One of the most charming features of the ArcLight Theater in Hollywood is that every movie is introduced by a member of the theater staff. And on opening night of Inglourious Basterds, with a revved up, full-house, the staffer closed his intro with: “Let’s kill some Nazis!” I realized right then that that statement offends no one. Impressive work, Hitler.
Inglourious Basterds is 153 minutes, and I wish it were longer. It’s smart. It’s scary. It made my hands sweat. But it’s also funnier than most comedies. Quentin Tarentino, already great, has actually matured as a writer/director. This is epic, and classic.
And while Brad Pitt is a hilarious caricature of a lieutenant, it’s Cristoph Waltz as the Jew Hunter that will win the Oscar this year. As a breakout villain, Waltz makes Alan Rickman in Die Hard look like a piker. He’s a terrifying figure in four different languages, and if you ran into him on the street, you’d pretty much want to stab him.
In what has thus far been the lousiest movie year in a long time, Inglourious Basterds is a film that I’m going to go back and see again. Who’s coming with me?
