Mr. Rodriguez's Planet Terror is the sort of over-the-top film that I was expecting when first stumbling into Grindhouse. It makes its rounds by exposing a lot of nudity, a lot of blood, and a lot of cursing. Fair enough, one might think, but, these inherent and base pleasures aside, the film has very little to offer. The cast in general, and Rose McGowan in particular, do a tolerable job with the material that was given to them, but this clearly is not a movie about involving characters but rather "types" of characters (Mr. Tarantino's part operates in very much the same way when it comes to its actors, but in a much more satisfying way, as will later be discussed). Ms. McGowan plays the stripper with a heart of gold, Freddy Rodriguez the badass, and so on. The plot involves some sort of deal with biochemical weapons that end up turning the greater part of Austin's population into zombies, leaving the aforementioned characters to deal with it. The film alludes to George A. Romero's landmark zombie movie Dawn of the Dead (1978), and both movies end with its heroes flying away on a helicopter. However, Dawn's ending was one filled with eeriness and discomfort, whereas Planet Terror's is but a safe ending for a movie that never really went anywhere.
By the time Mr. Tarantino's Death Proof begins its first reel, the audience has sat through a full-length feature (albeit one without a thought-out premise or through line) and several "fake" trailers made specifically for this movie. Even though what precedes it does not necessarily make one too excited for what's ahead, Death Proof turns out to be one of Mr. Tarantino's most revelatory films and an unprecedented artistic achievement. In many ways, Death Proof is not really a "grindhouse" film: it has very little in the way of sleaze (the complete opposite of Mr. Rodriguez's film), it relies quite heavily on its formal elements, and its narrative is elusive at best; it is an arthouse movie through and through. It may also be Tarantino's most experimental work.
Unlike all of his previous films, Death Proof does not use any sort of modified narrative structure. It is elegantly cut in half and united only by Kurt Russell's amazing performance as Stuntman Mike. Both parts consist of Mike terrorizing a separate group of four girls. The first set include an Austin radio DJ named Jungle Julia played by Sydney Poitier. She and her friends hang out around different bars, talking about this and that. Then comes Mr. Russell's character, ready to shake things up. There's very little I can give away without ruining the movie, but suffice it to say that it contains Mr. Tarantino's best dialog and action sequences. The second part of the movie, like the first, begins by introducing the four women, who now include Rosario Dawson and Zoe Bell (Uma Therman's stunt double from Kill Bill [2003/2004]). Following the same structure, the part begins with a series of conversations culminating in an extended chase sequence.
Mr. Tarantino, unlike Mr. Rodriguez, uses the opportunity presented to him to subvert many of exploitation cinema's assumptions, most notably in its radical shift of gender roles. In Death Proof's 80-something minutes, Mr. Tarantino completely destroys Stuntman Mike's uber-macho persona, leaving behind a castrated memory of what was once held to be the standard of film masculinity. Mr. Tarantino may not be a feminist in any conventional definition of the word, but he's certainly doing more than most American directors to give women some sort of cinematic payoff for the years of boring and insulting roles they have endured. When an artist can do that while providing an invaluable formal and visceral experience, you know you have seen something altogether special.
