Once Upon a Time in Hollywood... A Review

Greetings one and all. Fancy meeting you here. It has been a hot minute since I graced the blank draft pages of this here blog. This so-called film-centric blog. I admit that I have been foregoing many of my personal responsibilities, this blog included, most of them revolving around self-care. I feel as though I have been giving up on myself - nothing dark, just the way life often goes. People get lost, they forget what it is that makes them lighten up and spark up their life. For me, it has and probably always will be writing. When I watched this film in the theater the other night (five months ago, wowza), I was absolutely enthralled, enchanted by a film once more. I was struck by the urge to write away about what I just experienced. That is what it was: an utter experience. Before I get into Tarantino's latest film, I do want to touch on (yet another) reason why I have abandoned this blog (yet again). I've been busy. Alright, into the blog-o-rama we go.

If Baby Driver was an exhilarating delight in a mass population of unimpressive, unoriginal cinematic offerings, Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood was the awe-inspiring film to break out of the malaise American cinema has seemingly lost itself in. Director and visionary Quentin Tarantino returns to the screen with a movie that not only pays ode to the Golden Age of Hollywood (the one that wasn't the 1930s) but serves as a dazzling piece of modern-nostalgic cinema itself. Nostalgic, of course, in the sense that you are in the midst of a different era, and Tarantino truly teleports you to that decade. It possesses the stylistic triumphs that is reminiscent of the Hollywood that was transforming during that time period. Modern in the sense that it is unlike a film from the 60s but cemented firmly in our time now, helmed by a man who revolutionized cinema in his own, ahem, unique and bombastic way. It enchants keen audiences by providing a visual and all-around sensational (in the sense of all senses) cinematic treasure. To illustrate this point briefly, let us explore the music of the film. The soundtrack of the movie is one of many sensory tools that Tarantino utilizes to his advantage, transporting the viewer to the 1960s. His carefully curated selection of retro bops, jams, tunes, beats, and bops sets the psychedelic mood of this period piece.

When I left the theater, yes the first time, I immediately added the film's soundtrack playlist to my Spotify. If only I could favorite it as a radio station in my 1966 Cadillac DeVille.... What really accentuates this setting of mood, what puts the mwah in perfection to the soundtrack, is the placement of real-life radio ads. I absolutely loved the decision to include clips from the popular L.A. radio station of the time, KHJ a.k.a Boss Radio, because it really cemented the setting unlike any Tarantino movie before it. Fun Fact: "Tarantino says they tracked down 17 hours of tapes of original KHJ broadcasts from 1968 and 1969, which he eventually whittled down to a three-hour Best Of mixtape, and that became the sound bible for the film" (thank you, Jeff Beer, you wrote a great article, https://www.fastcompany.com/90384320/how-radio-ads-helped-shape-quentin-tarantinos-1969-l-a-for-once-upon-a-time-in-hollywood). It was the subtlety that I admired, how the radio DJ audio was merely in the background as ambience. You almost don't notice it because that is the power of immersion. I am really hamming this "brief point" home, huh. Beyond the auditory delights, which in my opinion truly solidify the tone of the time in case you couldn't already tell, the visuals of the film are a defining characteristic of the setting as well. Watching Brad Pitt glide across the screen as he drives on the highways of Hollywood almost feels like a 4D experience. You are riding shotgun with Cliff Booth as you listen to Los Bravos, basking in the warmth of 1960s Los Angeles. This movie, if nothing else, is a sensational pleasure of the senses. And everything else.

Three months and a rewatch later... Back to the program. I knew I had to watch this a second time to fully absorb the film and all its glory, not only for my enjoyment but for the sanctity of this blog. I have three drafts in progress and that's not even counting the failed promises of years past. Sorry Sex and the City, I'll call you back later. Now allow me to blend the first and second impressions of my viewing of Once Upon a Time in my trademark grammatically haphazard manner.

