The Hateful Eight 

 Cast: Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Demian Bichir, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern, Channing Tatum, James Parks, Dana Gourrier, Zoe Bell, Lee Horsley, Gene Jones, Keith Jefferson, Craig Stark and Belinda Owino

 Writer/Director: Quentin Tarantino

 Running time: Varies

Quentin Tarantino’s ongoing affection for cinema-past is so huge that he seems unable to prevent himself from hacking into endless plagiarism (or ‘homage’ as his followers would have us believe). So much so, that here, on his eighth interminable vanity project, he attempts to revive the experience from the fifties to the seventies—where big productions were given special treatment, usually in extra-widescreen format (ie Panavision 70mm) complete with overtures and intermissions. “The Hateful Eight,” continues his overblown conceit. With the protracted musical introductions and intermission, the film in some formats runs to something approximating three hours, and although it will be shown in the aforementioned form in which it was shot, only in a small number of venues in major cinemas for a short run, the digital transfer that most venues will screen, is luminous, showing off the outstanding technical contributions. And therein lies the tale.

Tarantino somehow, miraculously/mysteriously, whether through the power of persuasion, dishing out substantial wads of cash, or his clear affinity with the invisible new clobber of the Emperor, consistently succeeds in luring the finest cinematic technical talent around, not to mention the esteemed Ennio Morricone for the soundtrack. This is all well and good – but it just about manages to superficially disguise, albeit to everyone without a trained eye, the lamentable lack of discernible original creative talent from the writer/director – one Quentin Tarantino. I touched on this very fact in an earlier review, for ‘Django Unchained’, which I also felt deserved very few of the accolades it garnered – “he so needs a skilled, assertive creative partner to keep his obsessive excesses in check”. Robert Richardson’s gorgeous cinematography, Yohei Taneda’s excellent production design, Richard L. Johnson and Ben Edelberg’s first-class art direction, Courtney Hoffman’s terrific costume design and Rosemary Brandenburg’s ace set decoration—are all utilised to their respectively best advantage. But the film just isn’t worth all their effort. 

In parts it’s odious – rife with gratuitous violence, racism and misogyny - it is certainly nowhere near being the classic that some of the headline reviews would have you believe. The film is, in essence, a weak western potboiler with a pulp-novel pulse, amusing in parts but tediously overlong, with no juicy characters, ridiculously poor dialogue and inane plot twists, and it does of course provide the ludicrously excessive and totally expected bloodbath at the climax. After Ennio Morricone’s introductory music which has a moody, sombre hook, the film starts with, it has to be said, a beautifully-composed scene of a stagecoach, initially merely a dot in the distance, trudging its way through the dazzlingly white snow-covered Wyoming landscape toward us, but unfortunately the pace of this promising opening develops into an ongoing, lacklustre, strung-out tempo in all that is to follow. Inside the coach are only two passengers: bounty hunter John Ruth, (‘The Hangman’) for his habit of bringing his quarry in alive for execution – played by Kurt Russell), and his prisoner Daisy Domergue (a barely recognisable Jennifer Jason Leigh), a murderess, whom he’s taking to Red Rock to end her days by execution. Along the way they pick up two additional individuals. One is Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a former Union officer now also a bounty hunter, and the other - Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins) a former member of a Confederate renegade band, now the recently-appointed sheriff of Red Rock.

Reaching Minnie’s Haberdashery, the crew finds the place in the hands of a Mexican named Bob (Demian Bircher). Inside this wooden refuge are former Confederate General Sandy Smothers (Bruce Dern), there to visit the grave of his son; sinister cowboy Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), who claims he is off to visit his mother, and erudite Englishman Oswaldo Mowbray (Tim Roth), who presents himself as the Red Rock hangman. What follows from this point isn’t the expansive outdoor vista experience which the film’s epic proportions might suggest. Instead, and bafflingly we are subjected to a laborious verbal marathon in the claustrophobic cabin, as the various characters chatter about their pasts, sometimes accompanied by flashbacks (one, involving Warren and Smithers’ son, is particularly offensive and deeply unsettling). Most of the dialogue is in era-inconsistent expletive-laden typical Tarantino cogitation - and, as in the aforementioned “Django,” his obsessional use of multiple occurrences of the word ‘nigger’. It isn’t too long, despite the use of ‘Chapters’ (another Tarantino affectation) before the extreme carnage sets in—along with revelations, some delivered through narration from Tarantino himself, who reverses direction to show what actually happened before the coach arrived at Minnie’s and events since then from a different perspective - replete with the inevitable flashbacks, of course. This use of that function deepens suspicion that Tarantino cannot settle on a coherent narrative and is constantly adding to the original outline – which must surely prove infuriating to the technical team.

None of this will of course matter one jot to Tarantino aficionados, who will be content with his typically over-the-top genre imitations, amplified in this instance by the technical vitality. They’ll also doubtlessly enjoy the work of a cast with ironic credentials and a penchant for seizing on the peppery dialogue. Jackson luxuriates in the incongruously elevated esoterics of the script, as does the hammy, grinning Roth who, along with the more reticent Madsen, was also part of the ensemble of “Reservoir Dogs” and, like him, seems to relish being back in the director’s orbit. Newcomers Leigh and Goggins mug ferociously throughout, while both Russell and Bichir, buried under a mass of facial hair and scarves, grumble their way through the picture. Dern, looking convincingly frail, barely moves at all from his chair until his climactic moment with Jackson, and Tatum does well, albeit briefly, as Daisy’s brother. 

In essence the entire piece is bloated and appears to have been over-extended to a ridiculous degree to meet the expectations of the format—with far, far too much repetitive dialogue and too many prolonged but extraneous sequences. You may well find yourself suffering from brain fatigue and saddle sores from endurance of this over-rated brat’s latest marathon. With the possible exception of 'Pulp Fiction' and 'Jackie Brown', whilst his technical teams' prowess has certainly excelled beyond the brief, his personal input has dismally failed to fulfill the hype. Let's hope he sticks to his earlier promise of ten films then he's out - as at this rate, for me at least, he's little more than a predictable, nerdy washed-up charlatan - and you can quote me on that.