He said he was the devil, and that he was here to do some...devil shit, I don’t know.

friendship is what keeps the world turning 

Tarantino’s least audience-friendly film, so go figure it’s absolutely entrancing to me. Obviously, it’s impossible to watch this movie without feeling its sheer length, but at the same time, I didn’t mind at all. I think this film has a wounded side to it, one Tarantino has only really recently let us see glimmers of in The Hateful Eight, but here, he rips the stitches open. It’s basically a portrait of three men dealing with aging, one wounded (Tarantino), one beginning to feel it deeply (DiCaprio/Dalton), and one soaring over it through sheer will (Pitt/Booth). Each one of them is clearly a fun-time party kind of guy, but the party is starting to get a little quieter. In mood it brings to mind Inherent Vice, in its wild, messy abandon and aching, joyous trippy dance through life at its peaks and valleys. Yes, this is more of a mood piece and memory capsule than a story of poor Sharon Tate, but she’s used in such a restrained, lighter-than-air manner. She’s the sunshine of this movie, and when THE night comes, the film becomes borderline transcendent in its glorious hatred for some of history’s biggest losers. I’m probably going to see this the absolute soonest I can again. 

also quentin buddy i get it you like feet holy shit bruh 

You’re a good friend, Cliff.