The beginning of the film established the setting, as films are wont to do. Even though it might seem like an aimless collection of shots and a bland string of dialogue, it soaks you into the atmosphere of this film. Hollywood, 1969. Sure, a title card could have told you that but then you’d miss being immersed in the world that Tarantino re-envisioned from the variety of decades magazines and textbooks you’re vaguely familiar with. Pretty sure there are title cards in the film regardless, you're welcome viewer. This is one of few films that truly takes you in—you become enveloped in the time and the events that unfold. This sense of immersion operates particularly well (and that’s loosely used in the context of what’s happening) when we arrive at Spahn Ranch. When Cliff Booth arrives at the abandoned western set with Pussy Girl, you’ve already sunk deep into the film and joined the experience. As a result, you become surrounded by the undeniable creepiness of the Manson Family. My skin was crawling all over just as much the second and third and fourth go around as we are introduced to the unsettling shabbiness of the Manson cult. To really capture the problematic and disturbing essence of this troupe, Tarantino even threw Lena Dunham into the mix so you knew it was something ungodly. High five. Of course, setting an eerie tone for the cinematic depiction of the Manson Family is an obvious gut decision. Unless this is a true to form torture porn flick romanticizing the actions of those cult-astrophic beasts (just came up with that), then the only mood you want to instill in audiences is sheer dread and disgust. As Cliff Booth slowly makes his way across the ranch, onward to meet with his good 'ol buddy George Spahn, the camera pans along a disturbing view of wasted and empty souls, the not-so-groovy chicks and dudes that Manson indoctrinated into his "family." Essentially, the villainization takes place at Spahn Ranch when cool-as-a-cucumber Cliff Booth disturbs their ominously tranquil fauxtopia. A male Manson Family member slashes his tires, to the bemusement of Cliff Booth, and the altercation ends in a way the residents of the sinister ranch do not expect. In their twisted paradise, Cliff Booth does not win. In the archetypal Tarantino universe, Cliff Booth might very well die here at Spahn Ranch. But expectations all around are subverted, and Brad Pitt unceremoniously beats this happy-go-lucky turd to a pulp, wiping the shit-eating grin off his doofus face. Observing this posse of maniacs rise above the "unenlightened" visitor at the beginning of this scene only to crumble into a defeated mass of wailing banshees—it really is magical.

Two months and a rewatch later... Now onto the characters because transitions are for serial killers. Back when I first watched this amazing film in August, I jotted down some skeletal notes about the characters and I want to include them here unadulterated because the blurb thoughts are very amusing in retrospect. Then I will go a little deeper into the performances and character themselves, and don't you like it when I explain exactly what I am going to talk about rather than just jumping into it?

Brad Pitt as Cliff Booth: First of all, Oscar; down to earth and downright pleasant... even if he did kill his wife. Second of all, definitely Oscar win for the supporting category, Brad Pitt has it made. The character of Cliff Booth is decisively a contradicting one. On one hand, wow, what a swell dude, I'd love to grab a beer with him and watch FBI or Bounty Law with him. God, I want to watch Bounty Law so bad. On the other hand, wow, what a charming psychopath? I have heard many critiques of Cliff Booth as a character and many conclude he is definitively not a good guy. He probably murdered his wife—didn't you see the harpoon laying unsuspectingly in his lap in that flashback while she was berating him? He displayed a propensity toward violence—didn't you see the explosive finale where he unleashes murderous fury toward a bunch of hippies? To those accusations, I say... but it's Brad Pitt. Yes, he is incredibly charming and that was ultimately the intent behind his casting. You were meant to root for Cliff Booth throughout the film's conquests. It is never revealed that he conclusively murdered his wife, it was all speculation and hearsay. He may have done it. As for the ending, well, I implore you to consider the alternative. If he were to be another victim of those goddamn hippies, history would have repeated itself as the attackers ventured to Rick Dalton's neighbors, among them Sharon Tate. But I will get to that glorious ending later. Cliff Booth is an all-around likeable character. Despite the rumors surrounding his covertly violent nature, he is portrayed as an exceedingly affable fella. That is what makes this performance so captivating in that it is so down-to-earth and attractive. And yes, Brad Pitt is attractive—didn't you see that body on the roof, in his mid-fifties no less? Hubba hubba. Anyway, my wrap-up of this character is that he is one of the most goddamn charming characters from Quentin's repertoire. Brad Pitt is going to win for Best Supporting Actor and there is no question about it. He essentially plays himself: chill, charming, chiseled. It feels as though he doesn't really care about his performance in the movie, which itself is a lie, hence the great performance. That was a drunk sentence. And I'm ending it there.

