Film Review | Django Unchained

In recent years, the cine-literate writer-director Quentin Tarantino has taken a far more expansive approach to his wordy-and-violent blockbusters.

Instead of remaining a fixture of the cult, 'indie' scene which he helped redefine thanks to the runaway success of both Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994), he has taken to painting big and brash - and on a far larger, more expensive canvas - ever since he sent Uma Thurman to 'kill Bill' (2004, 2005).

Nowhere was this more evident than in Inglourious Basterds (2009), where the enemy was Adolf Hitler, whose biography was re-written with violent panache as three storylines converged  in a spectacular - though uneven - revenge fantasy.

History is mined once again for Django Unchained, in which the titular freed slave - played by Jamie Foxx - goes on a quest to rescue his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) from the clutches of decadent plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo Di Caprio).

'Candieland' is renowned for being a hotbed of 'mandingo fighting' - a cruel sport that pits slaves in gladiatorial combat for the entertainment of their owners.

Shrewdly spotting this as an opportunity to Trojan-Horse into Candie's plantation and snatch Broomhilda away, Schulz attracts Candie's attention by proposing to gamble an outrageous sum to pit a mandingo of his own into the ring.

But it's only a matter of time before Candie's deviously perceptive right-hand-man, the 'Uncle Tom' negro of the household Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson) figures the guests out... putting all three of our good guys in mortal danger.

Tarantino's claims that Django Unchained will serve to galvanise a much-needed discussion of the 'neglected' issue of slavery by showing it at its most mercilesss - and not in the context of abolition, as its fellow Oscar contender Lincoln inevitably does - may be slightly deluded.

But by presenting it from the prism of pop culture - specifically, spaghetti westerns (Franco Nero, the 'first' Django from Corbucci's 1966 original, shows up for a cameo) and a varnish of the 'blaxploitation' cinema which blossomed in the '70s - Tarantino wrenches an instant emotional reaction that doesn't sugar-coat the evils on display, with however an in-built promise of retribution never too far on the horizon.

And if you're not too sniffy about historical accuracy and/or political correctness, there's a lot to enjoy in the film's violent set pieces... and Tarantino's seemingly defiant attitude towards peppering his already rather spicy, Academy Award-nominated screenplay with the 'n'-word.

But there is some genuine subversion here apart from the obvious shock value: a skit involving a proto version of the Ku Klux Klan recalls the British terrorism comedy Four Lions in the way it deflates the organised racist band into a gaggle of bumbling idiots.

Sadly, 'Django' isn't spared of a persistent negative in Tarantino's more recent CV:  it's just too damn long. We can scramble for explanations and excuses for this that are both artistic (is it the result of a debt to vintage Hollywood westerns?) and psychological (Tarantino's success has given him carte blanche to do whatever he wants). Some have speculated that the passing of Tarantino's favourite editor Sally Menke in 2010 is what's really behind the protracted running time. But the fact is the 'Basterds' was just as long and more - not less - convoluted.

But though Tarantino's chaotic soundtrack choices - mixing in the expected cuts from Ennio Morricone with more contemporary numbers - are very much present and accounted for, the narrative, save for a few shuffled-in flashbacks, unspools in perfect chronology - commendable for being a first for Tarantino, but it only contributes to the meandering nature of its sagging middle-section.

What makes or breaks any Tarantino film, however, is its handling of dialogue. Dialogue is what elevated Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction from being forgettable takes on tired Hollywood genres, and it's what made him a hip and desirable commodity since then. Happily, in Django Unchained we see this facet of his artistic inventory mature with virtuosity, with no small thanks to Christoph Waltz and Leonardo Di Caprio.

It was always going to be a thrill to watch Di Caprio play a despicable villain - which he does with rotten-toothed panache - but paired with the equally 'loquacious' Dr King Schulz (Waltz basically reprises his role as the villainous Hans Landa in 'Basterds', only stopping to channel it into a benevolent direction), the result is a delightful repast of shamelessly elaborate verbal battling that will withstand many repeat viewings.

But though it's no spoiler to say that our hero rides off into the sunset having completed his mission - and leaving a gallon's worth of blood in his wake - it's another, more seasoned Tarantino regular who - slowly but surely, and only just registering over the deluge of carnage - regales us with one of the finest performances of his career.

Playing perhaps the most hateful character of the bunch - which is saying a lot, considering - Samuel L. Jackson does a staggering U-turn on his typically front-and-centre, forceful roles. Instead, he inhabits Stephen completely (think Downton Abbey's Carson with added self-loathing), deliberately reducing his typical swagger to a submissive stoop. But his gaze still kills.

Were it not for the running time, this would have scored five stars. Let's look forward to the DVD so we can experience its many highlights again, and again, and again.

Welcome back, Quentin. You were missed.

Read our guide to Quentin Tarantino.