Eight Angry Men
Ever since I returned from my hiatus (wait, that’s a television term… I was in developmental hell…) I’ve been scrapping the proverbial bottom of the barrel. As late as that last sentence I’m still at a loss as to what I’m meant to be discussing. It’s actually quite concerning; am I out of ideas?
Here comes an incredibly terrible segue. Quentin Tarantino sure isn’t out of ideas. He’s managed to repeat while simultaneously reinvent with The Hateful Eight. The trick he’s marvelously pulled here is that the impetus has little to do with the western genre; it’s merely a setting for Tarantino’s individualistic form. His ancestral style is what appeals to people and his capacity as a screenwriter and director are what give his films their caliber, even at three hours.
Yet it has all the telltale tropes of a Tarantino flick, so how does he manage to rejuvenate each time around? It actually has little to do with agnates between each of his projects. It’s all in the execution, and the cast that he has assembled through personal experience knows how to tackle his material. There’s a reason why he has used his projects to develop a family of performers, and it’s exalted in The Hateful Eight.
It’s dangerous ground to tread, but he’s not just committed to his style; his reputation and success are tied to it. Remove all the qualities that associate The Hateful Eight with its director and it’s quite simply another film. With Tarantino at the helm it becomes quintessential. There was an opportunity there for a horrible pun but I choose to believe I’m above that.
Each film is a vision, but it must possess the capacity to carry the Tarantino line, hence why he chooses his projects so prudently. The Hateful Eight, one he almost ceded, is the culmination of almost thirty years of formation and calibration. Much like John Ruth, the man does not settle for less.
