"Django Unchained"

I hesitated for some time before watching “Django Unchained”. As cinephiles no doubt know, every Quentin Tarantino film is heavily (and lovingly) influenced by a specific film genre. In this case, it is the spaghetti western, more specifically the films of Sergio Corbucci, none of which I have seen. Thus, I feared I would not be able to give a proper review to the film due to my ignorance of its roots. I would be unable to compare the film to those it was inspired by, and see how Tarantino understood the way they worked and adapted them to his own style.

I soon realized the futility of such considerations. I had never seen – and still have never seen – a single Bruce Lee film or martial arts film before I watched the “Kill Bill” duology, and it did not stop me from enjoying both films immensely because they stood on their own two legs. If film references and tributes were all that there was to “Django Unchained”, it would be a very shallow film indeed. Fortunately, that is not the case. “Django Unchained” draws heavily from Spaghetti westerns and Blaxploitation films but it is neither one nor the other. It is too self-consciously witty and dialogue-heavy to be a spaghetti western (in my experience, dialogue in such films is only used when absolutely necessary) and it is too driven by a white co-protagonist to be a true Blaxploitation film.

The latter point leads me to one of the film’s greatest strengths as well as one of its more problematic elements: The character of Dr. King Schultz, the polite, well-spoken German bounty hunter played so perfectly by Christoph Waltz. In one of the many comparisons I will be drawing to Tarantino’s previous film “Inglourious Basterds”, one could say King Schultz is almost a polar opposite of Colonel Hans Landa, Waltz’s character from that film. Landa, like Schultz, possessed great charm, wit, intelligence and predatorial instincts. But he worked for an evil racist and genocidal force, only turning on it when it benefited him. He was an opportunist who used his detective skills to find and kill Jews.

Schultz has many things in common with Landa, aside from his actor: He’s also skilled at finding and killing people; he’s charming, charismatic and polite; and has a talent for taking control of seemingly every possible situation. But he also shares an important trait with another “Inglourious Basterds” character, Aldo Raine: A sense of justice that compels him to help the Other. In Raine’s case, it was helping Jews killing Nazis. In Schultz’s case, it’s freeing black slaves and killing criminals, most of whom are either racists or work in the slave business.

 

It is this aspect that makes Schultz’s character morally admirable, yet it also brings in a potentially problematic element in the film: For about half of the film, it is Schultz who is the main driving force of the film. Django is a stoic, quiet man who spends that same half of the film following Schultz. He does as he says. He only mildly questions him. He does not argue with him. He does not display a particularly strong personality, and tells very little about how he feels or what he thinks. He is the quiet partner who counterbalances Schultz’s more extroverted persona.

This led me to wondering: Is Schultz really so different from the slavers he kills? Is he not using Django as much as they were, minus the physical and verbal abuse? Certainly, he treats him as an equal and seems genuinely concerned about his wife Broomhilda and her fate. But his use of Django as an accomplice in his killings with the promise of eventually rescuing Broomhilda, as well as Django’s silent acceptance of that, does raise ethical questions of that order that could have been explored a bit further, yet they are not.

Racial matters aside, Schultz and Django’s relationship is fundamentally no different than the classical mentor-hero relationship:

-          The older, more experienced mentor teaches the inexperienced young hero – who is at that time a blank slate – how the world works, how to use weapons, how to use trickery, etc.

-          The hero gradually improves and picks up on the mentor’s ways. In Django’s case, he notices how amused and impressed the evil plantation owner is and thus frequently provokes his men, temporarily alarming Schultz until the reasoning behind his behaviour is explained.

-          The mentor dies after accomplishing half the job, leaving the hero to finish it using what he has learned from him.

This classical narrative does justify Schultz’s prominence in the first half of the film, yet at times, I could not help wondering if this was not an unintentional example of the “white saviour” trope. It is the gradual way Django gets to have his say – such as the aforementioned example of him apparently disrupting Schultz’s plan – that saves him from being too passive and makes him more than a mere obedient follower. It makes his application of Schultz’s methods to gain his freedom back, avenge his mentor and rescue his wife in the final half-hour, all the more satisfying.

