Over the course of the last decade, amidst a seemingly declining quality in his films, I began to feel that I had outgrown the work of Quentin Tarantino. Given what I would’ve called indifference, I really only went to see ONCE UPON A TIME IN…HOLLYWOOD out of obligation, ready to roll my eyes at an occasionally fun but ultimately disappointing film. Suffice it to say, I was more than a bit surprised to find that his ninth film might just be Tarantino’s masterpiece.
Hollywood tells the story of past-his-prime bit player Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), his longtime stuntman Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) and how they come to be entangled in the lives of Sharon Tate and the Manson family in the sunny, sinister days of 1969 Los Angeles. It’s an exciting prospect to have a Tarantino version of his hometown’s darkest days, and the final product is much more sentimental, introspective and sweet than anything he’s ever made.
“Well old buddy, it’s official- I’m a has been,” laments Rick to Cliff outside of Musso & Frank’s restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard. Rick’s got two clear career paths ahead of him: he can either fly to Italy and shoot some westerns or he can continue making guest appearances on prime time TV, languishing as the villain of the week. “This doesn’t sound like the fate worth than death that you’re making it out to be,” replies Cliff, and he’s right. It’s hard to feel sorry for Rick as he returns to swanky house in the hills, but the film forces us to examine what exactly it is that motivates Rick. He’s not a method actor and even the idea that his presence on screen goes beyond his good looks is bewildering to him.
Maybe Rick wants to be a movie star, but the definition of a star was changing greatly as the 1960’s came to a close. Maybe the only thing Rick really needs is a six-pack, a pizza an his stuntman pal offering the most modest praise as they watch the Rick’s latest guest spot on a Sunday night. Anything more than this simple life just seems messy, doesn’t it?
Cliff does most of the heavy-lifting in the film, doing odd jobs for Rick, daydreaming about fighting Bruce Lee and spending a very tense afternoon at Spahn Movie Ranch. The stuntman is a shady figure to say the least, with a swath of nasty rumors keeping him from working in the industry he so desperately wants to be a part of. Like a lot of things in this film, Tarantino doesn’t offer a lot of clarity when it comes to Booth’s past. Did he really kill his wife? Did he really match Bruce Lee as a sparring partner?
When, after six months in Europe, Cliff decides to smoke an acid dipped cigarette that he’s stashed at Rick’s house, things start to get really interesting. Tarantino goes out of his way to establish that his characters are either capable of or fascinated by great acts of violence and this entire film is leading inevitable towards one of the bloodiest events in Hollywood’s history. As a filmmaker who’s blown up plantations and shot Hitler in the face, there was no way the Manson Murders wouldn’t be altered in some way, but the puzzle that is Once Upon a Time in…Hollywood doesn’t just give us the bloody revisionism it presents initially.
Between a series of violent fantasies, grisly yet hilarious murders and subtle anachronisms by way of movie posters and needle-drops it become clear that we cannot trust our narrator, our acid tripping stuntman hero or our detail obsessed director. This time around when Tarantino chooses to hilariously and brutally change the course of historic, the reality of his story isn’t as clear as it is in Django Unchained or Inglorious Basterds. This time around the reality of our story is that Rick Dalton probably lost his life only moments before the Manson family raided the Tate residence. There’s no way to save Sharon Tate, and there’s really no way to save Rick Dalton, from either a brutal death in his own home or from the obscurity that his career has already begun falling into. Tarantino uses an alternate history in a cathartic way, violently ending the war path of the Manson family and saving our hero even as Cliff Booth bleeds all over Rick’s carpet in a LSD induced haze.
The inclusion of Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) and the size of her role in the film have been points of controversy since this project was first announced. It comes as a surprise that a film that exists so clearly in the shadow of the Manson family does little more with Tate than show her driving, dancing and going to the movies. This film has the power to forever change the way future generations perceive Sharon Tate. Nothing will erase the horrific tragedy of her death, but perhaps now when people think of Sharon Tate they’ll think of her as the sweet young actress giggling at her own performance in The Wrecking Crew before the awful reality creeps in.
A Tarantino film is many things, and Once Upon a Time in…Hollywood undeniably earns that moniker, but the man has never made a film quite like this. Cliff and Rick are instantly iconic character, by turns heartbreaking and hilarious, who make this world come to life. Tarantino has been repurposing pop culture from the first scenes of Reservoir Dogs, but never has his obsession served a story quite in the way it does here. An encyclopedic knowledge of 1960’s television and pop culture isn’t just a means to an end here. Instead Tarantino shows us his heart, examining his career and legacy through homage. “Well old buddy, it’s official- I’m a has been,” laments Rick to Cliff outside of Musso & Frank’s restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard; not long after this exchange it becomes clear that Tarantino couldn’t be further from the low point of his career. In fact, if Once Upon a Time in…Hollywood is any indication, his best work may still be ahead of him.
Riley Shingler is a film critic and writer who can be found on Letterboxd and at shinglerfilms.com
