casualotter21
Regular
264 messages
joined Feb 2003
Apologies for the length of this post, but I’m dropping it here because it might actually interest someone. A few months back, there was a heated debate over on the rec.arts.sf.fandom newsgroup regarding Kill Bill. I spent some time digging through the archives today and found it pretty fascinating. I'm copying the whole thing, though unfortunately, it's in English, so I'll leave it to those who can make sense of it. In any case, regardless of how I personally feel about the movie, that entire thread felt far more constructive than three-quarters of the posts on this topic—mine included.
One thing people seem to miss is that the different styles of violence in Kill Bill actually stick to the specific cinematic "rules" of the worlds featured in each chapter (as Tarantino calls it in his screenplay). Thurman's struggle—the core tragedy fueling the whole story—is the part of the movie that leans most heavily on those gritty, sadistic revenge flicks that used to dominate the grindhouse circuit, much like They Call Her One Eye (which clearly inspired Darryl Hannah's character, right down to the colored eyepatch) or, in its most blatant American derivation, the infamous I Spit on Your Grave (a movie that's been slammed as misogynistic garbage and praised as a feminist manifesto all at once).
From the very beginning, Tarantino made it clear that his signature style would be a cocktail of everything he obsesses over—ranging from French art films and Olsen and Johnson comedies to horror, chambara, and kung fu. He promised to blend all of that with the grit of samurai tales, Shaw Brothers flicks, Spaghetti westerns, and Yakuza thrillers.
The House of Blue Leaves sequence, which acts as the arterial-spray soaked climax of Kill Bill, Vol. 1, pulls from a distinct cinematic lineage, utilizing a much more theatrical and expressionistic style of violence—one that feels significantly less sexualized. That surreal geyser of blood used to punctuate the finale of Kurosawa's Sanjuro had, by the early 70s, morphed into the Monty Pythonish excesses of the bizarrely Beautiful LONE Wolf and CUB series (which, in my opinion, remains the best and purest set of comic book adaptations ever put to film, not to mention an action franchise with remarkably consistent quality across every single installment). Once Kill Bill, Vol. 2 shifts gears into a Spaghetti western setting—presumably when The Bride finally settles scores with Darryl Hannah, Michael Madsen, and/or Bill himself—the violence will likely take on yet another flavor. Spaghetti westerns tend to fetishize and dramatize the tension leading up to the violence, stretching it out indefinitely, but once the actual brutality hits, it’s usually dealt with quite matter-of-factly and swiftly. It’s actually the polar opposite of Peckinpah's style, regardless of what those conservative 60s critics claimed about them being identical.
A few more observations. It’s somewhat ironic that the most genuine and human beats in Kill Bill belong to Sonny Chiba—an actor who, for audiences here in the States, is mostly famous for ripping an opponent's testicles off with his bare hands and flaunting them. Granted, he was a major leading man in Japan for over ten years before he did The Streetfighter, but very few of those movies actually made it into American grindhouses. It also provides a fascinating contrast to the highly acclaimed Lost in Translation. In that film, Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson aren't afforded even a single moment of true empathy or connection with the Japanese locals. I'll concede that Johansson is shown having a few Japanese friends, but they feel like nothing more than plot devices to nudge her out of the hotel and into various quirky scenarios; Sofia Coppola practically ensures they slip out of the frame whenever she can. Kill Bill, however, suggests that an American woman can stroll into an Okinawan sushi bar and, even with limited Japanese, can actually make a connection.
There’s this genuine emotional connection with the chef—and yeah, she definitely establishes that before dropping the bombshell that she’s actually hunting down Hanzo the swordmaker. Honestly, a connection like that just doesn't feel plausible in Lost in Translation. Don't get me wrong, I loved both movies, but in a strange way, I think the latter presents a much bleaker universe.
To wrap things up, I’ll borrow a line from Spinal Tap: there is a razor-thin margin separating brilliance from pure stupidity. Normally, seeing Uma Thurman lugging a katana around an airplane would fall squarely into the latter category, but once you realize most of the other passengers are also packing katanas in their carry-ons, that surreal level of audacity feels less like a mistake and more like a stroke of low-rent genius.
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To be fair, Tarantino plays it a little safe regarding the sexual violence that clearly fuels the inspiration for these sequences. The Bride isn't violated by Bill or any of those other women. That whole incident at the hospital wasn't even Bill's doing; it’s something the script treats as a heavy topic discussed through dialogue rather than explicit imagery. In fact, the moment that horrific concept is introduced, we see her handling the two attackers on screen with some pretty direct resolve. Even though those guys are monsters, the hospital assault stays off-camera—Buck specifically warns his clients not to lay a finger on her or leave a single mark. While Tarantino is clearly paying visual homage to movies like They Call Her One Eye, Last House on the Left, and I Spit on Your Grave...
Regarding GRAVE and the assault in *Comin' at Ya*, he seems significantly less sadistic than his predecessors. That’s a stark contrast to the sequence in *The House of Blue Leaves*, where he cranks the violence up quite a bit.
