“That was quite a piece of cinema,” said one random moviegoer to another as the audience let out of a matinee showing of Grindhouse. And you know: that was exactly right. More than any other release I can think of, this Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino double-feature is more than just a movie. It’s an event, a filmic experience that’s meant to never let you forget that you’re sitting in a theater watching a “piece of cinema,” and mainly—for these writer/directors—it’s a supreme exercise in filmmaking.


Grindhouse is a retro ’60s-’70s B-movie exploitation

For the uninitiated, Grindhouse is a retro ’60s-’70s B-movie exploitation project, with Rodriguez’s zombie flick, Planet Terror, running first, bookended by in-similar-vein-by-similar-directors fake “prevues of coming attractions,” and followed by Tarantino’s thriller/car chase movie, Death Proof.


Robert Rodriguez

As stand-alone movies, both features are generally entertaining, but Rodriguez’s half fits the bill better. The cheesy uninfecteds-versus-zombies plot, purposely cookie-cutter characters, groan-inducing one-liners, and requisite “love story” all serve to give the viewer exactly what was promised: glorious, emulated camp. And best of all, it’s done with all the over-the-top gore, tongue-in-cheek humor, and guns-where-they-don’t-belong-ishness that true film geeks would expect from Rodriguez.


Death Proof  feels like Tarantino—from its foot fetishism, to its pop culture banter

Death Proof also feels like Tarantino—from its foot fetishism, to its pop culture banter; its long, one-shot takes, to its genius use of music—but (I hate to say it, because I’m a fan) to a fault. What you end up with, despite the great dialogue and good performances, despite the unique idea and cool stunts, isn’t an entertaining, purposely-bad update of an old genre—like Rodriguez pulls off—but something that just feels like a sub-par Tarantino film. It’s almost as if the director took on the trappings of the Grindhouse conceit, but couldn’t actually break away from his own stylings enough to save the movie from being needlessly talky, unevenly paced, and poorly ended.


Quentin Tarantino

But because of the Grindhouse conceit—because it’s a “piece of cinema”—it’s this kind of dissection that Rodriguez and Tarantino have invited. You aren’t meant to live inside the movies, or take the stories seriously. You’re meant to experience them and react to them as the sort-of time-capsule homages they are. And so when it comes to thinking about the cultural significance or thematic elements of the films, you must do that from the “outside” as well.


We’re invited to consider the merits of the filmmaking itself.

In other words, to focus on the redemptive qualities of the stories themselves—the salvific characters of Planet Terror, the anti-misogynistic justice of Death Proof—is to miss the point. We’re invited instead to consider the merits of the filmmaking itself. We’re invited to determine whether the directors have met their goals. And, most interestingly, I find that Grindhouse mainly makes me think about film geeks in general, and about the kind of pop culture cult of personality that has risen around these directors specifically.

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