Movie : Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violence
Link : Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violence
Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violence
Django Unchained (2012)
Directed by Quentin Tarantino
***SPOILERS***
I'm glad films like Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown exist. I don't care that Tarantino feels compelled to send a shout-out to every significant movie under the Sun pertaining to said genre. But Inglourious Basterds helped me to realize that such geekery always came at the expense of his characters. Despite appearing as a mash-up of The Dirty Dozen and To Be or Not to Be, Inglourious Basterds felt like the first movie that was entirely Tarantino's own. That's probably because, despite the obvious influences, the dialogue in Basterds actually holds a purpose beyond flaunting Tarantino's superbly sharp wit. There's an urgent importance to Hans Landa's speech about rats, establishing his vicious presence and the irreversible hate accompanying it, all while forming his relationship with Shosanna. And THAT relationship itself sets off the theme of violent vengeance that goes on to intertwine with the Lubitsch-borrowed ever-present Tarantino motif of facade and power struggles. Who knew that a simple lingering shot of Shosanna sitting aside the relentless man who murdered her family would prove to be the most disciplined moment of Tarantino's career? And it was all the result of establishing his characters along with his themes that didn't carry the level of merciless superficiality and directness as, say, the homage-ridden Kill Bill series.
And now, with Django Unchained, Tarantino is putting his mature ways to work once again, this time giving violence a shape and texture that seemed absent pre-Basterds (save a fascinating final scene from Jackie Brown and a fiery Samuel L. Jackson moment in Pulp Fiction). Disregarding the obviousness of the stemming violence in Kill Bill that's harvested in an expectedly flashy flashback, Tarantino now allows violence to define his characters: how they act, how they disguise themselves, how they perform in treacherous power struggles, and how they ultimately come to identify themselves. And then!—can it be, Mr. Tarantino?—violence isn't just a random explosion of abrupt drama, but it instead controls the narrative, thus allowing the characters to evolve alongside it. It's not established with the black-and-white oh-here-comes-trouble sequence that abruptly occupies Kill Bill, but instead simply exists inherently as a result of the protagonist.
I told myself I wouldn't even mention the world "race" in my review, but goddammit it's near impossible to do so without identifying why Django's own obsession with vengeance is so layered and beautiful. I'm not as qualified (whatever that means) as someone like Spike Lee to evaluate the responsibility of racial relations and slavery in Django, but I do know it owns a purpose, which is all that really concerns me. I'd rather a film embrace racism for its atmosphere and message rather than inherently and inadvertently propel morality lessons like The Help. Annnnnnway (now that my obligatory The Help diss is out of the way), apart from some strange pandering where most of the white people appear as buffoons who can't even cut eyeholes in knapsacks, the division between black and white holds a grimly academic presence in Django. Simply, after receiving vicious physical punishment for so many years at the hands of his owners, Django's (Jamie Foxx) own thirst for revenge is a learned trait, equivalent to Schultz (Christoph Waltz) teaching him how to read or coaching him on the finer points of masquerade.
Apart from the well-cultivated pathos that separates Django from a necessarily masturbatory outing in Tarantino's filmography (Kill Bill), Quentin takes his film's own vision to another level that's Basterds-esque, allowing the narrative to culminate in an explosion that's every bit as symbolically relevant as the destruction of Hitler inside a French theater. It's this journey—free from chopped up timelines and aimless conversations (but never brazen enough to modestly ignore the one and only Sergio Leone)—that marks Tarantino's remarkable transformation from crowd-pleaser to—*holy shit*—master of multiple genres.
It may seem an irresponsible and hokey approach to some, but Django's identity simply cannot take shape without his white counterparts. It's a touchy, yet honest observation from Tarantino, who recognizes the power of identity in a film where so many characters seek to hide/change their own. Django essentially owns no prominent identity for about 9/10 of the film, constantly dictated and judged by the whites (for some reason I really liked writing "the whites"?). He is freed by a white man, only to become a slave in the white man's quest for bounties. He no longer bears chains, but must now learn to read and become a sharpshooter in order to aid the man who unlocked those chains. Django learns to shoot from a white man, and his quickly learned execution skills are the bloodthirsty result of his violent white owners. Anything and everything inherent in defining Django's taste for lead and his crackling whip stems from a racial division that existed along with the times, and pronouncing those dynamics without ever actually announcing them (like Tarantino seemed compelled to do nine years earlier) is part of what breathes life into Django Unchained: violence is not only a response and the result of this twisted formula, but also must be achieved for Django to attain his own identity and separate himself from his owners.
