Tarantino Entertains with Darkly Funny Western "The Hateful Eight"

Samuel L. Jackson and Walton Goggins lead an amazing cast in

Quentin Tarantino's latest, The Hateful Eight.

And so the pattern repeats.

Three years ago, I wrote a review comparing Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino that discussed how each director had plowed through mid-career criticisms by taking a hard left into the idiosyncratic approaches that were supposedly holding them back, only to emerge once again as critical darlings.

A year later, Anderson continued to prove my point with Grand Budapest Hotel, and it seems Tarantino has followed suit with The Hateful Eight, a western that revolves around a collection of nasty sorts trapped together at a secluded stopover during a blizzard not long after the conclusion of the Civil War.

Intoxicating in the way that only great Tarantino can be, The Hateful Eight is the quickest three hours I’ve ever spent in a theater. And that's the case even though I saw the film in its glorious 70mm Roadshow Exhibition, which ran with an introductory musical overture and an intermission between acts, while also providing wider, more detailed images... because, you know, Tarantino.

Like many of the director’s films, The Hateful Eight is told in chapters, some of which are out of order, and built around a series of long, tense and often side-splitting conversations that eventually boil over into violence. For all the pomp and circumstance that came with the roadshow experience, the film is basically a talky chamber piece with the attitude and accoutrements of a mean-spirited western.

More specifically, The Hateful Eight is a western-flavored dark comedy mash up of And Then There Were None, Tarantino’s own Reservoir Dogs, and any number of plays by Sartre or Pinter with the racial tensions of post Civil-War Americans hanging over every moment. It's thought-provoking, titillating and, above all, entertaining as hell.

Other than a win for the eerily foreboding score from the legendary Ennio Morricone and a nomination for Jennifer Jason Leigh's hilariously gnarly performance, the Oscars stayed away from The Hateful Eight, which makes quite a bit of sense given the content. However, this is a master class in acting, writing, directing, editing and costuming, with Goggins and the underrated Jackson (who easily could've been included in my piece on #OscarSoWhite) providing standout work.

Having said all of that, I have some issues with the film, all of which are built around character motivation and plotting. To talk about them, I kind of need to spoil the movie a bit, so, spoiler warning. Enroute to Red Rock to deliver the fugitive Daisy Domergue (Leigh) for hanging, bounty hunter John Ruth (Kurt Russell) encounters Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a black bounty hunter and former Union solider in possession of three dead bounties, and Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), a former Lost-Causer militiamen who now claims to be the new sheriff of Red Rock. Ruth allows both men aboard his stage coach, and they set out for Minnie's Habadashery to seek refuge from the storm.

Upon arriving at the habadashery, they meet hangman Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth), cowboy Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), former Confederate general Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern), and Bob (Demián Bichir), a Mexican watching over the place while Minnie visits her mother. Tensions escalate on multiple fronts. Suspicious that any of this lot could be in cahoots with Domergue, Ruth forcefully disarms all but Warren since they have met before and have agreed to protect one another's bounties. Meanwhile, Warren feuds with both Smithers and Mannix over race and doubts the legitimacy of Bob's standing as the operator of the habadashery, an establishment he has frequented many times.

A third act flashback reveals Mobray, Gage and Bob are all members of the Jody Domergue gang and that they, along with Jody (Channing Tatum), arrived at the habadashery ahead of Ruth’s party so that they could kill him and free Jody’s sister. They kill Minnie and all other inhabitants of the habadashery except Smithers (they reason another occupant will add to their cover), hide several guns around the place, and then Jody hides beneath the floor boards just before the rest of the lead characters arrive.

During an argument between Warren and Smithers in which Warren arms Smithers and then baits him to draw on him so Warren can kill the older man, Gage secretly poisons the coffee, ultimately leading to the very gruesome poisoning of Ruth and his driver OB. Ruth almost kills Daisy before he dies while her brother remains in hiding and the his conspirators simply watch instead recovering their hidden weapons and taking advantage of the fact that Warren and Mannix are completely distracted. This is particularly problematic for Gage. He may have acted on his own in poisoning the coffee and thus surprised his compatriots, but then why is he also so unprepared to react to the aftermath?

Instead, they stand around like innocents allowing Warren to take control, arm Mannix and kill Bob. Only then does Jody fire upon Warren from below the floor boards, but once again he and his gang fail to act decisively (something made even more annoying by the later revelation that Mobray has already armed himself off screen) allowing Mannix and Warren to gather themselves and regroup. Although this development sets up a dynamic Mexican standoff and leads to a strong ending that unites Warren and Mannix against these outlaws, it also stretches credulity. What was the point of lying in wait and having a cover if you were just going to act like total fools at every opportunity? Sure they could’ve never anticipated that Warren and Mannix would show up with Ruth, and they absolutely never would’ve known about the dynamic between those men and Smithers, but those surprises still don’t explain their awful play here.

I think it would be foolish to suggest I have a better idea how to craft a script than Tarintino, but I’ll give it a go anyhow. I think the whole sequence would’ve played a lot better if Gage wasn’t one of the Domergue gang, but rather just another inhabitant of the haberdashery like Smithers and another wrinkle in their plan. Maybe he shows up in between when Jody goes down below the floor and Ruth’s arrival or maybe they just opt to keep him alive too, but what if he was just a cowboy visiting his mom just like he says, one that made the isolated decision to poison Ruth, not because he wanted to free Daisy, but because he was enraged that Ruth took his gun. That would certainly explain why the gang wasn't prepared to take advantage of Ruth's poisoning, while adding an extra level of chaos to the proceedings. Obviously, I’m just spit balling here, but I think something should’ve been done to diminish this narrative annoyance, which seems to be one of those "the plot required it" situations.

