Okay. Okay. I know. I know. I finally watched Inglourious Basterds.
So… Okay. I have to admit that I’m not a huge Tarantino film fan. I watch them because my friends like them, so there is a degree of peer pressure there. Still, I haven’t seen all of them, and I’m slowly getting around to doing so.
Case in point: Inglourious Basterds… Let’s just say I was inspired to watch a movie about people enlisted for the sake of “Killing Nazis,” as Portland, this summer, has been the standoff epicenter/gathering of chauvinistic, racist, blame-shifting, violence-baiting Nazis and their antithesis group–former “critical-mass”–Antifa shitheads.
Needless to say, I was hoping to see some Nazis killed in some truly artful and gruesome means.
“So, what did you think?” you ask.
I enjoyed the film. But I won’t labor on and I’ll simply cut the loquaciousness of my response: I was a little disappointed…
They could have really killed more Nazis.
“But it’s not like they could go all ‘The Shining’ scale and trigger a bloody wave spreading out from the center of Germany-occupied Paris? Or … an Ash character cutting through rows upon rows of Nazis with a chainsaw? Or someone like Lionel using a shoulder-holstered lawnmower to chop down the Schutzstaffel (SS) like the repugnant shitty crabgrass that they were,” you protest. “There is a level of realism and brutality that both factions in the movie–both sides pushing the boundaries of Humanity–that grounded it.”
Yes. Yes. I agree and understand your point. But, truth be told, I’m spooling up the “Opening of the Ark” scene as I write this…
Now. That. Was. Nazi. Killing. At. Its. Finest.