Regardless, it is Schultz’s importance in the film that prevents it from really being a Blaxploitation film, but I do believe that was Tarantino’s intention. It is no coincidence that Broomhilda’s full name, Broomhilda Von Shaft (her first owners were German), is supposed to mark her as an ancestor of black cinematic hero John Shaft. Although widely thought of as a Blaxploitation hero, John Shaft was written by a white man and more politically astute than the subversive borderline anti-white mentality that permeated many Blaxploitation films. In “Shaft”, the titular hero was an egalitarian, reluctant to snitch on “brothers” to white police officers but willing to do so for the good of the general community, casually dismissing black radicals’ “uncle tom” charges. The film even has a scene set in a bar tended by an openly gay friend, who casually pats Shaft on the backside without any discomfort or repulsion on the latter’s part. In that same scene, Shaft replaces his friend as bartender and pretends to be gay in order to lure a gay mobster in a false sense of security. Keep in mind this film came out in 1970, a time when being openly gay was arguably as difficult as being black. Bottom line, Shaft was a progressive man, ahead of his time. King Schultz, in that respect, is his equivalent: An unusually enlightened man hailing from what was, until the 1930s, one of the most progressive countries in the world.

 

After killing three of Django’s old slave-handlers and a few other criminals (including one in front of his young son, from a distance, much to Django’s displeasure), Schultz finally takes Django to Mississippi and formulates an overthought, unnecessarily complex plan to free Broomhilda from the clutches of depraved plantation owner Calvin J. Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio, in a performance I’ll be commenting on later). They impress him enough for him to invite them to his estate. It is there we meet the film’s most fascinating and most important character, Stephen.

Played by Samuel L. Jackson in what is easily his best performance since “Pulp Fiction”, Stephen initially looks, sounds and acts like a grotesque “uncle Tom” caricature as played by Stepin Fetchit: Speaking a barely-articulate pidgin English, stooping on a cane and sporting a permanent scowl, Stephen initially appears to be a slave with Stockholm Syndrome, constantly licking his master’s boots and obsequiously repeating every last word he says. So devout is he to the slavery system and to the subjugation of his own people that the sight of Django – a black man riding a horse – causes him even more anger and disbelief than his white masters.

Yet before we even get to this point, the very first image introducing Stephen belies what follows and reveals his true nature: He is shown meticulously signing checks in Candie’s name, forging his signature with great care. So spectacular is the following “uncle Tom” act that we forget this crucial introduction and what it says about Stephen. It becomes more clear as soon as he spots Django and Broomhilda’s obvious attraction and informs his master of Django and Schultz’s true intentions. In the latter scene, he discards his cane, speaks more articulately and eloquently, and scolds his master like a father would an inattentive son.

At that moment Stephen’s true nature becomes more evident, as does the real reason for his animosity towards Django: Far from the obedient, happy house slave he pretends to be, it is he, Stephen, who truly runs Candieland while Candie is off having fun torturing slaves and entertaining guests. Having lived his entire life as a slave, he has learned how to turn his position of inferiority to his advantage, using it to dominate and terrorize other slaves and act as his beloved master’s confidante. As far as Stephen knows, he has earned his position of power and influence, and the system works to make him “the one in ten thousand”. To see another black man, a free man, step into his kingdom and disturb the order he has worked so hard to build and preserve, represents a grave threat that must be eliminated.

It is Stephen who provides the film with the moral complexity it somewhat lacked until then, the complexity that made “Inglourious Basterds” and “Pulp Fiction” so rich. Yet it does not quite suffice to make “Django Unchained” profound. Along with the “Kill Bill” duology, this is the Tarantino film in which bloody violence is at its most aesthetized. In most of his films, such violence is used to shock the audience into laughter (“Pulp Fiction”, “Inglourious Basterds”) or for grim dramatic effect (“Reservoir Dogs”). Some of the latter is present in “Django Unchained” (especially when showing the treatment of slaves) but most of it, such as the final shootout, is directed towards villains whom we are encouraged to think of as deserving the treatment, even as they scream in horrendous pain. This is not in and of itself a bad thing, as the overall film is really meant to be an entertaining spaghetti-western homage. Yet, after “Inglourious Basterds”, in which both sides displayed violence that humanized both victim and aggressor, it feels like something of a step back.

