This is Quentin Tarantino’s eighth feature film, his’ second — third if you count Inglorious Basterds — western, and quite possibly his best.
It’s hard for me not to feel like a broken record at times when it comes to the work of Tarantino, but I love his work. I’m mostly worried that I will easily fall into the world of hyperbole, but between Samuel L. Jackson’s portrayal of the racially abused bounty hunter who’s just trying to be while at the same time not be shot for not being white in the western frontier and Demian Bichir’s grunts under the biggest fur coat I’d seen since watching The Revenant I can’t help but fall deeply and madly in love with this film.
While I can discuss the racial tensions of this movie and how it plays off of the understanding of the history of the west that Tarantino liberally took in all seriousness and lacadazical manners with Django Unchained I feel it more important to discuss what this film does well, rather than upset everyone with a history book in hand. This film does what QT does best, it traps as many colourful characters as possible in a room and lights a match on their current situation.