extremely bloody, self-indulgent and completely ridiculous narrative? We all know that slavery is bad at this point so why allow it to have any more credence by dealing with it in a sophisticated and reserved manner? Let’s just shoot all the bad guys, throw fake blood over everything and blow shit up. This isn’t Taranino’s well thought out argument against slavery. This is him saying ‘slavery sucks so let’s have some fun at its expense’. And fun, dear reader, I did have.