Another step back is the role of women in Tarantino’s films. Tarantino’s women are known for being intelligent, strong-minded and complex avengers (the exception to the latter trait being Mia Wallace, who is still an interesting and layered character in her own right). Here, the only prominent female character is Broomhilda and she exists purely as a damsel in distress. All that Kerry Washington is given to do is scream, cry and look scared. She displays little depth other than informed escape attempts, an ability to speak German and nicknaming Django her “big troublemaker”. She plays absolutely no part in her own escape, and even makes things worse by making her knowledge of Django visible to Stephen.

I know I have been focusing a lot on the film’s flaws and the overall impression must appear mixed at this time, but I hasten to point out that I did enjoy the film. Before we arrive at Candieland, “Django Unchained” is at its best when it plays as a barbed attack on 19^th century racism by 21^st century values represented by King Schultz. One of the film’s best and funniest scenes involves a ragtag group of proto-Ku Klux Klan – one of them played by Jonah Hill – preparing to attack Schultz and Django but arguing about how the bags block their eyesight. It’s the kind of scene that showcases Tarantino’s knack for making extremely funny and lively dialogue out of small, seemingly unimportant details. Visually, it appears the dreaded yellow/orange color grading popularized by the Coen Brothers’ “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” has contaminated Quentin Tarantino too, though his use of it is mercifully sparing, mostly justified (artificially lit scenes that, in-universe, are supposed to be lit only by candles or torches) and not distracting.

 

But as a director, I feel Quentin Tarantino’s single greatest strength is getting outstanding performances out of his actors. As King Schultz, Oscar-winner Christoph Waltz is even better than he was as Colonel Landa: As he is on the side of good, the viewer is put in a more comfortable situation and his affability and showmanship are more sincere. They are used to glorify him and make him look cool, yes, but they also work against him and allow him to unintentionally expose his constant need to be in control and put on a show as a weakness as much as a strength. Waltz is thus allowed to explore a wider, subtler range of emotions, and come across as more of a human being than a pure force of power and entertainment.

Jamie Foxx, one of today’s most charismatic actors, is stoic and quiet, his eyes attentively observing each situation, building up his knowledge until the time is right to start “unchaining” himself from his sidekick role. It’s this subtle little detail Foxx provides that keeps the viewer interested in what could have been a dull, one-note character.

But the film’s biggest acting triumph comes from Leonardo DiCaprio as Calvin J. Candie. Quentin Tarantino’s most prominent feature as a filmmaker is taking known entities – like film genres, tropes and pop culture elements – and examining them under a new light, revealing previously unseen aspects of them to his audience. It is something he is also skilled at doing with actors. He did it with John Travolta in “Pulp Fiction” – presenting a cool, likeable leading man and revealing him to be an awkward, clumsy whiner – and with Kurt Russell in “Grindhouse Presents: Death Proof” – casting the tough-as-nails anti-hero of the 1980s as a creepy serial killer who screams like a little girl when his would-be-victims fight back.

Here, he provides the great Leonardo DiCaprio with a chance to show a manic, scary side of him we’ve been getting hints at in films such as “The Departed” and “The Aviator” but never have seen in broad daylight until now. His Calvin J. Candie is like a dark caricature of Tarantino as seen by the media: An egotistical overgrown hyperactive adolescent who is as entertained by deadly violence as other men are by boxing matches, and loves making a constant show of himself as much as Schultz. DiCaprio, always an extremely dedicated actor, slips into the part with such ease that I even forgot he was playing against type at all. You’d never expect to see him play such a part, and yet it clicks naturally.

“Django Unchained” is a very entertaining adventure that earns most of its successes through its lively characters, even if the screenplay doesn’t put as much meticulous attention towards their development as “Inglourious Basterds” did. Even as I enjoyed it, I could not help but worrying that Tarantino might be paradoxically growing less mature as he gets older. I hope to come out of his next feature with the knowledge that his experiences as both a filmmaker and a cinephile have taught him more than just how to entertain. “Inglourious Basterds” gave that impression. For his next film, I hope to have the confirmation.