Regardless, even though this element of the film bothered me, it’s really just a problem that keeps me from viewing the film as perfect, because otherwise that’s what it is. Like the best of Tarantino, the film is shot beautifully and populated with great actors cutting loose with a well-observed and irreverent script filled to the brim with long, tense moments that seem tailor-made for the stage. And the ending, oh boy that ending -- it's some kind of perfect.

Truncated Runtime Hurts 'The Sessions'



One of the best aspects of The Sessions, is the frank approach it takes

to the sex scenes between Helen Hunt and John Hawkes.

Oddly enough, the best compliment and biggest criticism I have for The Sessions are one in the same – it left me wanting more.

The film is based on the true-life sexual awakening of Mark O’Brien (John Hawkes),* a freelance writer and poet unable to move any muscles below his neck and forced to spend most of his days in an iron lung due to contracting Polio at a young age. At 38-years old, Mark realizes he is approaching his sell-by date and so, after getting the blessing of his open-minded priest Father Brendan (William H. Macy), he hires a sex surrogate named Cheryl (Helen Hunt) to help him achieve sexual penetration.

*I had never heard of O’Brien until this movie, but he was the focus of an Oscar Winning documentary (Breathing Lessons: The Life and Work of Mark O’Brien). Furthermore, The Sessions is an adaptation of an article he wrote entitled ‘On Seeing a Sex Surrogate,’ a quick read that fills in many of the particulars on sex surrogacy. For those who are interested, the documentary can be found here, and the article is posted here.

In their first meeting, Cheryl clearly establishes parameters of what is and isn’t going to happen. Mark is paying her to have sex, but she is not a prostitute. That means she doesn’t need the money up front or in cash, and she’s not interested in his return business. To avoid intimacy, she refuses to share personal information and adheres to a six session limit. However, things don’t go as planned, and eventually a connection is forged.

This is the material of a great story, but unfortunately the movie doesn’t fully deliver. The big problem is the abbreviated run-time. Even with credits, the film runs a scant 91 minutes, and, as a result, the conclusion is abrupt, many subplots are left hanging, and a multitude of interesting corners are left unexplored.

Outside of Mark’s personal journey, nearly everything seems rushed and unfinished. It’s a shame really, because every actor in this thing seems plugged in, even peripheral ones like Adam Arkin (as Cheryl’s husband) and Moon Bloodgood (as Mark’s aid).

Obviously that’s a positive, but it also raises the bar, which, given the ultimate scope of the piece, is not a good thing.


Take the Bloodgood character for instance. She’s given two or three scenes with an employee at the hotel where Mark and Cheryl conduct their sessions. They have chemistry, he seems interested, she seems to be playing hard to get, but then it goes nowhere, and you’re left wondering, “What was the point of this subplot?”



William H. Macy is good as an interactive plot device.



And then there’s Father Brendan. Macy brings a great deal of warmth to the part, and he gets one of the best lines in the movie (“I know in my heart that God will give you a free pass on this one”). However, beyond the scene built around that line, we don’t get much in the way of his moral conflict. He’s just a buddy Mark tells all his lewd behavior too – or, more cynically, a plot device that allows the film to eschew voice over narration. The idea that Mark plans to write about the issue does not seem to faze Father Brendan, even though it would surely raise eyebrows among his higher-ups and congregation.

But Cheryl’s development poses the biggest issue. We get hints of maternal issues (her son calls her Cheryl) and marital problems (her husband wants her to convert to Judaism) that just go nowhere, and we’re asked to believe that a woman who has sex for a living and has gone through this process many times, would fall for this guy. He writes a poem sure, but is that all it takes? More scenes would’ve been helpful to contextualize everything, particularly one showing her with another patient.**

**In an interview with the Huffington Post, Cheryl Cohen Green, Mark’s real life surrogate, indicated they did not fall in love as the film suggests. For the record, Mark’s article never implied they did. Given the lack of tangible development, this isn’t exactly surprising. Having said that, I do believe it was a good idea to alter the story for the movie; I just don’t think proper consideration was given to developing it. Also, it’s worth noting that, according to an article on AOL Jobs, Cheryl actually met her husband via sex surrogacy (an element that may have helped add some context to her half of the story).

I understand my assessment is coming across rather negatively, but the truth is this is a quality film with a refreshing, matter-of-fact depiction of sex and two dynamite lead performances. Hawkes conveys a complex combination of humorous wit, anxiety and emotional turmoil with only his face and an expressively high-pitched voice at his disposal, while Hunt delivers a confident portrayal fully deserving of the Oscar nomination that came with it.

Those positives amount to enough for a recommendation, but not enough for the film to live up to its potential. The story probably could’ve benefited from a more stylistic approach, but writer-director Ben Lewin (a Polio survivor who hadn’t received a film credit in nearly a decade before taking on The Sessions) directs with all the punch of  a TV movie.

Ultimately though, the film’s biggest issue is its brevity. Given more room to breathe and develop, The Sessions could’ve been something quite special. As is, it’s a nice character piece with a life-affirming message.