Imagine my shock when I opened up my internet browser this morning and moseyed on over to Cinematical only to discover you’ve been running that mouth of yours again. Sure, I wished for you to get on the ball about Inglorious Bastards, but not quite like this.
Tarantino has pronounced that he’s finished a draft of the script (that was fast) and “if all goes well, I will be here, in Cannes, in 2009 with Inglorious Bastards.”
I’ve been hearing for years, literally, about this movie, Mr. Tarantino — I’ve heard crazy, strange stories about 800 page draft scripts and Michael Madsden and whatever bizarre affectations come along with a Tarantino film. And now? Now, you give me this.
Oh, Quentin. Again.
We have a strange and varied history, don’t we? I like you and then you do something so odd and creepy that I have to take ten steps back and start running away.
I love your movies. Granted, it’s always been very trendy to fall head over heels for Tarantino films, but there’s no denying you’ve got talent and not just that, I’ve resisted your insane-o movie crack many a time, even insisting in some quarters that you’re not as good as you think you are or that perhaps you should issue a “cheat sheet” of recommended movies that you’ve stolen from wholesale every time you release a new movie. And every time I run away, either from some freaky interview you you gave, or your psychotic ramblings that make you sound like a two-bit hack jacked up on uppers, you’re still there with your stupid Reservoir Dogs and Charlestown Chiefs jersey and infectious love of kung-fu. You make it hard to stay away.
Here you tease me with the fact that you’ve finished a long awaited draft (or pared it down, depending on which sources we believe) of Inglorious Bastards and you say it might be ready for the 2009 Cannes festival. How, pray tell, are you going to accomplish that? Are you going to hop yourself up on so many amphetamines Judy Garland style to finish this film from a draft script that by the time Cannes rolls around next year you’ll be singing cracked out versions of “Get Happy” with RZA? Tell me how, Quentin! Tell me!
After all we’ve been through, Q, it’s so decidedly unfair to dangle this carrot in front of my face with a promise you can’t deliver. But there’s our history, right, Quentin? An avenue of broken promises and addictive films that I keep running back for, while making shameful excuses to everyone else I know. “He is a genius, I promise!” I say. “Look, I know he’s a freakshow and a half, but he’s talented! Yes, I know all his characters curse a lot and talk about random stuff; just watch the movie, okay?”
This is so unfair, Quentin. We both know the real truth – we can probably expect Inglorious Bastards around 2020, but I don’t understand why you have to keep on pulling at my emotions like this.
(If you actually do sing “Get Happy” with RZA, I want video. ASAP.)