Leonardo DiCaprio as Rick Dalton: This should have been DiCaprio’s first Oscar, for fuck’s sake; storytelling device of a has-been very well executed; foretelling of Leo himself? OOO Not quite as conspiratorial as past me suggested, I must have been high from exhaustion. Nevertheless, Leo does a sensational job of wrapping himself up in the insecurities of a soon-to-be has-been desperate to keep the fame and notoriety flickering if not damn right shining. I love LDC's performance in this movie. The scene featuring a conversation between Al Pacino and LDC captures the growing anxiety that Rick Dalton faces as his role in the public eye dwindles. The film as a whole frames Rick Dalton's insecurities expertly and Leo plays it oh so well to boot. Watching the manic processes of any actor is fascinating to any average viewer, or so I've heard, and DiCaprio definitely delivers. What makes this even more enjoyable, at least for me, is that Leonardo DiCaprio, one of the modern great actors of the end of times, is playing a "bad actor." Seeing him screw up lines and wallow in his inadequacy is truly wonderful to behold, not in a mean way, just an awe-provoking way. Witnessing a fantastic actor portray an actor who can't act very well? It sells itself, don't it? I feel as though I'm-I'm not making much sense here a-and I really want to convey my admiration of-of LDC here and... I was going to improvise (in writing?) an homage to Leo's frenetic, off-the-cuff, phenomenal freak-out scene in the film. The moment he bursts into his trailer and violently scolds himself for fucking up his lines on the set of Lancer—it is one to behold with laughter and awe. There's a reason why this is one of the many scenes shown when LDC receives nominations, it's fucking glorious. It is unlike any other nominated performance of his, except maybe Wolf of Wall Street, but this is presented in a far more nuanced manner because there is more to this character to explore than Jordan Belfort. But that's just my opinion. Flashing forward a bit, Rick Dalton experiences a "this is it" moment actors face (I'm sure) at the end of the movie, following a rip-roaring good time climax. When the police lights fade out, Jay Sebring approaches Dalton from behind the golden gates that lead up to Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate's Hollywood home. He calls out to him asking what the fuck happened, to which Rick Dalton casually regales the story of how he set an intruder on fire with the flamethrower from, "The 14 Fists of McCluskey!" As Sebring finishes Dalton's thought, the glimmer in his eye is honestly so satisfying for the viewer, but only a fraction of how satisfying it must be for Rick Dalton to be acknowledged by adjacent-royalty. Sure, it's just Jay Sebring, but to Rick Dalton, it seems as though any laudable gesture means the world to him. Even when pumpkin puss herself, delightfully played by Julia Butters, whispers to Dalton that that Lancer scene was the best acting she had ever seen? He was pushed to tears. Because he is Leonardo fucking DiCaprio, ladies and gentleman, and the man can act his heart out. When Sharon Tate beckons for Jay over the intercom, she excitedly invites Rick Dalton himself over and the film draws to a close of their fateful meeting. Rick Dalton had finally made it. Although LDC will not win at the Oscars this Sunday night, his performance struck a chord with me nonetheless. In any other year, it would have been a damn abomination to snub such a fine portrayal of insecurity in the dimming spotlight.

Post-Globes Resentment: On a bitter note, it is a travesty that he did not win the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Comedy/Musical. Granted, I wanted Eddie Murphy to win because throw the man a goddamn bone, huh? Dolemite was his comeback more like Dolemite is my Comeback amiright? However, Leo was exceptional in Once Upon a Time... as I said in the very beginning of this paragraph, this should have been is long-awaited, glorious first Oscar win. Alas, as we all know, the coveted Best Actor statuette will go to a more transformative performance played by Joaquin formerly Leaf Phoenix in this year's already-cult status classic, Joker. All over the place, I'm telling you.

Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate: An absolute presence, she glides across the silver screen just as the actress herself both in movies and in life; captured the essence of Sharon Tate so exquisitely, so subtly, that she dove into the role; Tarantino appreciatively gave Sharon herself the screen time she was due, that was a very nice touch; fuck Meryl. Funny to think that a few months ago, Meryl Streep was the frontrunner for the supporting actress category. Now she is barely a footnote in the race and I can't stop smiling menacingly about it.And now that the Oscars are in four days, we can sigh a sigh of remorse that Margot Robbie was not nominated for this... but she was for Bombshell woo still haven't seen it. As for Margot's performance, I won't spend much time on it—because the movie sure didn't, oh hot take. What I want to say has already been said, not only by the director and actress themselves, but by me. See italics above. I have seen this film three (four?) times now and my opinion is final. She ascended the reality this film established. She moves across the screen as if she is a vision, much like Sharon Tate herself was in life. Tate's sister, Debra, confirmed this subtle yet majestic performance herself: "She was so sweet and so kind, intelligent, and lighter than the air in every way...And Margot did a beautiful job at portraying that.... She actually touched me in a way that convinced me that she was Sharon. She did such a damn good job that, for me, personally, the visit was a little short. I had Sharon back in front of me again, and it was too short a visit." (Vanity Fair, https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2019/07/once-upon-a-time-in-hollywood-margot-robbie-sharon-tate). Reading that article, I do see that Debra had some regrets regarding the film's focus on Leo and Brad; however, she only expressed that she wished Tarantino would make a solo Sharon Tate movie but that she was in no place to protest his creation. All she wanted was to see Margot Robbie embody the sheer beauty, purity, and goodness that was her sister, Sharon Tate. And all we're saying is she did a masterful job with such little screen time and dialogue.

I have to include this snippet of an article from the Telegraph (see below) because, I just do not know what to make of it. My instinctual response is laughter but underneath a throbbing headache forms. Society these days... The article refers to the film as "torture porn." YEP, torture porn. Their main argument in this is that the finale causes audiences (particularly male) to erupt in laughter. Why? Because two women are brutalized in a signature Tarantino bloodfest. On paper, that does sound horrifying, as if we reside in a dystopian misogynistic universe where men can get away with horrific acts like that. I wonder how Kevin Spacey is doing. However, if you consider, ah yes, the context of the scene, one will hopefully realize that it is natural to rejoice. I am about to get into it now, but the women being viciously attacked on screen are portraying members of the gruesome, soulless, positively evil Manson Family cult. I truly wonder if the author, Leaf, truly understood the movie. Speaking of laughing, I relished the brutalization of those two evil cunts. While I read this amusing little piece on Snapchat, the Telegraph will not do me the pleasure of allowing me to screenshot their trough. Carry on, writer.

Tarantino delivers on his timely crescendo of hyper realistic violence, altering history in the most satisfying of ways in any of his films. Yes this even trumps killing Hitler. (Bet you’d never see the words “trump” and “Hitler” in the same sentence. Go figure.) This is one time when changing the past in such a vividly extreme manner works in cinema. Not to say killing Hitler wasn’t as good as killing the Manson Family but damn if this isn’t a competition of evil here, I refuse to defend myself. (Killing Hitler was a silly scene, capische?) Watching these psychotic hipster—I mean, hippie—scumbags get mutilated and pummeled by Cliff Booth, Rick Dalton, and Brandie was just goddamn beautiful. Even with Booth high as hell on a fifty-cent acid cigarette, he was able to subdue the foes. (Cue badass crime show outro idk.) The moment he click-clicked for Brandie to attack, I was pushed back in my seat and savored the unsavory in gripping glee. What made this violent display all the more gruesome for me personally wasn’t the visuals but the sounds. Bones breaking under the force of an obedient pet, screams of righteous pain wailing out, physical masses getting beaten to a goddamn juicy pulp. That’s what did me in, folks. The one visual that topped it off mwah cherry beautifully: Rick Dalton incinerating that motherfucking pulpy hippie. This is a somewhat rareish instant where we get a happy ending for a Tarantino flick. John Travolta doesn’t die in this one, folks. I said folks before and I’ll say it again and again, ladies and germs. With OUATIH (what an ugly acronym), we are bestowed with the kind of happy ending that goes beyond happily ever after. This is a hyper-realized reality where innocent people live and the idea of Hope sinks in. What if thwarting the Manson massacres salvaged the national consciousness? What if saving Sharon Tate saves goodness and perhaps encourages that level of good to thrive? It’s all what-if wonderment one might call idealistic and silly, but imagine a world where a little optimism doesn’t sound so naive? Instead, it’s just the cultural norm. I don’t know myself, it’s 1:15am and I’m writing this all out on my phone after having just seen the movie. Delirium has settled in but, holy shit, this movie was sensational. While it may not be the new or next Pulp Fiction, it is most definitely Once Upon a Time in Hollywood... an incredible piece of well-orchestrated film-making cemented within cinema itself.