Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
I think it's fair to say that if you're a fan of movies, you're a fan of Quentin Tarantino.
Despite having a very particular style unlike anyone else's, Tarantino's filmography has very distinct eras with distinct stylistic and narrative fascinations, from the character-focused films of Jackie Brown (1997) and Reservoir Dogs (1992) to the stylistically leaning films of Django Unchained (2012) and Kill Bill. (2003) Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) feels like a new era of Tarantino, while still staying faithful to the fascinations that made him a household name.
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt & Margo Robbie
Unlike his last few films, I came out of "Once Upon a Time," feeling unsure. For the first time since Jackie Brown, Tarantino gave me a lot to think about outside of filmmaking. "Once Upon a Time" is a film that is less about a person and a problem, but about a place and an idea. Tarantino's obsession with Hollywood has been a glamorized focus of his filmography for so long that he has sort of propped up this unrealistic idea of what it actually was, but "Once Upon a Time" actively laments the time period, warts and all. The film is soaked in the atmosphere of the times, and much of the run time is dedicated to showing off long out-of-production cars, blaring the hits of yesteryear, all illuminated by an almost angelic shade of gold from the LA sun. All of this love and appreciation manifests itself in the form of Sharon Tate, played by the always great Margot Robbie. Her character (or lack thereof) has gained some unwarranted criticism, but I feel as if she is less of a character and more of an idea. Her always perfect presentation and endlessly joyous personality are, I feel, supposed to be a representation of the glamorous lifestyle of the city and it's better off inhabitants. Everything about the film is a love letter to a time that probably never was, but a time that Tarantino imagined.
Where it starts to get really interesting, however, is with the characters. The film largely centers around Dicaprio and Pitt, as Hollywood dream team Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth. They have an interesting dynamic that, at first, seems to feel symbiotic and purely a relationship of convenience, but as the story goes on, we see a genuine affection for one another that is reminiscent of Mr. Orange and Mr. White, or Django and Dr. Schultz. They have great on-screen chemistry, and their individual stories not only says a lot about their characters but about the Hollywood machine as a whole. Dalton's arc is a personal one, struggling with irrelevance in the wake of a changing Hollywood landscape. It doubles as a time capsule of the changing Hollywood of 1969, but also seems to be like a sort of self-commentary on the essence of Tarantino in an increasingly PC world.
It's a character-driven story that is more about the world outside of the character than the character itself, much like "Inherent Vice." But even on a personal level, the arc is interesting because of how well Dicaprio plays Dalton, showing an immense sadness hidden under Hollywood bravado. Dalton is the first "real" character Tarantino has had in a long time, showing real personal struggles and acting as more than a vehicle for entertaining dialogue. My favorite part of Dalton's arc is his time spent filming the western, where we see his personal struggle with his own performance and accompanying meltdown. It's a very funny moment that slowly transforms into something heartwarming, something rare for a Tarantino film.
Cliff Booth, on the other hand, shows a very different side of Hollywood and its dispensable nature. First thing's first, this is one of Pitt's best performances to date. He somehow manages to combine his performances from Burn After Reading (2008) and Fight Club (1999) to create the perfect blend of machismo and goofball that is inherently endearing. Cliff Booth is a man out of a job; he has given his life to the Hollywood machine and only has a trailer behind a drive-thru movie theater to show for it. I feel his character is meant to represent the disposable nature of foot soldiers working behind the scenes of Hollywood, working long hours for little in return, just to feel immortalized making the more than likely mediocre end product. I feel the tragedy of the character is understated by his confidence, but the more you look in the sadder he becomes.
What I'm still wrestling with, is how Booth plays into the larger narrative. Booth is, by all means, a psychopath. This is explained right off the bat with a particularly alarming anecdote, and solidified by an even more alarming end sequence, one that will go down as some of Tarantino's most shocking and violent yet. I won't go into the specifics, but it makes Funny Games (1997) look PG-13 in comparison. It's that alarming blend of abhorrently violent, and inherently lovable that has me still scratching my head about Booth. But as I sit here and type this... maybe that's the point. Considering how much of the film is a introspective critique of the Hollywood machine, maybe Booth's devilish charm and even more devilish tendencies are to represent something greater; maybe they are a commentary on how alluring the illusion of Hollywood is, despite the seediness we know that inhabits it.
The important thing here is that Tarantino has made a film that requires your attention. He has crafted something deep, metaphorical, and still entertaining. He has made something that can be appreciated, hated, and talked about for years, and those are the movies worth seeing.