From Dusk Till Dawn

From Dusk Till Dawn ★★★★

Anyone yearning for bounteous material for that film-school dissertation on Tarantino’s foot fetish? Look no further than From Dusk Till Dawn, where America’s most beloved living auteur writes himself a role that perversely celebrates the kink of podiatry for two hours.

And what a perfect fixation for the figure who reclaimed so many b-list actors and proudly elevated so many fringe b-grade genre movies, turning camp and crass action flicks and joyous trash art into highbrow pastiches of unadulterated worship.

Feet, like grind-house and Kung fu and blaxploitation flicks, subsist—unfairly or not—at the bottom of the pyramidal canon. Grounded in proletarian escapism, these genres are the detritus of the industry, just as feet are the lowbrow machinery of the body—so essential, so kinetic, and yet so downtrodden with taboo.

Thus, if anything, we can all thank Tarantino for daring to venerate appendages that were for too long trudged and trampled upon, left maligned and underfoot. We can also thank him for accepting the harsh reality that he simply sucked at acting.

Cinematic liked these reviews