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Meantime, the dialogue in that scene is as subtly loaded as that superheroes analysis in Kill Bill without ever seeming indulgently arbitrary. Evoking memories of Mr. Pink’s rant against tipping in Reservoir Dogs or Jules and Vincent’s debate about eating pork in Pulp Fiction, Landa uses a hawk/rat/squirrel analogy that establishes his skill for deductive reasoning while also raising the thematically significant issue of ethical double standards. We can talk in greater detail later about the climactic “Revenge of the Giant Face” chapter, where those double standards come into play. For now, though, it’s merely important to note that Tarantino’s opening scene stirs the audience to reconsider our engrained ideas about predator and prey.

The dialogue in this initial scene has a rhythm that’s atypical to Tarantino’s norm, and in that respect Inglourious Basterds announces itself as something new from the very start. (What an entirely different mood we’d have at the end of the first chapter if the film introduced the Basterds straightaway.) One thing is familiar, though: For as oft-quoted as Landa’s introduction is sure to be, it’s Tarantino’s filmmaking, not his screenwriting, that makes this scene special. In a scene that is seemingly all words, ignore the dialogue and focus instead on the mooing cows, the ticking clock, the slow zoom (interrupted by cuts) toward Landa and LaPadite’s faces at that critical moment and, finally, the outstanding repurposing of John Ford’s famous doorway shot. These are tried and true tools for creating suspense and drama that Tarantino uses so effectively that they feel like new.

 

Inglourious Basterds

EH: What’s especially brilliant about this opening chapter, which you hint at in mentioning Landa’s use of the rat analogy, is that Tarantino is forcing us not only to reconsider ideas about predator and prey but to confront the mentality of prejudice head-on. Landa’s tone is so reasonable, his point-to-point argumentation so strictly logical, that by the time he’s come to his conclusion we actually understand why he considers the Jews to be vermin. It’s disturbing, and Landa’s offhand equation of Jews and rats earns the same nervous gasps that a Nazi major later gets by suggesting the unexpected resonances between African slaves and King Kong. But we get what he’s saying, and we sense that the farmer perhaps grudgingly understands as well: as even he has to admit, he’d never greet a rat with a saucer of milk, and no amount of logic about the similarities between rats and the more respected squirrels will convince him otherwise, just as Landa and his Nazi colleagues cannot be convinced of the essential humanity of the Jews. It’s a horrifying scene because it presents Landa as such a logical monster and, as Goebbels (Sylvester Groth) will later say about his protégé Fredrick Zoller (Daniel Brühl), a “strangely persuasive monster.” This scene doesn’t present prejudice as an aberration or something unknowable and distant; prejudice here is the end result of a scrupulously logical mind reasoning from a foundation of certain hateful constants.

You’re also right that the two main characters here represent Tarantino playing with varying tonalities, even within the same scene: the brooding, emotionally real farmer and the cartoonish villain Landa. On a broader scale, this is the kind of thing going on throughout the film. There is an astonishing variety of performances on display here, many of them broad and deliberately overplayed: the backwoods kitsch of Pitt’s Aldo Raine, the Austin Powers pastiche of Mike Myers’ cameo as a high-ranking British officer, the Looney Tunes-esque Hitler, Julie Dreyfuss evoking her appearance in Kill Bill as Goebbels’ showy translator/escort Francesca. Tarantino sets these cartoonish performances off against more subtle and realistic ones, like Laurent’s reserved Shosanna, who barely says a word throughout the entire lunch with Goebbels, Landa and Zoller, conveying her bemusement, fear and confusion through her expressive face. Tarantino seems to revel in the friction generated by placing believable, realistic characters up against vibrant, oversized caricatures—it’s like Who Framed Roger Rabbit achieved entirely with human actors.

This film is also replete with the kind of structural mirroring that we’ve noted in earlier Tarantino films. The zooms you note into close-ups of Landa and LaPadite, increasing the tension of their confrontation, are repeated in Chapter 2 when the Nazi colonel is awaiting his death by baseball bat. More significantly, Landa’s attitude towards his nickname, “the Jew hunter,” changes over the course of the film from the barely restrained childish glee of the opening chapter to the visceral disgust with which he pronounces it when talking to Aldo in the fifth and final chapter, when he wants to be thought of as merely an employee of the Nazis rather than an eager participant in their agenda. This cynical reversal resonates with one of the key themes of the Basterds sequences, the idea of what happens to the Nazi soldiers after the war, whether they’re able to simply slip back into ordinary society and ignore their Nazi past.

 

Inglourious Basterds

JB: Speaking of the Nazis and cartoonish characters, that’s yet another surprising thing about Inglourious Basterds. Oh, sure, Tarantino’s Hitler is a screaming maniac and Goebbels is a clown (that he likes to bang his interpreter tells us what, exactly?), but otherwise Tarantino’s Nazis are something that Nazis are almost never allowed to be in American movies: intelligent. Landa is an opportunistic devil without a conscience, to be sure, but will we see a smarter character this year? I doubt it. Fucker is almost clairvoyant, and beyond that he’s ballsy. Presented with an opportunity to write his own endgame, he makes a bold all-in play that involves collaborating with the Americans without their knowledge. Then there’s Major Dieter Hellstrom (August Diehl) who displays his intelligence three ways: first by sniffing out a curious German accent, then by deducing his identity in the questions game based on scant information and finally by spotting Lieutenant Hicox’s (Michael Fassbender) fatal tell. (Heck, throw on top of that what might seem like a small detail: Hellstrom knows immediately that there’s no way he’s walking out of that tavern alive.) Also not to be overlooked is Fredrick Zoller, who isn’t the mindless killing machine his war heroics have us conditioned to believe he must be. In the movies the opposition sometimes gets one smart character, but the rest of the force is usually a collection of shortsighted morons. Here, instead, it’s the Americans who are cartoons who blunder into their good fortune.

 

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