By Stuart F. Andrews

We rang in the new year with a late night, 70mm screening of The Hateful Eight at the Varsity in Toronto in, appropriately enough, theatre eight, one of the city’s biggest screens. We brought with us a box of, appropriately enough, After Eight dinner mints. This wasn’t some intentional act of useless geekery on our part but the coincidence didn’t escape my attention when my girlfriend pulled out these left over stocking stuffers for us to munch on.

In Chinese numerology, a triple eight means exceptional good luck, an omen that served us well for this particular screening.

We got to the cinema early enough to grab what I figured were the best seats in the joint and were fortunate that no-one sat in front of us. With the exception of some weirdo sitting in our row who laughed a little too enthusiastically at times (there’s nothing a misanthrope like me resents more than anyone enjoying themselves too much), the setting couldn’t have been more perfect. We crossed the New Year threshold shortly before the intermission—and yes, there’s an intermission in this 3 hour epic, along with an old-school overture.

There were more than a few highly anticipated films in 2015 (I heard vague rumours there was even a new Star Wars in theatres) but along with the latest Michael Moore, this was the flick I was looking forward to the most. I’d read the first draft that was infamously leaked to the internet and felt a little guilty about it because obviously that wasn’t how Quentin Tarantino wanted us to experience his movie. But curiosity got the better of me and I indulged despite my higher judgement. Plus, I figured it was an early enough draft that the final film would be a significantly different creature. So with the exception of some underwritten plot elements that needed a wee bit of tinkering, I immediately fell in love with the premise, the ruthless characters and the hyper-stylized dialogue and couldn’t wait to see it all unfold on the big, big screen.

Largely inspired by classic TV shows like Bonanza and The Virginian — and possibly a little too inspired by an episode of The Rebel — The Hateful Eight is a Tarantino-ized, Agatha Christie style whodunnit that’s largely sequestered to a single location: a remote cabin in the mountains known to passersby as Minnie’s Haberdashery. It’s here where an unsavoury collection of desperados, bounty hunters and cut throats converge to spend a couple of nights safe from the raging blizzard outside if not from the treacherous vipers inside.

The opening shot perfectly sets the tone—a long, slow pullback of a statue of Christ standing amidst the wintery wilds of Wyoming. (It’s interesting to note that in Christian numerology, the number 888 is also a symbol of both Christ and Redemption). But the sight of that snow-covered, forgotten Jesus as a six-horse drawn stagecoach gradually rattles into frame is a beautiful thing to behold, especially in 70 mm and especially with Ennio Morricone’s haunting and malevolent score.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhsXy-f2Q0U

It’s nothing short of mind-blowing that at 87 years old, the legendary composer is still producing such powerful work as this. He’s one of the few orchestrators Tarantino would ever trust to score one of his films and in this case, the leap of faith paid off massively because Morricone’s music perfectly describes the merciless terrain of this Western Dystopia.

As we’ve generally come to expect with a Tarantino flick, the casting is nearly flawless. Sadly, we don’t get an appearance from Christophe Waltz this time (who would’ve fit in nicely had Tarantino been compelled to write a suitable part for him) but we get plenty of other QT alumni with the likes of Kurt Russell, Sam Jackson, Bruce Dern, Zoë Bell, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth and Michael Madsen. And making her first appearance in the Tarantino universe is the fantastic Jennifer Jason Leigh, although it’s hard to believe he let her get away for so long before putting her in something.

There’s some truly exceptional, ‘hairs standing up on the back of your neck’ moments from the likes of Russell, Jackson and Leigh (who should all receive major nominations for their work here), but one of the greatest revelations is Walton Goggins. I’ve seen him pop up in a few things before but for my Mum, who’s enjoyed him in a bunch of TV shows I’ve never seen, she was more excited to see his name on the poster than anyone else involved. And rightfully so because Coggins delivers a standout performance in an ensemble comprised of almost nothing but standout performances.

As it turns out, that early draft was about 90% accurate to what ended up on the big, big screen. For the most part, Tarantino and company brought it to life accurately enough although if I had to criticize (which I’ll do just to humour the anti-Tarantino squad), I’d say the end results are a little more ponderously paced compared to how they jump off the page (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Still, it’s delightful to see such a brilliant cast as this breathe life into his words. He possesses an impeccable ear for the period-specific rhythms of the wild west and with The Hateful Eight, he’s like a kid in a candy store. Literally. Because one of the many things that Minnie’s Haberdashery is, is a candy store. Oddly enough, one of the things that Minnie’s Haberdashery isn’t, is a haberdashery. Another notable missing element from the establishment is Minnie herself along with her husband Sweet Dave. Their whereabouts becomes the subject of much heated discourse between various factions of the Hateful Eight themselves.

