Saturday, April 28, 2007

Suckin' Aces

I saw Smokin’ Aces the other night, and it made me realize how much I like Quentin Tarantino. Aces had the usual ensemble of wacky lowlifes and hoodlums. It had scenes of ultra-violence laid out like a ballet. It had great character actors like Jeremy Piven, Alex Rococo, Ray Liotta, and a very, very funny Jason Bateman. And it pretty much sucked.

Why?

I saw Grindhouse, which I enjoyed immensely. Planet Terror contained all that I love about zombie films. The trailers were great too. But Deathproof, Tarantino’s contribution, was fantastic. The violence in it is short but shocking. But what makes it a great film is the sparkling dialogue. There are four long scenes of dialogue around a table. Tarantino has such a good ear for colorful dialogue, the kind of talk that close friends have around a bar table or a breakfast table. Of course, there are the references to pop culture that are humorous and make those of us that are Tarantino’s age feel all googly inside. And he has plot points put in there too that make the story churn at a comfortable rate.

But the key is how the dialogue really fills the character. Do we really need to hear about the first date of one the doomed girls at the start? Why is it important to know what drink the girls order? Why does the Kiwi get faux-pissed when her friend asks about her Australian background? There is no main point to this except Tarantino loves his characters and gives them these needless details. Combine that with the vicarious thrill of the exploitation violence and you have a hell of a ride.

Now Smokin' Aces has weird dialogue but it doesn’t have the intelligence that Tarantino film's have. It’s too wrapped up in the plot to worry about filling up the many characters. So Joe Carnahan, the writer/director, seems like a hack trying to capture the Tarantino spirit and failing miserably. He's like a pale ghost. Worse, is his black female talk really seems hackneyed. You can only say mother fuckah and niggah so many times before sounding trite. And no matter how many bullets are flying, if I am yawning, something is wrong. Maybe he should do a Elizabethan costume drama

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