FILM REVIEW: Inglourious Basterds

UK release date: 21 August 2009
but it's already premiered at Cannes so there's plenty of time to rubbish it completely before it ever sees the light of day here
Starring: Bradley Pitts and some less famous, less good-lookin' folks

Tarantino's fetish for all things Irish has finally come full circle. At long last, he's produced the film he's been threatening to make since he first exploded onto the cinematic screen with Riverdance Dogs, Jackie O'Brown, Kilkenny Bill and Kilkenny Bill 2 - to say nothing of his original Irish classic, Pulp Fecktion.

Now, he turns his attention to the little filmed, often debated, Irish-only sport of Hurling - a sort of cross between Rollerball, croquet, lacrosse and crochet. [Ed's note: We've never actually seen hurling being played. Or even pictures of it being played. To be honest, we might have made up this sport during one of our heavier drinking sessions. Independent verification would be appreciated.]


The film follows the ups and downs of the Inglourious Basterds, Ireland's worst ever hurling team (the title refers to the tiny Irish village of Inglourious and the hilarious fact that the Irish can't spell) - these guys just can't hurl.

As Tarantino might write in one of his trademark, self-indulgent, overly wordy, full-fat, static piece of "laugh at my own jokes" movie referencing monologues: 'These guys are the Liz Hurley of Hurling. Sure, you'd fuck 'em but you wouldn't put them in a remake of Bedazzled, because the 1969 Pete and Dud original was like fucking awesome and then, they stick fucking Liz Hurley as the Devil and, like Brendan 'Lantern jaw....' and so on.

Professional cinematic dreamboat, Lothario and international child gatherer Bradley Pitts plays a former Hurling grand master who was also once a member of the IRA (Sports Violence Division). He wants a shot at redemption and realises that coaching the Inglourious Basterds may be his final shot.

Along the way, he'll have to defeat his demons, spout a lot of meaningless movie in-jokes and train this team of lacklustre losers to beat rivals such as the Waterford Wankers, the Drogheads Dickwads, the Cork Suckers (funny, funny Quentin) and the Tipperary Twats.

This being a Tarantino "sports violence" movie, we see the Basterds' victory right at the beginning and Pitts is only introduced halfway through but is constantly referenced in the way Sergio Leone used to do in his films and that.

There's also a ridiculously hip and ironic soundtrack featuring La Roux, Senor Coconut, Black Flag and Sinitta. And of course, the meaning of "So Macho" is discussed at length, a la the "Like a Virgin" bit in Riverdance Dogs, as Tarantino shifts from referential to self-referential and comes very close to disappearing up his own meta-arsehole.

And won't that be funny when it's quoted ver-fucking- batim back at you in the pub? Yes, all the Tarantino trademarks are here and no Blarney stone of cinematic cliche is left unturned.

The writer/director says that this will be the first in a trilogy of "Micksploitation" cinema, in the grand tradition of Leprechaun, Leprechaun 2 : One Wedding and Lots of Funerals and The Magical Legend of the Leprechauns (for which Colm Meaney was forced to apologise to all of Ireland under threat of losing his nationality).

Tarantino will be following Inglourious Basterds with Da Lidl People, about midget supermarket workers who start a motorcycle gang and then Limerick Licking Lesbians, his first (and pray to your own god, last) excursion into porn.

At least, that's what we think it's about. Based on the posters and stuff. Remember, we haven't actually seen it or anything.

Must-see? To be sure, to be sure (because that's what Irish people say, don't they?)
Shatner Scale: Kirk (and nothing ever gets that)

Pictures courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Some terms and conditions apply, but we can't figure them out.