The plot shortcomings apparent in that early draft are evident here too as many of the major turning points are obvious, if not easily telegraphed. But this is a film that’s less worried with the tale itself and more concerned about the telling of the tale. And it’s in the telling of the tale where Tarantino generally succeeds. The Hateful Eight is no exception.

The first half is a slow-burn that builds up the paranoid tension and sordid backstories of our gallery of rogues. This section may prove laborious for cinephobiacs who don’t appreciate Tarantino’s particular style of long-winded dialogue passages. But for those who do, it’s some of the finest work of his career.

And though racial politics were a strong thematic element in that first draft, some of the obvious additions to the finished version included more ‘on the nose’ discussions about race relations in the U.S., no doubt reflecting Tarantino’s involvement with the Black Lives Matter movement.

It’s unusual for him to be so explicit with a political metaphor. Then again, it’s unusual for him to be political in any sense (at least deliberately.) This evolution seems to be indicative of a growing maturity.

The second half is a bug-fuck mental explosion of guns, guts and gore (indicative of an abiding immaturity but one I can fully appreciate). Gene Siskel would definitely not have approved of the copious amounts of the red, red kroovy that gets splashed all over poor Minnie’s once-cozy Haberdashery.

But it’s in this section where we find a possessed Jennifer Jason Leigh savagely spitting out one of the most ferocious monologues to ever appear in a Tarantino flick. And fittingly, one of the recycled cues used in the film is Ennio Morricone’s Regan’s Theme from The Exorcist II.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtlevfEi7nk
And speaking of recycled cues, there’s a particular moment that put an even bigger smile on my already excessively grinning gob. A few years back, I interviewed the late David Hess (Last House on the Left) who told me that Tarantino was a big fan of his work. The aging actor was convinced they’d end up collaborating on something down the road. I kinda rolled my eyes at the suggestion for a few obvious reasons: firstly, Tarantino is a fan of seemingly anyone who ever starred in a 70’s cult classic. And secondly, I’m sure anyone who ever starred in a 70’s cult classic has entertained hopeful fantasies about having their careers resurrected by Tarantino. So when Mr. Hess passed away, I remembered his prediction and silently and sadly reflected on how it would never come to pass.

Well, in Tarantino’s latest opus, what pops up on the soundtrack out of nowhere? None other than David Hess singing Now You’re All Alone, the bittersweet, mournful ballad from Last House on the Left. So his prediction came true after all, even if he had to come back from the grave to make it happen.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF3ImYhX_E0

It’s a weird twist of fate that’s thematically (albeit tangentially) consistent with another strange omen that appeared to me this New Year’s. After narrowly surviving another Christmas, I came home to an unwelcome intruder, a huge, bluebottle fly zipping all over the apartment, banging into every corner desperately looking for a way out. Where he came from, I have no idea. But needless to say, I wanted him gone.

After a few attempts, I finally squashed him with a roll of paper towel after which he fell behind the kitchen window sill, just out of reach. Weirdly, I felt terribly guilty about this act of unprovoked murder. I’ve never worried myself over the death of a housefly before, but this time was different. I felt genuine remorse for callously taking an innocent life. Maybe I’m getting soft with age or maybe it was the sheer size of the beast that gave me pause for thought, but either way, I regretted not trying to get rid of him in a more humane fashion.

But on New Year’s day, what do I discover flying around the living room? Another huge bluebottle. Thinking it had to be too much of a coincidence, I checked behind the kitchen window sill and sure enough, the fly I thought I’d killed wasn’t there. I’d only stunned the creature. Turns out, the fickle fingers of fate had deemed to give me an opportunity to make things right. So after a series of elaborate, painstaking maneuvers too complicated to easily explain here, I managed to trap the critter and safely release him though the living room window from where he flew out into the heavy, falling snow. Maybe I only postponed his inevitable execution at the cruel hands of the elements but at least I gave him a fighting chance.

So if any of these Triple Eight signs and weird coincidences add up to something more meaningful than wishful thinking and esoteric psychosis, this should be a year filled with good fortune, prosperity, redemption and resurrection, none of which you’ll find anywhere near Tarantino’s godforsaken ‘white hell.’

Happy New Year!

:- FDBK 2016

The Hateful Eight is now playing everywhere but if possible, try to catch the 70mm Roadshow. For more information, visit the Website, the Chonebook page or follow the movie on Twitter.