People often blame me for criticizing movies I haven't seen. One shouldn't talk without having experienced what one is talking about, they say. The thing is, I tried watching things I disliked so I could be sure I disliked them, but what's the point ? The repeated and increasingly predictable disappointments have taught me that you don't need to see shit to know it's shit. The smell is convincing enough. 

When I first heard about Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds, I shivered : ruthless American mercenaries sent to France under German occupation to destroy all nazis. I remember thinking this director was even more twisted than I expected. How come he suddenly needed pseudo-righteous reasons for his characters to kill and torture ? Nazis are baddies, so it's ok to squash, cut, burn, decapitate or crush them. It's not only ok, it's funny. Haha, the nazi is getting his head blown away by a machine gun ! Hoohoo, the nasty SS is getting a swastika carved on his forehead ! This grotesque mascarade reminded me of another one, a recent one that happened in real life, one that included American soldiers, Iraki war prisoners and several filmed humiliations. 

Strangers avenging crimes they had no idea about. A good reason to beat the shit out of another human being. Much later, I read an interview of Tarantino in which he talked about the polyglot aspect of the movie, the references to cinema history and it suddenly sounded more interesting than what my personal ethics watchdog allowed it to be.

Last Sunday I forgot about my scatological principles, blocked my nose and indulged in stinky business. I wasn't rewarded for breaking my principles. It tasted exacltly like it smelled.

Like my friend said, Mr T reminds us of an early teenager with too big a toy. I say early teenager and not kid because kids can surprise us, they're still able to use their imagination and offer something really far out, unlike Tarantino who is getting more and more politically correct while playing with a genre that shouldn't even dream of conventions. The result is a flat, ideologically disturbing, very long and expensive movie. Mélanie Laurent and the guy who plays her boyfriend are desperately bad (by the way, I beg all American directors who seek to employ French actors to use French intonation expertise, you can't trust your ear if you don't speak the language, you just can't).

The only surprise is Christoph Waltz who is hysterically funny in his five language interpretation of the only complex character of the movie (I won't tell you more about his persona because that's the only bone to chew during the whole movie).

I agree with critics who avoid writing about material they dislike and prefer sharing beautiful things that moved them. I promise I won't do it again, I learnt my lesson. I'm going to keep on badmouthing movies I haven't seen but at least they won't make me so angry I have to write about them.