And it's those learned violent traits that fuel one of the most intense rivalries Tarantino has produced yet—Django vs. Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson). And it's a whole other level of intense, beyond the obviousness of Bill and The Bride; Butch and Marsellus; Jackie and Ordell. Two individuals cultivated by the whites in entirely different settings, their feud is also intrinsically tied to their white owners. Their pronounced class differences also propel their contradicting grievances, where one lavish life leads a black man into snug comfortability, and the other scar-ridden life opposes everything such comfortability advocates. Ah, and why this rivalry is so special? It's practically muted. Minus some hilarious shouting upon Stephen's introduction, their entire feud is actually performed by two white men: Schultz and Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio). Continuing where Lt. Aldo Raine left off, Calvin takes on Schultz in a good ole fashioned dick-wagging contest, flaunting their egos and pushing their prowess in an effort to achieve what they ultimately desire. For Calvin it's cash, and for Schultz it's Django's wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), whom Django could never steal away without his owner's help. But Broomhilda is just the trophy—for Schultz, one-upping Calvin is the prize.
So you can feel the tension building between Stephen and Django without a word being spoken between them, as Stephen observes Django's actions, and Django attempts to avoid the gaze of his long-lost wife to dodge Stephen's suspicion. Stephen remains loyal to Calvin by revealing Schultz's true intentions, while Django remains loyal to Schultz by remaining in disguise at all times—despite the constant allure of pulling out his pistol and lighting up the joint. The restraint of violence even amplifies the consequence of violence, as Django's own accordance to Schultz's orders counteracts Schultz's inability to restrain himself once Calvin reveals himself to have the larger cock. Schultz shoots Calvin in his conveniently placed boutonnière, which apes an earlier scene when Django shoots his former owner in the Bible page tacked to his chest.
In the presence of the Mandingo fighting ring Django infiltrates, the multiple levels of irony in this particular instance are enough to make one's head spin off the hinges. Guided into the atrocious act condoned by the likes of Calvin, Django must pretend to dictate his black counterparts in a fashion that satisfies Schultz and sells the constructed identity (that doesn't yet belong to Django). And then Schultz and Calvin engage in a psychological battle that's the mental equivalent of two slaves violently ripping each other apart on the living room floor. Yet, when it comes times to show the restraint that Django has been tasked to display, Schultz instead takes his shot. The matching of imagery in this moment is a violent alignment of priorities—whereas Django's shot was fueled by years of torture, Schutlz's shot is fueled by petty power plays. Schultz's statement ("I simply couldn't resist") is visually presented (the boutonnière) as the symbolic equivalent to Django's thirst for revenge—an act of violence that reveals where racial divisions are drawn, and how closely they tie with one's priorities. In one moment both white owners are murdered, freeing Django to unleash his holstered weapon, make his own decisions, and form his own identity.
Wait, there's more irony?! Mhmm yessums. This act of self-destruction is what allows Django and Stephen's rivalry to gain its own voice. Suddenly free from the white man's grip, Django is free to act on his suppressed violent aggression, and Stephen is free to carry on his beloved master's name. With violence being taught and then restrained for so long, the only proper way to release it would be by explosion, and, of course, Tarantino is there once again to make sure people pay for their actions. Continuing where Inglourious Basterds left off, Tarantino allows the culmination of the narrative dictated by violence to explode with a fitting level of fiery grandiloquence. As Django lights up Candyland with his now unharnessed gun, we see his learned skills from the white man being used to destroy the white man and his philosophically incongruent black counterpart.
I used the word "beautiful" earlier (a word I don't use lightly) because such a mature stance on violence is accompanied by an even more deafening realization—even free from his owner, Django's identity is unavoidably tied to the white man who dictated his actions for so long. Django frees himself from the white coal miners who buy him from Stephen, but only by exercising the powers of deception taught to him by Schultz. This is an honest and telling moment that simply won't shake itself, even as Django trots on his horse outside a burning Candyland in a elegant manner that would make Mitt Romney proud. Django may be free, but he's not free, intimately and inexorably bound to a set of violent skills he obtained from years of being a slave. As Tarantino's take on violence has evolved, he's gone from pointing out its randomness (Pulp Fiction), exploiting its lavish offerings (Kill Bill), utilizing it for the sake of narrative maturity (the consummation of Inglourious Basterds), to now exploring the psychological effects of violence that carry beyond the closing credits. Many may disagree, but I find this to be another huge leap for Tarantino in his evolution, where a tight shot of Shosanna reacting to Hans Landa's presence or Django's grip over his holstered pistol speaks much louder than the wildly inconsistent structure and showy camera of Reservoir Dogs. And now with violence taking a new shape in a Tarantino film, I'm confident that each and every Tarantino outing could ultimately become his greatest.
Watch Free Movies and Tv shows online in HD quality
Watch Free Films and Network programs online Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violence HD Quality
Free Movie download and streaming Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violenceWatch free motion pictures and Television programs online in HD on any gadget. Free Movies offers gushing motion pictures in types like Activity, Repulsiveness, Science fiction, Wrongdoing and Parody. Watch now.
0 Response to "Django Unchained, or: Quentin Tarantino's most mature take on violence"
Posting Komentar