Before we
begin, as one
boy racer said
to the other
boy racer when
preparing to
buy an unnecessarily
souped-up car,
“There will be
spoilers!”
Django Unchained
is Quentin Tarantino's
latest film. It
is set in
Texas and Mississippi
just before the
American civil
war. Identifying itself
squarely as
a Spaghetti Western
from the moment
it begins (big
red credits, jangly
Ennio Morricone type
music and wide
shots of high
and dry mountains)
it follows the
story of Django
(Jamie Foxx), a
recaptured runaway
slave who is
unexpectedly purchased
at gun point
by Dr King
Schultz (Christoph
Waltz) a German
emigree ex-dentist
cum bounty hunter.
Schultz needs Django's help
in identifying three
criminals he wants
to track down. Professing to loathe
slavery, he proposes
that if Django will
help him catch
them, he will
receive his
freedom and
some money in
return. He
is as good
as his word.
Indeed Django shows
such promise as
a bounty hunter
that Schultz proposes
they partner up
for the winter
and, when Spring
comes, head back
to Mississippi to
try and free
his wife, who
was sold separately as a punishment for escaping. Django agrees.
The first
hour or so
of the film
is largely successful.
Foxx and Waltz
make for an
entertaining pairing
as Schultz, a
winning combination
of wordy charm
and lethal intent,
teaches Django, his
quieter more
intense partner, the ins and
outs of bounty hunting.
Tarantino pushes
things a little
far at times,
for example, dressing
Django in an
unnecessary butler’s
outfit for one
sequence. However,
his talent with
dialogue sees
him getting away
with most things,
notably a
scene in which
a group of
clansmen bent
on burning Django
and Schultz alive
stop and argue
because the
eyeholes in
their hoods have
been cut too
small. Going for laughs
in westerns is
dangerous territory
– the risk of
everything going
all “Blazing Saddles”
is ever present -
but Tarantino skillfully
avoids that pitfall
even when the
pair use a
snowman for
target practice. And
while he’s
doing it he
photographs the
American West
(or wherever happens
to be doubling
for it) beautifully.
By the
time Schultz and Django
come down from
the mountains and
head to Mississippi
everything is
going pretty well
filmwise. However,
it is this
decision which
sows the seeds
for later problems
in the film,
as at this
moment it changes
from a Western
featuring an
ex-slave to
a film about
slavery stuck
inside an awkward
Western format.
This is problematic
because, and
I’m aware
this this may
sound obvious, a
western needs
to take place
in the West
– by which I
mean not literally
the West but
a place in
which law has
only a tenuous
grip meaning that
a man must
rely on himself,
his morals and
his gun if
he is to
prosper and
if those he
loves are to
be kept safe.
Mississippi isn’t
this kind of
West. It is
a Southern society
where the rule
of law exists
(even if that
law is brutal
and cruel there
is absolutely no
doubting its
strength). Therefore
the whole Western
idea starts to
struggle a
little here. It
begins with the
idea of rescuing
Django’s wife.
The obvious way
to do it
would be for
Schultz to
go and see
the guy who
owns her and
offer a large
amount of money
to buy her
freedom while
Django waits patiently
in Texas, but
there’s no
movie in that
so we are
fed some preposterous
nonsense about
why this wouldn’t
work and so
Schultz has
to pretend to
be a rich
emigree wanting
to get into
the Mandingo business
(slaves forced
to engage in
horrific fights
to the death)
with Django pretending
to be his
slaver expert advising
him on which
fighters to
purchase.
Tarantino tries to get us not to notice this clunk by
speedily introducing
us to Mr
Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio)
a Southern plantation
owner. Candie prides
himself on
being a real
Southern gentleman
with flawless manners
and French pretensions.
But beneath his
faux-civilized façade
he is revealed
to be savage,
cruel and ignorant.
He is brilliantly
written and
superbly portrayed
by DiCaprio. Things
get even more
impressive when
Django and Schulz accompany
Candie back to
his mansion and
meet Stephen (Samuel
L Jackson) Candie’s
“senior” slave
who plays the
part of an
amusing crotchety
butler to the
white folks while
running the
house with a
rod of iron
below stairs and
keeping the
other slaves in
a state of
perpetual fear.
Tarantino notches
a real achievement
here as he
actually gets
Jackson to
remember he's
a good actor
and put in
a performance for
the first time
since...well before
Snakes on a
Plane anyway. He
is genuinely unnerving.
But, good
as this part
is, it is
a long way
from the untamed
West. And when
walking home
it dawned on
me where Django
and Schultz had
found themselves. Which
is in a
different film
entirely, specifically
the opening credits
of Gone With
The Wind. Gone
with the Wind,
as well as
being notoriously soft
on slavery, also
created/fuelled the
myth of the
Southern gentlefolk.
This myth has
it that even
though the South
losing the civil
war was, in
the end, the
“right” result nevertheless
something was
lost with it
– manners, civility,
hospitality, etiquette
etc. Tarantino righteously
strikes at
this sick myth
with mighty vengeance
showing the
Candie plantation as
representing nothing
more than a
poisonous midden
of vile racial
prejudice and
despicable cruelty.
