Shot entirely in crisp black and white, El Conde is an aesthetically gorgeous film; a mallet to the face has never looked so eloquent! But other than the cinematography, the film does not soar in the way it could, and at times, limps along mediocrely. The government, the Church, and the dying man’s financial heirs are painted—like in every other film, as the blood-sucking leeches they often are. The first half suffers from a slow pace and is devoted mainly…
Despite reaching the age of majority in the nineties, I was today days old when I first saw True Romance. Some stellar acting performances* give rise to uniquely endearing characters, and I can see its general appeal. Still, it’s challenging to get past some of the characteristically Tarantino bigotry-for-shock-value problems. (This is more than just characterization and is highly problematic; I'll save that essay for another day.) The dick jokes are lame. And I also could think of a hundred romantic overtures that are truly more romantic than some of this twisted romanticization.
*Brad Pitt seems to excel at playing a ditz.