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The Hateful Eight
The Hateful Eight
The Hateful Eight
Director:
Quentin TarantinoGuión:
Quentin TarantinoCámara:
Robert RichardsonMúsica:
Ennio MorriconeReparto:
Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Demián Bichir, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern, James Parks, Dana Gourrier (más)Streaming (2)
Sinopsis(1)
Seis, ocho o doce años después de la Guerra de Secesión, una diligencia avanza a toda velocidad por el invernal paisaje de Wyoming. Los pasajeros, el cazarrecompensas John Ruth (Kurt Russell) y su fugitiva Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh), intentan llegar rápidamente al pueblo de Red Rock, donde Ruth, conocido en estos lares como "el Verdugo", entregará a Domergue a la justicia. Por el camino, se encuentran con dos desconocidos: el mayor Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), un antiguo soldado negro de la Unión convertido en cazarrecompensas de mala reputación, y Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), un renegado sureño que afirma ser el nuevo sheriff del pueblo. Como una ventisca está a punto de alcanzarlos, Ruth, Domergue, Warren y Mannix se refugian en la Mercería de Minnie, una parada para diligencias de un puerto de montaña. Cuando llegan al local de Minnie, en lugar de recibirlos su dueña, se topan con cuatro rostros desconocidos. Bob (Demian Bichir), que se ocupa del negocio de Minnie mientras ella visita a su madre, se encuentra allí refugiado junto con Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth), verdugo de Red Rock, el vaquero Joe Gage (Michael Madsen) y el general confederado Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern). Mientras la tormenta cae sobre la parada de montaña, nuestros ocho viajeros descubren que tal vez no lleguen hasta Red Rock después de todo... (Entertainment One Films Spain)
(más)Reseñas (17)
Un comienzo más débil y bastante largo. Pero tras él, un hard core tarantino por excelencia. Una ingeniosa obra de teatro con las expectativas del público y reminiscencias de Reservoir Dogs y La cosa de Carpenter en un abrigo wéstern (con tres canciones distintivas tomadas de la banda sonora, un entorno aislado de invierno helado, la escena de exponer al culpable de sus propias filas...). Y gracias al siniestro Morricone, también la más oscura, más odiosa que Tarantino, más odiosa que Reservoir Dogs. Samuel L. Jackson, dando vida a los rasgos de su personaje de más culto, Jules Winnfield, es probablemente el actor más genial de la actualidad. ¡Quentin sabe que puede hacer lo que quiera y siempre lo atacaremos!
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I'm sick and tired of the over-the-top violence in Tarantino's films, and I write this as someone who enjoys Fulci and similar masters of horror gore. Unlike most, I enjoyed the first hour more, with the witty dialogues that, if fleshed out to a greater scope, would have made a fine play. But then Quentin breaks free with his explicit bloody charge and it all goes to hell. This is a symptom in all his recent films, you know exactly what is coming in the next few minutes. Moreover, as the story unfolds, it makes less and less sense, with a verbal diarrhea that feels unnatural thrown at the viewer. Would real characters talk this mechanically? I still can't get enough of Pulp Fiction to this day, it's a masterpiece where everything clicks, but ever since Kill Bill, which was Tarantino's last great film in my eyes, his work has become more and more distant. There's no longer any excitement on my part, just cautious curiosity, and that's a shame.
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The Hateful Eight is a great Tarantino revival and, after a long time, a film for which I would not regret paying a higher ticket price (though I’d still rather pay more for a screening from a 70 mm print). Faces familiar from Tarantino’s previous films, a return to the intimate “whodunit” concept of Reservoir Dogs (despite the epic establishing shots and imaginative use of spatial partitioning, which best stand out on the big screen), references to its own universe (Red Apple tobacco), division into chapters (which, in addition to rhythmising the narrative, serve to reveal new information and redirect the viewer’s expectations), the non-chronological organisation of the narrative (which doesn’t break up the film, but contributes to its overall integrity), visual and motif references to spaghetti westerns (Jackson stylised as Lee Van Cleef) and John Ford’s westerns, as well as to (slapstick) splatter flicks and Carpenter’s The Thing, variations on narrative formulas from blaxpoitation and samurai films, not individual scenes but almost the whole film based on waiting (ours and the characters’) for something to happen (and when something finally does happen, there is – in the roadshow version – an intermission followed by a flashback with Godard-esque commentary) and whether it turns out at the end that some of the characters were connected to each other by something other than a chain. The constant delaying of action and the use of dialogue to draw out scenes of simple actions, which the aforementioned Godard enjoyed using to test the patience of his viewers (see the magnificently retarded scene from Breathless with Belmondo and Seberg blabbering in a hotel room) make The Hateful Eight a unique film not only in the context of contemporary Hollywood production, which offers viewer satisfaction much more quickly, but also in Tarantino’s filmography. The first half of the film is not just a sadistically long prelude. The director uses various delaying tactics from beginning to end and even lets the characters provocatively point that out (“Let’s slow it down”). Regardless of the large number of identified (self-)references, this is a masterfully written and acted film in which everything elegantly clicks into place in the end; it just intentionally takes longer than would have been necessary, which would seemingly work as well only as a stage play (the film is aware of its theatrical structure and thematises it with gusto). Most of the characters play a certain role and the film derives much of its tension from the characters/viewers not knowing who is pulling which end of the rope. Though basically everyone is a lying bastard (those who aren’t won’t survive long), your sympathies will constantly shift from one character to the next depending on what Tarantino reveals about them. As much as to the detailed distribution of power (consisting not only in who has a loaded gun in their hand, but also in who knows what – see all of Chapter Four), the film owes its dynamism to the fast-paced dialogue, the energetic acting and camera movements (drawing our attention to important motifs), the lighting, the refocusing, the work with the depth (height and width) of the space and the editing (taking into account who is looking at whom and how). Even more than Django Unchained, The Hateful Eight would like to be a political allegory in the style of the subversive counterculture westerns of the 1970s, using not very sensitive means to draw attention to the parallels between racism and capitalism. The literalness of the film’s ideological level (lines like “When niggers are scared, that’s when white folks are safe”, the division of the bar into individual American states) contrasts with the much more subtle means by which Tarantino builds tension, creates an oppressive atmosphere of distrust and communicates essential information about who is an ally or an enemy. Even so, this is a brilliant allegory that offers very disturbing and not entirely unambiguous commentary on a different interpretation of law and justice. Tarantino has made an extremely nihilistic western that successfully creates the atmosphere of an era in which people are united mainly by their hatred of a common enemy. Primarily, however, it abounds with the narrative skill of the best Agatha Christie novels. I believe that, like Christie’s books, The Hateful Eight will only get better over time. 90%
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A self-indulgent massage of the creative ego, which has grown to manic proportions in the use of epic cinematic toys (Ennio, 70 mm, Nicoreto), all whilst covering itself for three hours with a banal story that commits obscure suicide in the form of the chapter "Earlier that morning," destroying the last vestiges of credibility. The much-maligned first hour is in no way useless, and the snow rascals couldn't have gotten better casting (all of them amazing, but Goggins' Mannix undergoes the most interesting evolution of audience sympathy). Thus, even if common sense starts to politely resist it after all the grand circles, Tarantino proves again how cheap of a whore the audience can be at times and gets hooked by banalities we'd long ago boo others for. If, in the end, you accept the fact that the absence of Quentin's traditional absurdist humor is actually a good thing, you're going to like the film. 4 ½.
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Even though Quentin Tarantino is not my cup of tea, I am always curious about his next movie. However, after the years I already know that he will surprise me with nothing else than the fact that he keeps roping one acting ace after another into his movies. That may be the reason why I still cannot miss single one of his movies. And The Hateful Eight again did not disappoint. If I wouldn’t blame the actors, whom I hold in high respects, I would blame the film itself, which incredibly overacts. The 182 minutes of footage really show Quentin’s big confidence as he thinks that I will fall for a film this long. The problem is that he stretched a good premise twice as long than this kind of film would deserve. For example, the first scene in the post chaise is incredibly deadening and boring, and nothing fundamental happens there. The film gets a really interesting touch only towards the ending, when something finally starts to happen. At the time you can expect basically anything because everybody playing in this movie has a character so absurd that the audience knows that anything can happen. Actors with their polished English from the American countryside create the impression that almost every line uttered in the movie is a catchphrase. And there is quite a lot of them. Tarantino again did not disappoint. However, it never ceases to fascinate me that his fans still buy everything he makes. Just switch the locations for the Second World War and you get Inglorious Basterds. Switch it for the America filled with gangsters and you get Pulp Fiction. Is this movie really that original as it pretends to be?
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Tarantino's Ten Little Blacks... I mean, bad guys in a nearly three-hour intimate snowy movie in a western style. If his plan is still valid, that after ten films he ends up with cinematography and starts with the theater. If so, we have many reasons to feel excited about that. In a same way that the staging department will be since the will be supposed to clean the stage from tons of blood after every performance. And although I have some fundamental reservations about the way it is built in the Eighth (and that it is almost a repetition of the fourth chapter of the Inglourious Basterds) and the tension between the characters should have been even bigger, but on the other hand, brilliant dialogs and cast were flawless. And as a fan of Goggins, I appreciate how he seized the opportunity when someone finally gave him adequate space in the film.
