Movie Review: GRINDHOUSE

By Omar Mazariego

A few days ago I was speaking with my man Khalid about Grindhouse. He asked me the premise of the movie and I explained the plots for Planet Terror and Death Proof. He shrugged as he always does when he can care less about the information he’s given and said “It’s a Quentin Tarantino movie, right?” That said, I knew that was $10 that was going to stay in Kha’s pockets. See, Kha’s whole thing is he doesn’t like movies that defy the laws of physics unless it’s a movie like The Ring or Sin City. The whole “Shorty with a machine gun for a leg” thing didn’t sit too well with Kha’s take on realism. That’s my brotha though, and I respect the square he stands on.

My take on realism is that 95 percent of it is fake. Smoke and mirrors. A masquerade. Humma stuntin’. Frontiando. Snake oil if you will. So when it comes to the magical world of cinema, I have no problem believing that a shorty can have a machine gun for a leg (Really, most body parts on a woman can be considered a deadly weapon anyways) Especially if that shorty is Rose “The Home Wrecker” McGowan.

By now everyone should know that Grindhouse pays homage to the 70’s style of cinema. A double feature jumpoff that is compiled of grainy cinematography, missing movie reels, deliciously bad dialogue (good bad, not Michael Jackson bad) a horde of beautiful and sexy women and over exaggerated blood and guts scenes. What more can a moviegoer ask for? What you want? Content? Go watch Casablanca, girly man! Grindhouse is for us dudes that never got a manicure!
Grindhouse really took it back with the fake movie trailers with the cliché story lines in which the narrator would say “They f*cked with the wrong Mexican!” in “Machete” or a scene which showed a cheerleader on a trampoline land on a knife with her um, private part. Oddly enough that trailer was for “Thanksgiving”. That movie would so be a winner if it was really made.

Now for the feature presentations: Planet Terror. What do you do when you’re stuck in a small town that’s infested with flesh eating zombies that like to pop their puss pimples on you? I don’t know, but Fergie surely didn’t have an answer either. Those zombies found out just how Fregalicious her boobs really were. This feature starred Home Wrecker McGowan as Cherry. A stripper who sheds tears whenever she realizes that the only way she’ll get any work in the movie business is by doing the wild monkey dance with directors and producers. Co-starring is Freddy Rodriguez as Wray, a legendary gunslinger or something (film reel was missing) who’s in love with Palomita (Home Wrecker’s nickname) and who can handle a butterfly knife and jump off of walls like nobody’s business (Must be a Mexican trait nowadays. “I want to live in Amerrica!”) The blood, gore, action and genius script made this one of the most well-made horror flicks since Demons. And really, watching Freddy do his thing with Rose using a wooden chair leg for a leg was priceless.

After that jumpoff and a few more fake movie trailers it was time for the second feature, Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof. In the spirit of resurrecting careers of past pop culture icons in his feature films (John Travolta in Pulp Fiction; Pam Grier in Jackie Brown; David Carradine in Kill Bill – well, that didn’t really resurrect anything, but you get my drift) Quentin cast Kurt Russell to star as Stuntman Mike in the high-octane thriller. When the hot to death radio DJ Jungle Julia (Sydney Poitier) and her crew of refeer addict homegirls go out for a night on the town the last thing they expect is to have a run in (literally) with Snake Plissken himself! After Julia, her crew, and even Homewrecker McGowan (she was in this joint too with more tears) find out just how death proof Mike’s car is, Mike is already scheming on his next crew of girls to torture which consisted of stars Rosario Dawson, Tracie Thoms, Elizabeth Winstead and stuntwoman Zoe Bell. Thing is, these aren’t the Facts of Life girls. They’re more like the girls from the Prison Heat movies. Needless to say, he felt their wrath like Don Imus is about to feel from his “nappy-headed” nuisances in this muthaf–a. (I hope the Rutgers girls jump his ass in that closed door meeting.)

Man, when it’s all said and done, this movie is 5 Hardcore Gangstas!

The movie had it all. Action, comedy, sexy women, blood, gore, nudity, sarcasm and more importantly, a dude rocking a shirt with a nametag that said “Omar” on it in Death Proof. (Quentin, holla at me, man!! Let’s get this paper!) the movie was a modern day classic. Straight up and down. The hood can’t be wrong, man. Even my man Matt Barone wanted me to give it 10 Gangstas, and he’s a tough cookie when it comes to movies. But maybe I’m bugging. Most “seasoned” critics slammed this movie based on the lack of content, dialogue or whatever the hell else they felt it was missing. Come on! Do we go to the movies to get entertained or to find meaning in our lives? If you’re looking for the latter of the two then take your ass to a Broadway show and shut your mouth you metrosexuals. This joint is hands down the best jumpoff flick of the last two years. And it helped me remember a couple of things.

1. Rose McGowan can get it with a wooden leg, machine gun leg, however and wherever.

2. I still can’t stand Rosario Dawson (Sorry, Kha). Looks like a dude with that wig piece.

3. Robert Rodriguez stole my idea. I used to really carry around a jar with my enemies testicles in them. Then I realized that people considered that more gay than threatening. Hence, I stopped my collection at 13 (one of my ex-rivals had three nuts)

And 4. It’s good to see there’s still some directors out there that could care less about an Oscar and embrace an MTV award just as easily. And for that I salute filmmakers such as Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino. Y’all got the Ghetto Pass for life!