Dir.
Robert Rodriguez, 1996, USA, 108 mins
Cast:
George Clooney, Quentin Tarantino, Harvey Keitel, Juliette Lewis, Salma Hayek, Cheech Marin, Kelly Preston, Tom Savini
The director of the Mariachi trilogy certainly knew what he was doing when he decided to make this Tarantino-scripted, definition-defying hybrid of a film. For a start there's the typically sharply-penned dialogue from Mr T as well as a good dose of bank robbery, Mexican brothels, B-movie schlock, buckets of blood, a very very cool tattoo and oh yes, vampires. And not just any old vampires; Rodriguez, in a move that men everywhere will be eternally thankful for, manages to coax probably the most iconic moment of the film out of Hayek, the vampiric Santanico Pandemonium, when he gets her to dance half-naked on a table whilst simultaneously pouring whisky down her leg and making a boa constrictor look unquestionably phallic. It's the kind of scene that either totally confirms your sexuality (if you're a man) or makes you seriously question it (if you're woman). I think it's pretty safe to say, if not a sure-fire certainty, that every red-blooded man on the planet will have seen this film. And then forced his girlfriend to watch it too.
But should you watch it yourself? According to reviewer Jeremiah Kipp from CultureDose it's bound to appeal to fans of " action, horror, action-comedy, horror-comedy, action-horror-comedy, action-horror, queasy-horror, and queasy-comedy" which in my book pretty much covers everyone. However, those of you who like your cinematic entertainment to stay firmly on the good side of the good taste line, as opposed to exploding over it in a hail of severed limbs, should probably avoid. This film leaves good taste so far behind that, by the time it's raped, decapitated and bloodily battled it's way through 108 minutes, paused to wipe the human splatter from it's weary brow and looked back, good taste is all the way back over the Mexican border, wimpering and speed-dialling the censors.
So what's the film actually about? I don't think even Tarantino or Rodriguez know the answer to that one. For the first 45 minutes or so it seems convinced that it's a quick-witted, infinitely cool (in the style of it's big brothers Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs) road movie about the criminal Gecko brothers (Clooney, Tarantino) as they try and make it across the Mexican border to the Titty Twister strip club to pay off the local head honcho. So far, so mildly diverting. However, as soon as the film crosses over into Mexico it suddenly undergoes a Paul-on-the-road-to-Damascus style conversion and decides that what it really, really wants to be is full-on, post-modern, sickeningly bloody, vampire-slaying horror flick. And its all the better for it. Add to the mix Savini, in his best role since 1978's Dawn of The Dead, as the gloriously named biker Sex Machine and Cheech Marin in multiple roles and you can't really say no.
Despite all the eulogising however, and in the interests of Devil's advocacy, it's only fair to point out that there's nothing here you probably haven't seen before, especially if you're a fan of Peter Jackson and his infinitely superior Brain Dead. The performances aren't Oscar-winning and the story, despite its schizophrenic tendencies, is the typical bloodbath-fight-to-the-death cliché that you'll find in every vampire movie ever made since the dawn of time. However, the clichés and self-referencing are affectionately done and the whole thing views like a loving tribute to Tarantino's huge back catalogue of influences. But then again, when does a Tarantino flick ever not do this?
In the spirit of the film I'll indulge and employ a cliché of my own and simply say you'll either love it or you'll hate it; it's not the kind of movie that accommodates anything in between. However, something that manages to encompass a genre-busting lethal cocktail of gore, vulgarity, strip clubs, exploding body parts, severed heads, some extremely creative vampire-slaying and Tarantino in his only good role to date as psychotic criminal Richard Gecko must surely have earnt itself a well-deserved place in the cult canon. Oh and it was banned in Ireland. When it's put like that, what's not to like?!
Georgie Turnbull
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