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With such perfect cinematography and the wonderful old-fashioned Ennio Morricone soundtrack, this simply can't go completely wrong; but I was still expecting something more. Quentin Tarantino's repeated love for the Wild West promised to rid itself of all the small flaws that afflicted the otherwise wonderful Django Unchained, but this is a step backwards. The never-ending dialogues about nothing surprisingly often remain never-ending dialogues about nothing, and it is only when the reveals start coming in the second half that the film finally succeeds. The pace never drops, every shot has fatal consequences, and the resolution of the last plot twists even manages to nail you to your seat despite its bloody black humor, proving that this ride was worth it. Still, I would be happy if Quentin moved on from Western-themed stories (or, in this case, half-bred cowgirls) and went somewhere else. Because in the stagecoach chapters, his previously commonplace sins against the audience have started to creep back in, and instead of a symbiosis of the creator and the viewer, his fetish for reference and drawing things out are appearing again after all these years.
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Tarantino's approach to his film The Hateful Eight can be compared to the intercourse of long-term partners. They know their pleasures, they know what to expect from each other, they have perfected their technique over the years, they no longer rush, and they no longer have anything to prove or fight for. At the same time, it never occurs to them to get rid of their controversial practices, nor do they feel any need to conform to general norms and demands of good manners. With the isolated environment and the limited number of characters who do not trust each other and search for a "weak link" among themselves, the film reminded me of Tarantino's debut. Here and there, the focus is mainly on exposing the characters in a borderline situation. For about 3/4 of the film, we follow eight characters trapped in a cabin in the middle of the mountains, cut off from civilization by a snowstorm. They all have evident and hidden reasons to be on guard, the three-hour duration is filled with dialogues, sometimes seemingly banal, other times punctuated with inappropriateness, vulgarities, and racist remarks. For many viewers, it may be tormenting boredom, but I have no problem with that when it comes to Tarantino. He is too experienced a filmmaker to fill the time with static shots and boredom. He is artistically inventive enough to skillfully dose tension and, from the minimum offered to him, extract the maximum. He can ultimately rely on a strong cast that plays with enthusiasm and considers it an honor to be a part of the film. The actors pay tribute to the cult director, they enjoy it, and lightly overact to highlight mostly the negative characters. The director presents the viewer with a sophisticated cat-and-mouse game but that is where the first stumbling block is hidden. It turns out that the game is somewhat purposeless, or rather does not make much sense, once the resolution is revealed. It is as if the villain tried to break into a house that nobody guards or locks in a convoluted way. The desired result could have been achieved in a much less complicated way, but then it would have been a different film for a different audience. The second problem, which, however, will not bother a large group of Tarantino fans, is the depiction of violence. Violence has always been Tarantino's trademark, and his typical screenwriting and directing feature is the use of violence as a source of humor. On the other hand, in The Hateful Eight, it is clearly evident that Tarantino has not matured. The gratuitousness of certain scenes is striking. A man who has several potential adversaries and should save every bullet that may come in handy for his survival joyfully turns a corpse's head into a bloody mess. Why? Simply because the bloodied floor and tissue remnants all around look impressive. You either deal with this or pick yourself up and move on. Despite the mentioned criticisms, I must say that it is the most likable and interesting Tarantino film since Jackie Brown. Tarantino still has something to offer, and his wild pulp aesthetics, together with the brilliant acting of the cast involved, are worth seeing. Jennifer Jason Leigh deserves a mention. She is already at an age when agents don't often contact Hollywood actresses anymore, and this was an opportunity she did not want to miss. Overall impression: 60%. I have something to add after watching Django Unchained, which I haven't fully digested yet: I have no reason to change my claim that The Hateful Eight is Tarantino's best film since Jackie Brown. However, even this insight does not change the fact that his films are burdened with mannerisms, self-centeredness, and an effort to cater to the presumed expectations of his fans. The long scene where Major Warren vividly describes the execution of a Southern officer's son simply does not deserve a fourth star for its degradation. Tarantino once again proves that he has no limits when it comes to lowering the bar of good taste.
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An almost detective-like Tarantino, with amazing casting at its back moves the genre into entirely uncharted waters (well, snowy hills) while still remaining himself. A well balanced team of actors, headed by Samuel L. Jackson, gives masterful performances, supported by amazing dialogues and catchphrases. The stunning camerawork offers breathtaking sceneries - at times like from another world - and Morricone’s music is gloomy and cold in a way we haven’t heard for a long time. A quality piece. So you’re just starting to imagine it all, right?
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This is just plain old bullshit. It’s formally self-absorbed, empty, and too sure of itself. Go ahead and take it all in and be dazzled by every detail, the "entertaining violence," or maybe even Zoë Bell, and have yourself a great time.
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Extremely indulgent, long and self-absorbed Tarantino, who set the Reservoir Dogs back 150 years in time, doubled the running time and changed about 20 percent of the script and dialogue. I wouldn't have expected something so unoriginal given his previous work. Of course the traditional long dialogue passages licked to absurdity are great, as are the lead actors and the expected splatter finale, but there have been enough of those spaghetti westerns. Topping it off is Tim Roth, who tries in vain to do the exact same gestures and creations as Christoph Waltz, who was clearly not up to the task for this winter romp. Where is the inventiveness, originality and multi-themed homage to everything possible and impossible with a ton of ideas at every turn that was so evident in Kill Bill?
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I had fun from beginning to end. Not like Inglourious Basterds - different, but entertaining. You know that feeling you get when you watch excellent plays, where you devour every word, enjoy the monologues and dialogue, and don't mind if it's just talking all the time because the talking is so great? That's exactly the feeling I got from The Hateful Eight. I expected it to be "something like western Reservoir Dogs", and that's what I got. When the characters talk, it makes sense and it's fun. When the plot comes back, it makes sense and it's fun. When there's shooting and blood spurting, it makes sense. And it's fun again. I'll tweak a hackneyed analogy a little: The tension in the new Tarantino film could not be cut in places. A terrible blizzard is raging outside, and inside the shabby wooden shack, where it is snowing and blowing, there are some really strange, unpredictable and dangerous people who are a joy to watch. And on top of that - on top of that - there's the truly divine, original music by Ennio Morriccone (finally, it happened!).___P.S. The only thing that disappointed me was that the story didn't have the symbolic eight chapters.
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Tarantino is still in form, and what's more, from that famed video store freak whose films are crammed with references and multi-layered narratives, this one has definitely elevated him as the creator of his own original genre, where his die-hard fans can come to greater bliss film by film and where his own previous works are quoted. The Hateful Eight is perhaps a hundred times more "Tarantino-esque" than we could ever have wished for, and almost the entire second half is an unrelenting audience orgasm the kind that Django gave us barely thirty minutes of. And it's not just because of the brutality, the dynamic bloody twists, or all the amazing actors; above all, Quentin has a brilliantly written script, quite possibly even better than in any film since Pulp Fiction, perfectly introducing four main and several supporting characters in the space of the opening ninety minutes and letting them close together in a minimal space brimming with a thickening atmosphere of mistrust, lies and death. And the transition to the inevitable explosion of violence and reckoning could not have gone better, with Tarantino fully demonstrating that he never ceases to improve formally in his genre, while managing to balance suspense and action with his iconic insight and witty dialogue, which this time is not "about shit" at all; each line has its own merit in the masterfully escalating story. There are things to reproach, however, and I don't think they are pseudo-intellectual ramblings and inadequate observations sucked out of thin air. First and foremost, throughout the film it’s impossible to shake the impression that the rescue plan, i.e. its most important motif, is overly and unnecessarily contrived and complicated (which I never felt for a second in the similarly tuned Reservoir Dogs), the characters occasionally act nonsensically (Tatum, who remains stuck in hiding after his first shot), and there is one cheap screenwriting fail that I find hard to accept given Quentin's narrative mastery (the sudden presence of an omniscient narrator – Quentin). Still, to make a film like this, in a minimal space and theatrical backdrops, in such a brutal, pungent and mega-entertaining way, it's just a brilliant cinematic......... flight of fancy ;) 85%
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U Osmi hrozných mě stále dokola napadá jeden zásadní problém, který ale u Tarantina problémem nebývá - délka. Díval jsem se asi napětkrát. Kdyby se vypustily žvásty v dostavníku a několik žvástů ve srubu, byla by z toho svižná westernová detektivka s pořádnými grády. Tímhle neskutečným natahováním se filmový zážitek proměnil ve věčné čekání na nějakou akci nebo dějový zvrat a já jako divák jsem byl už tak unaven tím věčným čekáním, že se nedostavilo ani uspokojení ani docenění autorovy snahy. Možná jeden z nejslabších Tarantinových snímků.
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The only downside was the running time, it was really killing me. Otherwise, a standard Tarantino film which was great as usual.
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Once the initial disappointment subsides, I am almost certain that I would give it a higher percentage, but I can't and I don't want to. Tarantino is still a great director, no doubt about that, but in his megalomania, he kind of got lost and made a three-hour film about almost nothing. The story would have been good, or rather it is good, but presented as a tribute to Leone, it simply doesn't work. Tarantino showed that he doesn't have such a great screenplay or such amazing characters. The film is still good, but from such a creator, I expect something more.
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It doesn't reach the quality of Inglourious Basterds or Django Unchained, but I still enjoyed the almost three hours of it to the fullest. The widely criticized first hour is excellent for me personally, and it is exactly where the qualities of Tarantino's screenwriting really show. While in any other movie it would turn into meaningless prattle, here it’s filled with sharp dialogues which are an utter delight. In short, I basically fall hook, line and sinker for any Tarantino movie. The dialogue can be about any nonsense, as long as there is enough sarcasm, absurdity, black humor and this motherfucker.
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