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Non-Review Review: Inglourious Basterds

I went to see Inglourious Basterds with my brother last night at the cinema in Swords. I’m not sure what either of us was expecting – I’d read enough reviews and opinion articles and am well-versed in the knowledge that trailers always lie to know that it wouldn’t be a straight-up Nazi-killing flick. In fairness to the misdirecting marketing campaign though, I’m not sure how you could advertise what Tarantino has produced here. What we’ve got is a film possibly unlike any other you’ve ever really seen. I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it, which is certainly a big indicator in the film’s favour.

Tarantino, you magnificent basterd, you...

Tarantino, you magnificent basterd, you...

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Yes We Cannes!

So, Cannes is well and truly underway. And without (for the most part) the bitchiness or grumbling that usually accompanies it. What? Journalists might actually enjoy a film festival? Pish-posh. Still, despite the huge backlash against Lars Von Trier, the festival is going down a treat. When a Disney film can open Cannes to universal acclaim (no easy feat), you know something’s off. With the general lack of pithiness that defines Cannes journalism, I don’t know what to make of coverage of Inglourious Basterds. The reviews are mixed at best. I miss the Tarantino who won the Palme d’Or for Pulp Fiction. What happened?

Quentin Tarantino, master of the pop culture cocktail

Quentin Tarantino, master of the pop culture cocktail

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