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Death
Proof (2007)
There is a thematic line in Quentin Tarantino's catalogue of films, but it's getting increasingly thinner. With Death Proof, he shows that there still are things he does more brilliantly than most, but also some things he has lost his grip on. Perhaps most revealing, however, is the fact that – to the extent he remains an ambitious filmmaker – those ambitions have changed considerably over the last fifteen years. This latest outing was originally released as the second part of the double-feature Grindhouse, paired with Robert Rodriguez's Planet Terror as the first installment. However, the daunting three-hour work – conceived as an homage to the classic B-movie tradition of the '60s and '70s known as grindhouse films – fared only mildly at the U.S. box office. It was therefore decided that the two films be separated for the international release. The result was that Tarantino's Death Proof segment was extended by quite a few minutes, which it may or may not benefit from. What is clear, however, is that for large parts of its running time, this is a very talky picture. In that respect, Tarantino's focus hasn't shifted much since Reservoir Dogs. The difference is that the conversations and dialogue in Death Proof are duller and more insipid. They lack the crisp relevance of Reservoir Dogs, True Romance, or Pulp Fiction, rendering most of his female characters here fairly uninteresting subjects – and making their, well, antics towards the end of the film not quite as welcome as they seem intended to be in Tarantino's girl-power mentality of late. That said, Death Proof has quite a bit to offer on its way there – if you're patient. Stylistically, the film is an out-and-out homage to '70s B-movies, and Tarantino finds room for this tribute in everything from production values (cutting, camera movement, etc.) to characterizations and thematics. At its best, this approach is refreshing – sometimes even delightful. But one cannot help keeping in mind that, all things considered, this is pulp based on pulp. In his '90s films, Tarantino drew inspiration from '70s crime movies to present vivid and profound observations and portrayals. Here, he merely copies films that inspired him – for better or worse – more often than not cherishing their emptiness. Only occasionally does he have something of his own to say. Most of Death Proof's thematic interest comes through the Kurt Russell character, and it's also through him that the film really comes to life. His is a fascinating subject – both as a type and as an individual psychological study. As an ageing stuntman, he's at the same stage as the cowboy was in the early 20th century. His conversations with his new acquaintances reveal a pride and sensitivity that make his existence thought-provoking. It is also through the Russell character that the film is at its most explosive and potent, allowing Tarantino to work his magic in a couple of fantastic scenes – the best of which begins with Russell and Rose McGowan getting into his car. As a whole, Death Proof feels disjointed, feeble, and too detached from its material to truly captivate. Of course, this is not accidental – Tarantino arguably knows what he's doing. But in doing so, he must also accept what he misses out on, and what he renounces. I would argue that Death Proof could have been made into a much better film with a different approach – but that's not to say that finding that approach would have been obvious. The result could just as easily have been a lesser movie – given the uneven and often shallow subject matter. That's why Tarantino does things his own way, focusing on exactly those elements that make Death Proof a reflection of those classic B-movies: the cars, the simple characterizations, the exploitative nature, the ultimate payoff. None of these elements elevate Death Proof to any true heights as a film, but added together, they give it a charmingly obsolete feel.
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