Movie Review: Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

4.5 stars out of 5

I feel like I’m in an unhealthy long-term relationship with Quentin Tarantino. We got off to an excellent start, but now he disappoints me time and again, and yet always manages to lure me back. Every now and then, he surprises me with a delightful bed-and-breakfast long weekend (um, wait, I think I’m taking this analogy too far) that makes me forget all the bad times. Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood is that Poconos getaway. Which is to say, I freaking loved it.

There was a two-second scene in the trailer, of DiCaprio dancing with 60s ladies on a TV soundstage, that absolutely cracked me up and got me very excited to see this film. That exact moment isn’t even in the movie — oh you’re a cheeky monkey, Quentin! I settled in at my local cineplex and there was a couple behind me gabbing throughout the coming attractions. I gave them the benefit of the doubt that they would observe “silencio” when the actual movie started but they kept chattering away like a pair of goddamn mynah birds. I stood up, grumbled, and moved several rows ahead to bathe in the glorious light of the big screen. (Pro tip: It’s bigger when you’re closer.)

I’ve written two recent reviews in which I referred to the movies as “love letters” to [insert topic here] but I have to go for the threepeat: This is a love letter to Hollywood and the good old days of TV and moviemaking. It’s 1969 with fading actor Leonardo DiCaprio and his personal stuntman buddy Brad Pitt. Hell, I’d watch that show! The sun is always shining and it’s another fabulous day in the greater Los Angeles area. Tarantino walks us through spot-on homages to old shows and flicks and sets, peppering the soundtrack with vintage commercial sound bites. Also in here is an extended salute to spaghetti westerns (see title).

Brad Pitt is looking a bit weathered and it suits him nicely. Very Redford. His character lazily smiles his way through life, perhaps with a skeleton in the closet but who cares because he’s damn handsome. DiCaprio as Rick Dalton works even harder — coughing, sulking, stuttering, sputtering, being an upper-case STAR when he needs to — it’s a terrific performance. Margot Robbie is perfection as Sharon Tate (oh did I forget to mention the Manson family is in this) — sexy, carefree, confident. The film is loaded with great mini portrayals: Al Pacino! Bruce Dern, Kurt Russell, Tim Olyphant, Margaret Qualley (who was fab as the daughter on The Leftovers), Mr. Blonde, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Willis’s daughter, even Lena freakin’ Dunham does an awesome job. Until later, I forgot Luke Perry was in this — he is unrecognizable and it’s a wonderful send-off.

A big concept here is the passing of the old guard, represented by Leo and Brad, to the new world, as played here by the burn-it-all-down Manson family. But you can bet your bippy our cagey vets won’t go down without a fight.

I sat there for 2 hours, 40 minutes with a huge smile on my face, and likely would’ve felt the same if it was twice as long. It’s a kinder, gentler Tarantino until it isn’t, and I frickin’ loved that aspect too. This is his best movie since Inglourious Basterds and perhaps his best ever. All is forgiven, Quentin; bring on the Untitled Star Trek Project!