Death Proof ★★★★½

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Pretty close to unmitigated pleasure for me, which is odd, given the ostensible genre. Still, the way that Tarantino indulges himself both in self-referential ways (foot massages, roundtable sex talks, tasty beverages) and stylistic ones (the roughing up of the print, the surprising extreme close-ups, the emotional manipulation through soundtrack) never fails to impress, even after I've seen the film so many times that I'm eagerly anticipating all of its tricks.