As Tarantino’s filmography grew, his features turned into much larger productions in comparison to his breakout, Reservoir Dogs. Casts expanded, extravagant effects became more feasible, and he was able to bring us around the world instead of keeping us contained in one location.
With his eighth feature, Quentin Tarantino kept his beloved violent sensibilities but tempered down the extravagance on location and set pieces to create the boiling pot that is The Hateful Eight. By scaling back, it seems there was more of a push for character investment as these eight figures come to terms with each other and the desperate times they’re in while trapped from a blizzard inside Minnie’s Haberdashery. But, coming to this sort of revisionist western a second time, there’s an unfortunate superficiality to its racial politics and its character motivation that lessens its impact as a cinematic experience and also when compared to Tarantino’s other work.
The Hateful Eight opens on the wide Wyoming expanse of wilderness, snow covering the low foot trails all the way up to the peaks of the high mountains. It’s a bit more desolate than beautiful, but it acts as a form of relief for the containment yet to come. As John “The Hangman” Ruth’s (Kurt Russell) carriage comes across a stranded Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), the conflict sets in almost immediately. With John trying to secure his $10,000 bounty for the dangerously scrappy Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh), his distrust of anyone, especially another bounty hunter, is on full alert.
From there, the gang picks up a wandering Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins) and eventually finds their way to Minnie’s Haberdashery, a cabin of respite for weary travelers with a friendly, yet stern reputation. Upon that arrival, things seem a bit odd to those familiar with that reputation, mostly Major Warren.
The crew meets Bob (Demian Bichir), claiming Minnie and her husband have gone to visit Minnie’s mother in parts elsewhere. As we enter, the remainder of this cast makes themselves known with Oswalso Mobray (Tim Roth), General Smithers (Bruce Dern), and Joe Gage (Michael Madsen). From here, those tensions just keep building as anger sets in, alliances form, and blood spills (a LOT of blood).
The Hateful Eight tends to fall into a bit of a pattern once we reach the haberdashery. After an initial meeting of this full group of hateful humans, it starts to focus on specific conflict. It’s a lot of intense talking as they each aim to get a rise out of each other until one of them ends up dead. Not to say it’s dull or expected as the conflict drifts around the room, but the titular hatred these characters feel seems to become exploited for a violent shock value that undercuts any semblance of a nuanced person.
Now, this is Tarantino, so you’d expect a few startling deaths akin to poor Marvin, whose brain filled the backseat of Jules’ car in Pulp Fiction. But, when it happens over and over, you begin to lose sense of the relevant story or character motivation going on, and instead, it’s seen as a bloody spectacle to laugh and jeer at as these men (and one woman) meet many an unfortunate death.
Along with its innate devotion to brutality, it’s hard to get a sense of what Tarantino is trying to do regarding racial relations during this era. Taking place some years after the end of the Civil War, a black man such as Marquis Warren isn’t looked upon too favorably by his southern, white cohabitants. Much like previous films (albeit ones that find a slightly more responsible use for the word), Tarantino flings the n-word around here like it’s fun. It has its sting, as it did with its use within Django Unchained, but finds a more mean-spirited place here.
Then, in an effort to give Warren an upper hand on his white adversaries, he unleashes a vicious tale (that may or may not be true) recounting his experience with General Smithers’ son and the depraved physical and sexual torture he inflicted upon him before killing him. It stands as a truly “edgy” moment for the movie, making you really sit in the reaches Tarantino went with this script. Still, behind it are the words of a white man donning a black character’s ego.
On this movie’s initial release, critic Matt Zoller Seitz wrote very eloquently: “Any pretense of political commentary or historical engagement vanishes, and you’re left with a white filmmaker draping himself in a black leading man’s mystique, like a kid putting on an Iron Man costume and running around the house telling everyone he can fly.”
So, in that sense, the troubles of racial justice don’t feel as well handled or nearly as satisfying as they did in something like Django Unchained and instead feel manufactured for stakes and for audience revelry. Though, there is still a lot to sink into and appreciate with this tense experience. Most of these main eight are giving some seriously devoted performances that make this as entertaining as it is and as engaging for an almost three-hour runtime. Both Tim Roth and Michael Madsen are vastly underutilized, but Tarantino alums like Samuel L. Jackson and Kurt Russell seem like they are having so much fun sinking into these characters as much as the newer faces like Walton Goggins or Channing Tatum. The real standout here is Jennifer Jason Leigh, who holds her own deliciously against the likes of these brutish men.
Like Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino plays with certain genre conventions to create something wholly unique and blisteringly cinematic. Placing his style elements like chapters, narration, fourth wall breaks, non-linear sections, and an inherent staginess, it becomes irrevocably “Tarantino-esque” without even getting to its thematic connections. Unfortunately, it doesn’t all come together to be held in regard with his best. It’s certainly a staple amongst revisionist westerns and contained thrillers, but has me searching for a deeper resonance beneath the blood and brain-soaked floors.
