|Go ahead, Mr Tarantino, make my day.|
But as a harbinger of the spiritual darkness that is descending I find that a brief notice of this man's efforts behind a camera might be useful. About his latest production "Django Unchained", which is nothing more than near imbecilic assemblies of various shots of blood-letting, the prestigious movie critic over at The Wall Street Journal, Joseph Morgenstern, has this to say:
“wildly extravagant, ferociously violent, ludicrously lurid and outrageously entertaining, yet also . . . very much about the pernicious lunacy of racism, and yes, slavery’s singular horrors.”
The purple prose to the contrary, what do such words say about Mr Morgenstern? To this writer it says that Mr Morgenstern has lost his marbles at the very least. Nor is he alone in his hosannas. Most other critics, men and women who have lost whatever artistic discernment they ever possessed (if they ever possessed it in the first place), have said similar nonsense which, out of a concern for their personal embarrassment, I wont repeat. There appears to be no stupidity in this digital extravaganza from the Junior High-level of acting to the bad writing, directing and deliberate distortion of the truth that they are able to find fault with. Not even the fact that such obscene images are an obvious incitement to racial violence, which will be carried out by those of a very small intelligence and a very big chip on their shoulder, seems to make any difference to these critics. One wonders how they can walk away from such a movie without feeling sullied, or raped, by a man whose lack of cinematic skill is only equalled by his lack of even a basic neanderthal intelligence.
If "Django Unchained" can even be noticed by the critics let alone discussed by them then this is the very end of serious movie criticism.
And the spiritual darkness which this film heralds? Look at the attendance numbers. That is what frightens me. Many of my children are gone and married. We have tried to teach them the rights and the wrongs of morality. We exposed them from infancy to fine music, good films, good books and tried to keep them Catholic. But I cannot control them now. My stomach wrenches at the thought that something or someone might tempt them to go see this garbage. And it hurts me to imagine that happening.
I was once visiting a friend working on a film at Pinewood Studios in London. When I had to leave I found myself sharing an elevator ride with one of the most disgusting "directors" ever to disgrace a movie screen. I was sorely tempted to punch him in the face (I was younger then) yet held back. But on the other hand if ever I have the pleasure of running into Mr Tarantino in the future I will give back to him what he has repeatedly given to us: