This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Joe Gola’s review published on Letterboxd:
This review may contain spoilers.
I'm starting to think I might be officially sick of Quentin Tarantino and that I should probably stop going to see his movies. I mean, the whole rewriting history/retrospective revenge fantasy thing was an interesting curveball in Ingluorious Basterds, but, really, dude — again? Yes, DiCaprio, Pitt, Robbie, and Qualley are fun to watch, and the evocation of the time and place is cool and stuff, but plot-wise it just rambles around without letting anyone in on what's actually the point. Okay, Rick Dalton's an actor, Cliff Booth is his stuntman, and they live next door to Roman Polansk and Sharon Tate, but so what? Are we rooting for self-pitying Rick to turn his career around? Does Cliff have any particular ambitions? Or are we just marking time until the Manson family shows up? And, I mean, of course I would fight a bear for Margot Robbie*, but did we really need all those scenes inside the movie theater? And then, finally, the horrifying violence … I had to turn away. So, yeah — no más.
(On a side note, has no one told people that you're not supposed to just fucking talk at the movie theater? Do we need to get the word out somehow? Nobody likes your imaginary reaction video, shut up.)
*Okay, probably not a wild bear, but maybe a wimpy zoo bear or something like that.