The only thing that first came to mind when the movie ended was: Holy Shit.
Kill Bill is, without a doubt and without any hyperbole at all, the most brilliant piece of film making I have ever seen. Tarantino is a genius, a savior, a god among directors.
The plot doesn’t matter, so I won’t even tell you about it. The acting is secondary, so I won’t even get into that except to say that Uma Thurman was born to play this part.
Kill Bill defies genre. It’s everything. It’s everywhere. It’s the whole damn history of directing in one fell swoop. If anyone else had attempted to cram so many styles into one movie, it would be a failure of the grandest kind. But Tarantino works magic with this film, layering the pieces and fitting them into a sequence that works even though by all rights it shouldn’t.
It’s Pulp Fiction and Dead Alive and 70’s action and serious anime and every samurai movie you’ve ever seen. It’s lightning fast and film noir slow. It’s ballet with swords and gang fights set to Stomp.
It’s the bloodiest thing you will see this side of horror movies. The blood is not just a display of cuts and death; it’s an actor with a part. It’s over-the-top and spurts like a water fountain at every turn and you find yourself stunned by the beauty and magic of all that gore. There’s flying limbs and exposed brains and and a dangerously beautiful teenager who would cut off your arms just to watch you bleed to death.
Never have I witnessed such sheer amounts of death and grinned all the way through it. It wasn’t a grin of blood lust, it was the smile that comes with watching a job well done, a job completed to perfection by the true main stars of this film, the faces that are never seen; Tarantino, editor Sally Menke, and RZA, who scored all the original music.
If I had to sum this movie up in two words they would be, simply: Holy. Shit.
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