Settle in for a couple hours of the usual empty Tarantino fetishisms – 60s LA, classic Westerns, feet. Roll on the final act collapse into cartoon violence which you predicted before there were stars in the sky (because who didn’t). Note you weren’t irritated by that collapse as opposed to the last time you saw it happen (Django Unchained), and realise unlike that film, you never got invested in its characters in the first place, so there was nothing to get upset about. Exit to find the time has passed amicably – you weren’t bored like you’d expect to be if you didn’t engage with any of the people on screen. Slightly more than a pleasant bore – this is restrained by Querentino’s standards, but as unnoteworthy as anything he’s ever made.
B-
Alex Crisp : Not Another Critic 