Grindhouse
dir. Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino
2007

"See androids figthing Brad and Janet.
Anne Frances stars in Forbidden Planet,
At the late night, science fiction (Rocky Horror) picture show."
- Lips, The Rocky Horror Picture Show

"Did you see Donald Barthelme's obituary? He said collage is the art form of the 20th century."
- Paul, Six Degrees of Separation

"It's not a rip off. It's an homage."
- The Dead Pool

"Oh, no this is gonna turn into a snuff film!"
- Crow, Manos the, uh, Hands of Fate

There's an inherent advantage in making an intentionally bad or cheesy movie. If a gag is funny, or a stunt impressive or an effect spectacular, no one will fault you. But, if the acting is bad, the editing sloppy or the writing nonsensical, then you're on the mark. Either way, you win.

Grindhouse is a tribute to the ultra-low-budget, drive-in/double-feature fare of yesteryear. A time when when mainstream studios lagged behind social realities and disenfranchised audiences sought alternative sources of entertainment. In other words, YouTube on the big screen.

The film is a double feature: Planet Terror and Death Proof. The former is a zombie/infection thriller in the style of George Romero, Dario Argento and Tobe Hooper. The latter is a female-empowerment road thrill killer reminicent of Russ Meyer and Roger Corman.

Between the films, there are "prevues of coming attractions" by the likes of Eli Roth and Rob Zombie. Of these, the best by far is Machete, a mexploitation political action thriller starring Danny "Mexi-can, not Mexi-can't" Trejo. I'd pay five dollars American to see this one developed into a full feature.

Of the two main features, Planet Terror is better all-around entertainment. It captures the look and feel of the old grindhouse movies as well as their latter-day mid-80s self-conscious homages such as Blood Diner, Motel Hell and Surf Nazi's Must Die.

It's not just an homage. It's an homage to homages.

Death Proof feels more like a standard Tarantino film with some emulsion scratches and dropped frames. Whereas the writing and acting in Planet Terror is intentionally over-the-top, melodramtic and stilted, Tarantino revisits his Reservoir Dogs well yet again, only this time with hot 20-something babes who drop Zatoichi references into casual conversation.

Choosing to reference himself more than his forebears, Tarantino slides into a masurbatory reverie of female dominance, foot fetishism and pop culture obsession.

However, as this navel-gazing was juuuuust about to lose me, he treats us to one of the most harrowing car chases in film history. It's quite an accomplishment, truly. And, for once, he has discovered a true new talent in Zoe Bell, instead of just reviving an old talent like Travolta or Pam Grier.

Seriously. I've never seen anything on film like what this woman accomplishes in the last 20 minutes of Death Proof.

The thing about grindhouse movies, especially blaxploitation and rape-revenge films, is that they gave voice to the voiceless. Quality wasn't the issue. It was the message that people responded to. Black heroes. Female heroes. Poor heroes. Like Steinbeck, only not good.

That's why Machete would have been a better choice for full-length treatment. Mexploitation attaches to our modern disenfranchised audience receptor. Machete is a south-of-the-border Sweet Sweetback's Badass Song.

There are some social themes in Planet Terror. Almost none in Death Proof.

Instead of reflecting the repressed discontent of our social underclasses, Tarantino and Rodriguez give us a look into what I imagine is their own conscious and subconscious landscape.

Which is to say, they have a thing about girls' feet.

From Pulp Fiction to Four Rooms to Kill Bill, foot fetishism has been a (somewhat) subtle theme in T&R's work. But, in true grindhouse style, they pull out the stops of subtlety for this film, especially Death Proof.

Other fetishes are in evidence as well: dismemberment, female domination, medical sadism, voyeurism, predicament bondage.

In the past, both filmmakers have used these themes artfully. Here, they use them crudely. Grindhouse is not about subtlety.

The problem with Grindhouse is the running time. Tarantino and Rodriguez essentially released the special edition DVD to theaters. Both films could be tightened up significantly, especially Death Proof, which follows two distinct groups of women through oddly similar, and rather extended, conversations. It's not bad material, but considering the long running time and the reptitive quality, it could have been trimmed.

Finally, like the hotel sequence in Borat, this film makes a bafflement of the ratings system, especially Planet Terror. Two men kissing in bed will get you an NC-17. A sexually sadistic zombie attempting to rape a one-legged stripper before his testicles melt off and fall into his pants (while you watch) gets you an R.

Whiskey, tango, foxtrot?

Three stars. Stuntman Jason sez you're going to have to get scared immediately.