Written and Directed by That Pulp Fiction Guy

With
- Uma, Lucy, Daryl, Vivica and Sonny Chiba

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Matt kicks ass with his pen...

Quentin Tarantino does not make films for adults. Despite (or because of) the extreme gore, stylized violence, and savage bloodletting, the target audience of Tarantino's comic book quests remains teenage boys, preferably those for whom the idea of being in the same room with a woman, let alone actually kissing her, is simply too terrifying to contemplate. Check the websites, chat rooms, and message boards -- Kill Bill Vol. 1 (from now on, we'll call the fucker Kill Bill) has stirred the imaginations of acne-ridden pubescents like nothing else since the last installment of Lord of the Rings left theaters. Teenage loins are buzzing across the country as we speak, and don't get me started on the thunderous clap of high-fives, chair-rocking, and vocalized promises to purchase the special edition DVD the second it hits stores. In fact, I'm not sure I've seen a film more tailored to their interests and desires in my entire life. Think about it -- ass-kicking chicks, kung-fu, stirring swordplay, cool retro music, severed limbs, scalpings, gravity-defying leaps, at least two references to breakfast cereal, and sex with an unconscious hottie. Hell, it's practically the American Teenage Male in a nutshell.

I'll admit it: I was not looking forward to Kill Bill, largely because I believe Tarantino is a quaint relic of the 1990s, a time when "pure" filmmaking (which for me has always meant a conscious and unapologetic elevation of style over depth and feeling) seemed fresh and exciting, almost revolutionary. Pulp Fiction did indeed alter American cinema, although not at all for the better. Instead of liberating filmmakers from dry conventions (it indeed begat several of its own), it inspired dozens of untalented, video store geeks to believe that anyone could -- and should -- make movies. Thus, Tarantinoesque was born, which was defined by its sly, ironic tone, endless pop culture references (where the previously uncool became cool once again), and romantic view of crime and violence. Brutal killers became poetic hipsters, and it became necessary to study endless reels of old films in order to catch all the references and allusions filmmakers felt obligated to include. I always thought these wannabes (Tarantino most of all) were actually ripping off other, better films rather than imitating them out of love and respect, but many were fooled into believing that Tarantino's images were unique rather than exact replicas meant to hoodwink the unknowing. Even Kill Bill, which is obviously influenced by 1970s martial arts films, presents the sights and sounds of Spaghetti Westerns, as if us dummies in 2003 haven't seen them. Hell, Tarantino even rips off himself by giving us a second helping of Uma drawing a square in the air with her finger and an advertisement for Red Apple cigarettes. Maybe the kids won't notice.

Yes indeed, the hype is real, for Kill Bill is one of the most violent films ever made, although it is impossible to take anything seriously as the inclusion of animation, black-and-white, and deliberately phony sets allow the audience an out via laughter. If you're offended, the film is saying, you don't get the joke. People can't really fly through the air, nor can one woman butcher 100 men all by herself. And with blood spurting from necks and other assorted wounds like a virtual tidal wave of crimson, we know that this is not intended as a commentary or approximation of reality. Of course, I am not offended by mindless violence, nor do I think all films with such graphic representations of death need to be "responsible," but I also require at least the pretense of a story, even in the midst of silliness. Kill Bill is not nearly that ambitious. Instead, we get a pretext -- woman is left for dead and seeks revenge -- and nothing more than the ensuing violence. It's a louder, crazier Death Wish. Each set piece is a ballet of murder and mayhem without anything resembling character or plot. All of it adds up to nothing more than a video game come to life. I realize that Tarantino never promised us anything else, but that doesn't mean that I should give it a shining endorsement for honesty alone. Without the complex, time-shifting excitement of Pulp Fiction, I was left bored and indifferent by the monotonous rhythm of clanking swords and kicks to the face. There's no one to root for, no one to care about, and no one to jeer; only a depressing, slow grind.

Special Ruthless Ratings:

• Number of times I wanted the entire movie to be about Uma Thurman carving up Lucy Liu: 87
• Number of times I thought that it still wouldn't be enough to make up for Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle: 65
• Number of times I regretted buying a ticket when I realized I would now be obligated to see Vol. 2: 44
• Number of times I wondered when, if ever, The Matrix and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon will stop influencing fight scenes: 112 [Ed Note: Never. We checked.]
• Number of minutes that would be saved per film if people kicked each other's asses in regular speed: 7
• Number of times I wondered if 95 minutes was supposed to feel like 130: 4