Kill Bill, Vol. 2 (2004)

The first half was schlock rendered so ecstatically that it damn near approached art; this installment, on the other hand, decides to obliterate the line completely so that culture and kitsch become one and the same thing. Tarantino's distilled a lifetime full of second-tier cinema into one (okay, really two) phenomenal package(s), and at least with this one he's done so without forgetting the sly heartfeltness that makes Pulp Fiction more than just a B-fiction homage. His visual capacity is undiminished, and his confidence is such that now he can do things like transform two solid minutes of black screen into riveting drama, or shoot a flashback in the rough style of early-80's kung fu cinema and make it work as more than just a fanboy joke. His talent with actors is still unmatched by all but a handful of directors, as well -- I mean, we knew David Carradine was good (and he is ever-so-good here, with his distinct voice savoring every nasty syllable), but who the fuck thought Darryl Hannah could do what she does here? What finally elevates this film above its predecesor is the fact that it's thinking about something beyond its own badassness; the look on Uma's face as she confronts... well, something (though it's really not much of a surprise, I'd forgotten about the plot point in question by the time it became important)... says more about the ambivalence of revenge than all of, say, Last House on the Left. And if you don't believe me, note the similar look on her face when she finally offs Bill (or just take note of exactly how she offs him). I may see 'better' films this year, but I doubt I'll see one more purely enjoyable or enthralling.

Grade: A