Once Upon a Time in Hollywood review – strange and touching tribute to the movies

The ninth film by Quentin Tarantino is at once a slow and sun-drenched drama set in the dying days of Hollywood’s Golden Age and a meditation on cinema’s power to change the world – both literally and figuratively. It’s also perhaps the filmmaker’s strangest work to date, content to exist as a hodgepodge of loose, interlinking scenes shaped around a TV actor (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his sort-of stuntman partner (Brad Pitt) as they bash heads with the Manson clan in the days leading up to the infamous 1969 murders. Dialling down much of the Tarantino excess in favour of a more restrained tale, it is equally brilliant and frustrating, a meticulously-designed yet meandering film that seems to reveal more the longer you spend thinking about it.

Many of the familiar Tarantino elements are here, of course: the countless references to obscure movies, the memorable soundtrack cues, a narrative that jumps back and forth through time at the director’s whim. And yet there is something off – something not quite right – about this La La Land-set drama, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a film made more interesting in its willingness to simply languish in a particular time and place, a dreamily-realised and infinitely detailed 60s California, with no obvious intention – at least not one that is apparent right away. Once you succumb to its unique groove, though, it’s an intoxicating experience, existing amongst the billboards, the neon signs, and the studio backlots for the sum of two and a half leisurely hours.

In true Tarantino vein, this is of course a movie about movies, but – as we follow two loveable losers navigating a Hollywood on the verge of massive change – there is a deep melancholy here mostly absent from the director’s other films. Rick Dalton is a failing TV actor who must decide whether to decamp to Italy for a career in spaghetti westerns he doesn’t want. Cliff Booth is Rick’s best friend and stuntman who also acts as his driver and errand boy; he may or may not have committed a terrible crime, which has resulted in a near-blacklisting from the industry. Right away we realise these two desperately need each another.

Positioned somewhere between the quasi-history of Inglourious Basterds and the extended vignettes that make up his most iconic film, Pulp Fiction, Hollywood is a heavenly place for lovers of pop culture: almost half of the movie consists of fake films, fake TV shows, and fake promos (our heroes often cross paths with real stars of the era, as played by real stars of today). And yet the absence of other, Tarantino-specific trademarks changes the game somewhat. Gone are the long, memorable speeches and ambling conversations, the tight pacing, the sense that Tarantino is one step ahead of you. At times, as gags fall flat and scenes outstay their welcome, it actually feels like another filmmaker might be imitating the master. Hollywood even seems fundamentally less… well, clever… than previous Tarantino efforts, in both its intersection of multiple storylines and in its realisation of various set-ups and pay-offs.

Shot on 35mm by Robert Richardson in colours as though to evoke one glorious, perpetual sunset, our heroes spend much of the runtime in search of meaning – and so does the film. At its core Hollywood is a hangout movie, a new addition to a sub-genre that dates as far back as western Rio Bravo, and one that Tarantino has long expressed an affinity for; the result is part Dazed and Confused, part American Graffiti, with more than a hint of Robert Altman. Much of the film centres on characters getting from A to B, music blaring from their car radios. And later we watch the same characters, in their homes, at movie theatres, glued to various screens.

Where the film really thrives is in its performances. DiCaprio manages to make a childish and pathetic actor at the end of his rope into a lead we genuinely care about. Pitt, giving his best performance in ages, rides a wave of non-stop charisma without ever breaking a sweat (and that includes a showdown with Bruce Lee). And whilst it’s great to spend time with an array of other characters, played here by a whole host of Tarantino regulars (Bruce Dern, Kurt Russell) and some welcomed newcomers (Al Pacino, Dakota Fanning), it’s the bromance between these broken pals that resonates, giving Hollywood a love story to rival the one shared between Pam Grier and Robert Forster in another low-key Tarantino effort, Jackie Brown.

Like Jackie Brown, Hollywood has the air of a more mature work, favouring a quieter, more human story of failure and friendship. That is until the last twenty minutes, of course – though the less said about Hollywood‘s gasp-inducing climax the better. Ultimately, it’s the smaller moments that stick: Margot Robbie as actress Sharon Tate, watching herself on-screen in a movie theatre, gleefully grinning at the audience’s positive reaction; Rick and Clint watching Rick in a TV bit-part over a six pack, as Cliff – ever the supportive friend – makes encouraging comments about his buddy’s performance.

On a thematic level, Hollywood is evasive, as though cobbled together from numerous concepts and ideas that don’t always gel. And yet amongst the scenes of irksome hippies and egotistical movie stars, this unashamed tribute to the business of dreams feels like a fantasy about the healing power of cinema. Some might argue that as Tarantino’s slowest and most meandering work it is also his most indulgent, lacking the usual kineticism that make his movies so entertaining and rewatchable. But there’s something deeper moving beneath the surface here, in that Hollywood shows us a filmmaker coming to terms with an entire life spent at the mercy of celluloid. Viewed as a love letter, as an ode to the intersection of life and cinema, it begins to feel less like an empty exercise and more of a personal lament. Flawed and great in equal measure (like cinema itself?), there is a sense of a director finally coming full circle with Once Upon a Time in Hollywood – a notion hinted at by the dreamy promise of its title. In a way, it would be the perfect movie for Tarantino to bow out on.