Quentin Tarantino’s ninth film is not his best, not even top 5, but it did offer two standout performances from true movie stars Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt - seriously, these dudes effortlessly exudes charm and movie-stardom, more so Pitt than DiCaprio but that is a debate for another day - subtle work by Margot Robbie and a true breakout performance by “Fosse/Verdon” breakout Margaret Qualley.
This film was clearly an ode to Hollywood and film-making, as an art and a process, which Tarantino obviously adored/obsessed and it showed. However, at most times it appeared that he may have over indulged and veered into self-indulgent territory, consequentially resulting in an already thin narrative plot being thinner and less focused.
Pitt and DiCaprio anchored the film with their performances and it was based on their strength and bromance that held all the meandering threads together as Tarantino leaned more and more on show and tell, rather than show not tell, to propel the film. It was also because of them that Tarantino can get away with nary any character development.
DiCaprio’s character’s emotional breakthroughs are more because of the actor rather than the director/writer giving him great material; Pitt, on the other hand, suffered more as he really was more supporting than lead - but if anything, it should be him that gets nominated rather than DiCaprio - although Pitt has made a skill out of playing unconventional heroes (not really anti-hero, per se, but just atypical).
Robbie did good work forming an identity for Sharon Tate, and really, the lack of dialogue was not an issue, but perhaps Robbie should start considering better roles before she gets typecast.
And Qualley is an exciting actress to keep an eye on.
Other plethora of actors that stood out include Bruce Dern, Luke Perry, Dakota Fanning and Julia Butters.
Production design was lavish and gorgeous and must have cost a pretty penny; costume and makeup were also spot on.
Tarantino peppered the film with songs defining the era, and in so doing, oddly enough, sacrificed having a discerning score.
Cinematography was by Robert Richardson and he did a great job lensing the film and imparting an authentic 60s feel throughout.
The film clocked in at 161 minutes and it did feel that long, even though the third act felt rushed and tonally different, ironically the most Tarantino-esque, from the first two acts. The third act firmly established this film as a fairy tale/fable of sorts and Tarantino, as an artist, is free to make his art his own way. But, at the same time, if he chooses to tell stories and revise history and re-imagine real people for his narrative purpose, poetic licence and all, then he should be prepared for the backlash, and in this case it will surely be with regard to his leery, misogynistic, camera work, the whitewashing of the Cult of Manson’s racism and (mis)characterisation of Bruce Lee.
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