Kill Bill: Volume 1 review

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A black screen, choked breaths panting from the speakers. Fade in to a close-up of Uma Thurman's bloodied face, eyes rolling in terror as her tormentor wipes blood from his knuckles. The name Bill is stitched on his handkerchief. ""Do you find me sadistic?"" he asks. ""This is me at my most masochistic"." Bill points a gun at his victim, who we now see is lying on the floor in a bridal gown, obviously pregnant. ""It's your bab-"" she begins, Bill stopping her dead with a bullet to the brain. Cue titles.

Welcome to the fourth film by Quentin Tarantino, a revenge drama that primarily riffs on Yakuza and Samurai flicks, but also finds time to work in spaghetti Westerns, Japanese animé and Italian giallo. It is, in the motormouth helmer's own words, an ode to exploitation cinema, a grindhouse epic. It's also quite brilliant.

Tarantino's back with a ballistic bang, taking 'lowly' exploitation cinema to vertiginous heights. So good it deserves mention in the same breath as Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.

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