I have
no problem with
this. In fact,
I think it's
a brilliant thing
to attempt and
long overdue. But
not within the
confines of
a spaghetti Western
about bounty hunters.
The genre just
can't be stretched
that far without
tearing itself
apart.
And the
tearing apart
doesn't take
long to start.
The flimsy ruse
of pretending to
buy one slave
but really wanting
to buy another
is exposed. And
Quentin's trigger
finger which has
been getting awfully
twitchy during
the long dinner
party scene gets
to start firing
bullets.
And once
this happens it
all goes wrong.
First, Tarantino decides
to kill off
Schultz so
he can focus
solely on Django.
He does this
in such a
psychologically unconvincing
way that the
Academy should
demand his best
script Oscar back.
What happens is
Schultz, a
man who has
maintained his
cool the entire
film, suddenly can't
resist shooting Candie
because Candie
insists on
him...shaking his
hand. I
mean, come on.
Not only is
it completely unconvincing
it gets rid
of two of
the strongest characters
in the piece
when there is
still plenty of
the movie to
go.
But Quentin
isn't bothered because
he's going to
spend most of
it shooting. Which
leads me to
the next problem.
The guns seemed
to be awfully
powerful for
the mid-19th century.
While acknowledging absolutely
no knowledge of
firearms at
all, it seemed
pretty unrealistic to
me that six
shooters could
suddenly rip
apart mansions, but
that's what happened.
By the end
of the film,
Candie's mansion
looked like the
last scene of
Scarface. And
that was far-fetched
even though Al
Pacino had a
machine gun.
But I'm
getting ahead
of myself. There's
still the worst
moment of a
Quentin Tarantino
movie to come
– the director's cameo.
After Django is
eventually captured
having caused untold
carnage, the
plantation owners
decide not to
kill him (Tarantino
has by now
given up on
anything even
faintly resembling
plausibility) but
instead to
hand him over
to a mine
company where
he will work
until he drops
dead.
And the
representatives of
the mining company
are Australian. At
least two of
them are Australian.
One of them
is Quentin Tarantino
doing an Australian
accent. You
can talk all
you like about
Hitchcock appearing
in all his
films but he
was a brief
silent presence. Tarantino
– not so much.
First he
horrendously miscasts
himself. The
men transporting Django
and the other
slaves to the
mine are poor
white men. The
other two look
like it being
thin and stringy.
Quentin on
the other hand
looks like exactly
what he is
- a large,
healthy, well-fed
member of Hollywood's
elite. You need
to do more
than put on
a stetson to
make yourself a cowboy.
But what you
certainly shouldn't
put on is
an Australian accent.
With every word
he uttered you
could sense the
audience in
the cinema caring
less and less.
Having bid
credibility farewell
some time ago,
Tarantino has
no problem having
Django talk his
way out of
captivity and
be handed a
gun in about
a minute and
a half. He
then immediately shoots
the man who
gave it him.
Tarantino then
has even more
self-indulgent fun
blowing himself
up cartoon style
with a stick
of dynamite.
The audience
in the cinema
was laughing by
now. And their
reaction showed
just how far
the film sinks
in the final
part – from beginning
as a fascinating
attempt at
making a modern
spaghetti Western
through a
bold (if flawed)
attempt to
confront the
evils of slavery
to finally just
being silly. All
the dramatic tension
had gone. We
were just left
to get through
the final shoot
out as Django
heads back to
the Candie plantation
to rescue his
wife.
Django duly
kills pretty much
everyone – Tarantino
seeming to
take a rather
tasteless special
pleasure in
the shooting of
Candie’s sister
– that got a
laugh and a
couple of cheers
in the cinema
I was in.
And then he
makes his final
and, in my
opinion, biggest
mistake.
Earlier in
the film when
expounding his
racist views, Candie
had told Django
and Schultz he
believed black
people were naturally
subservient. He
backs up this
nonsense by
cutting open
a dead slave’s
skull to “prove”
it. He further
goes on to
claim that a
black person who
was not naturally
subservient would
be an aberration
– one in ten
thousand is
the number he
gives. It goes
without saying
that this is
complete rubbish
and at the
point Candie says
the lines the
film is clearly
demonstrating this
and is deliberately
(and courageously) drawing
a strong parallel
between Southern
whites and the
Nazis.
It is
therefore quite
staggering that
at the end
of the film
Tarantino has
Django echo Candie’s
words announcing that
Candie was right
about one thing
– that he, Django,
is that one
black person in
ten thousand. The
suggestion underlying
this line is
that Django is
implicitly endorsing
Candie’s view
about the natural
subservience of
black people. Now
I don’t
believe this
was Tarantino’s
intention – I
think he just
wanted to draw
attention to
Django’s spectacular
and unique bravery
– but it was
an unbelievably sloppy
way of doing
it and demonstrated
again just how
lazy this film
gets towards the
end.
Which of
course finishes as
it should with
our hero riding
off into the
distance with
his girl at
his side. But
if he’d
ridden off with
her forty five
minutes earlier
it would have
been a much
better film.
