Flatiron Hot! Review: Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained

There’s something to be said for an artist who is out to please only himself. But when the product of the ensuing creative narcissism is so arcane as to be unfathomable to those who do not share the artist’s fetishes, then it is deprived of a certain universal quality present in the greatest of art. It has long been said that Quentin Tarantino has abandoned making movies in the traditional sense and has instead taken up the postmodern indulgence of making movies about movies.

To an extent, this has been the case since Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs. Tarantino’s most critically acclaimed and greatest cinematic achievements possessed more than a few elements of pastiche. But beneath all the allusions and arcane stylistic flourishes, one could still discern a beating heart. With Death Proof, which Tarantino correctly deemed his creative low point, the director completely abandoned any pretense of traditional cinematic ambitions with breakneck style over substance.

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