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Back to the old "Grind"

"Grindhouse" - the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino three-hour tribute to the exploitation films of their youth - is destined to divide audiences. Do you like your movies traditionally linear and intelligible or do you prefer fanboy throw-backs to the 70s? Within that second group, do you like your low-rent exploitation movies zombie-rrific or female-empowered? Whatever the case, you'd better like violence and excessive bloodshed. "Grindhouse" - named for the moviehouses that would "grind out" films of this ilk - is fashioned as a double feature with each director contributing a full length movie. While there are moments of gleeful brilliance in Mr. Rodriguez' gory zombie flick "Planet Terror", Mr. Tarantino's relentlessly talky, serial-killer-in-a-car vehicle (pun intended) "Death Proof" left me with road rage. And like the double features of the grindhouse heyday, "Grindhouse" comes complete with faux previews. So, respecting the structure of the film, I thought it best to address the film's parts before tackling the whole. But first, the previews…

"Grindhouse: The Previews"
Mr. Rodriguez and Mr. Tarantino are anything but territorial. When they set out to construct their three-hour opus, they invited their friends and fellow directors to helm the previews, with some hilarious results.

It's no surprise that Edgar Wright of "Shaun of the Dead", itself a fantastic genre parody, comes up with a perfect send-up of both haunted house movies and over-the-top preview taglines ("Don't even think of opening that door!") with a segment called "Don't Scream". Eli Roth ("Hostel", "Cabin Fever"), never known for his subtlety, trots out a grisly serial killer spoof called "Thanksgiving" involving an axe-wielding maniac dressed as, yes, a Pilgrim. The prolific Mr. Rodriguez himself lampoons those framed-and-left-for-dead revenge thrillers starring the always-amusing Danny Trejo as "Machete".

But of the four previews in "Grindhouse" who would have thought Rob Zombie ("The Devil's Rejects") would come out with such a corker with the perfectly-titled "Werewolf Women of the S.S"? Here's a movie that could actually have been made back in the day (in reality, Mr. Rodriguez is planning to make "Machete") and it features the best bit of stunt-casting in the film. Of everything that goes on in "Grindhouse", it doesn't get much better than the phrase: "…and Nicholas Cage as Fu Manchu!" I suppose the grand irony is that some of these non-existent films look more interesting than the full-length films that follow. And speaking of which, on to the feature presentations...

"Grindhouse: Planet Terror"
Robert Rodriguez may be best known for "Sin City" and the "Spy Kids" trilogy but, lest we forget, the multi-talented composer-editor-writer-director has partnered with Mr. Tarantino in the past on, among other things, the bloody vampire mess "From Dusk Till Dawn". That 1996 film might have prepared us for what was to be "Planet Terror", a take-off on such zombie classics as "Night of the Living Dead" and of course the Italian gem "Zombi 2". "Planet" finds the typical assortment of characters - the cop, the doctor, his wife and her lover - beset by mindless, bloodthirsty creatures (in this case they're not undead as much as they are infected by some insidious bio-weapon). There are showdowns, shootouts, standoffs and lots and lots of blood. Pretty much everything you'd want from a B-movie.

Mr. Rodriguez orchestrates the proceedings with a palpable sense of delight. He's like the luckiest nerd in the class. He's been given free license to do whatever comes into his film-addled brain and, happily, he has the talent to back it up. "Planet" is at its best when it's picking off zombies; when it stops for subplots involving a maniac doctor (Josh Brolin, channeling Nick Nolte) or a stubborn sheriff (always good to see Michael Biehn getting some work), "Planet" and "Grindhouse" grind to a halt. But then there's a noir-ish romance between the surprisingly effective Freddy Rodríguez and a perfectly-cast Rose McGowan - who, in an already iconic moment, gets a machine gun replacement for her ripped-off right leg. The love story could actually be part of a better movie, but Mr. Rodriguez is hellbent on destroying zombies. And that he does, with relish.

"Grindhouse: Death Proof"
In "Death Proof", a mélange of everything from predatory psycho films like "Black Christmas" to car chase classics like (the original) "Gone in 60 Seconds", Quentin Tarantino's much-heralded A.D.D. finally gets the best of him. Billed as a slasher movie in which the killer uses his car as a weapon, "Death Proof" spends most of its time bogged down in the writer-director's trademark dialogue. Sadly, his style has been so imitated that it almost feels like an unintentional parody and, since this is the second film of the double-feature, the banter all but kills the film's momentum. B-movies weren't known for their memorable repartee and Mr. Tarantino's knack for having characters talk around a subject before finally getting to the point grates - particularly following Mr. Rodriguez' non-stop entry.

The slasher in question is Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a psycho who spends his time stalking packs of women and chasing them down in his souped-up Dodge Charger. Before he gets down to that nasty business though, Mike (and the audience) must listen to the characters prattle on endlessly in the director's particular style, name-checking everything from "The Virginian" to the 1971's car chase classic "Vanishing Point". Too bad the women in the film are so cliché and irritating - particularly Tracie Thoms as the "Sassy Black Chick" and Sydney Tamiia Poitier's DJ Jungle Julia. Mr. Tarantino's love for Mr. Russell's work ironically makes Stuntman Mike the film's most interesting character - which is odd since you actually find yourself rooting for the bad guy to put a stop to all the blathering.

The film's raison d'etre appears to be Zoe Bell, the New Zealand stuntwoman who doubled for Uma Thurman in the director's "Kill Bill" movies. The engaging Ms. Bell stars as herself in an extended, unbelievable sequence involving girls gone wildly stupid. After a time, you long for the director to stop chatting and produce the goods. When he finally does - in a stunning ending chase scene - "Grindhouse" gets its groove (and its momentum) back. The director has an unexpected knack for old-school pedal-to-the-metal car chases. When he finally delivers that grand final sequence, it's a visceral thrill. Too bad it took so long to get there. In the end, Mr. Tarantino spends too long coasting when he should have hit the gas.


As Steven Soderbergh and George Clooney learned with "The Good German" it's hard to recapture the feeling of a bygone era. Despite the jarring inclusion of cell phones, both "Grindhouse" films are meant to look plucked from 70s obscurity. But just like Disco or "The Brady Bunch", those films were products of the seventies. And even the most devoted fans (and Mr. Rodriguez and Mr. Tarantino certainly fit that bill) can't capture that lightning in this three-hour-plus bottle. Neither of the films holds up as a true grindhouse classic. Once you see past the film's aged-in-post-production graininess and winking "missing reels", there are better movies struggling to shine through - Ms. McGowan in particular is a revelation and Mr. Tarantino's dialogue still has its moments. Try as they might, these two auteurs can't dumb themselves down enough to make true B-movies. And that's fine. There are plenty of grindhouse film out there. If the directors want to introduce them to a new generation, they can bring them to DVD. It's clear both men have learned from the past, now it's time for them to look to the future.