Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino’s latest film, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, has received mixed reviews both among critics and within my social group. Its detractors argue that it meanders over its two-and-a-half-hour duration, and one person I spoke to described it as “a lot about nothing”. However, having seen it at the cinema this week, I have to say I disagree. It’s different to the director’s other films, sure, but it’s got a lot going for it.

Once Upon a Time… is to Tarantino’s other movies what Better Call Saul is to Breaking Bad. It’s slower than, say, Pulp Fiction, and spends a lot more time scene-setting between action sequences (which take both physical and emotional form). This is augmented with frequent blasts of the film’s glorious 1960s soundtrack, which I’ve been listening to on Spotify in the days since the screening. The visuals are also gorgeous – particularly some of the driving scenes and the later shots that linger on Los Angeles’ neon lights.

Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) and Rick Dalton (Leonardo Di Caprio) show us their coolest stares

That said, it’s the characters that really make the movie. The dynamic between Di Caprio’s washed-up Western star and Pitt, his stuntman, is so successfully executed that you stick with them even through some of their darker moments, and I’ll be the first to admit my emotions were caught up in the drama when their relationship was put under some strain later on. And Di Caprio has some especially hard-hitting moments as his character Rick Dalton realises his career – and by extension his life – may have already passed its peak.

All the components of Once Upon a Time… add up to something greater than the sum of its parts. A film about a mopey Western actor might not sound the most engrossing, but when combined with stellar acting, beautiful cinematography, a carefree ’60s soundtrack, and a sprinkling of takes on famous faces from the era, Tarantino’s latest really makes you feel a part of its setting, and provides a near-perfect couple of hours of cinema escapism.