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I’ll start by saying that I was fully prepared to hate it. I’d read enough bad reviews about ‘Once upon a time in Hollywood’ to have preconditioned my mind to not like the movie. However, I was on a long haul flight and the film offerings were nothing worth getting excited over. This one piqued my curiosity and I started to watch it.

I am not new to Quentin Tarantino’s films. Just out of teens, I’d watched ‘Natural Born Killers’ with my friend and been riveted as well as disturbed by the violence in the movie. ‘Pulp Fiction’ though, just blew my mind, it was that good! ‘Kill Bill’ I watched on television when there was nothing else to watch, and despite myself, got sucked into the story. The point is, I am not unfamiliar with his oeuvre. Accusations of misogyny and gratuitous violence aside, there is no doubt that Tarantino has earned his stripes as a maverick filmmaker.

So, what about the people who’d said to me that this movie was one long yawn-fest? Without discounting their opinions, I tried watching it with a completely open mind and I was not disappointed.

A bit of background for those who do not know what this movie is about: In 1969, the horrific, brutal and senseless murders of Sharon Tate and her friends rocked the Hollywood community. Committed by Charles Manson’s ‘family’ members, a cult that believed so implicitly in their leader’s vision that they were ready to kill for him, it shook Hollywood to its core. Particularly as Sharon Tate, Roman Polanski’s wife had been eight and a half months pregnant, and despite begging for the life of her unborn baby, been stabbed fatally with her blood being used to write ‘pig’ on the front door.

In Tarantino’s retelling, he’s kept to most of the truth, combining the fictional lives of his protagonists played by Leonardo di Caprio and Brad Pitt, with the very real lives of Tate and co. In splicing real film footage from Tate’s career, he once again bucks the trend of recreating everything from scratch. This does not divert from the storytelling.

A washed-up actor and his stunt double are best buddies, having been through thick and thin together. Rick Dalton’s career is on the wane, and despite having bought property in Hollywood Hills, and being a neighbour to the hot new director Roman Polanski and his beautiful actress wife, Sharon Tate, Di Caprio’s Dalton is well aware that his glory days are behind him. In his downward slide is his pal and Man Friday, Cliff Booth, played by Pitt. Their career trajectory is also an examination of the rise and fall of the genre of the Westerns, and the lure of the terrible Spaghetti Westerns that flooded Hollywood in the ’60s.

Tarantino’s homage to Hollywood is heavy-handed and ham-fisted in many places, but his love for the industry shines through regardless. In this long (and sometimes rambling) tale, he examines the disparate states of human behaviour. There is Dalton’s self-awareness that his time is nearly up, there is Tate’s excitement in her rising star, there is the grime and the grunge of Manson’s cult and the shadowy side to their encampment, there is the muted loyalty of Pitt’s Booth and there are also many many digs at film stars past.

Can this retelling be taken as gospel? Of course not! Fiction is fiction after all, even if its basis may be fact.

Yes, Tarantino’s women are imperfect (cue: they snore!), nearly everyone uses profanity, Tate is portrayed as a vacuous, sweet blonde, his men are unlikely heroes and the violence when it arrives, is vicious, merciless and savage. These are all classic Tarantino tropes, and for a first-timer, they can be pretty shocking.

But look beyond that and you will see that what he is really trying to do, is change the course of history. In circumventing what really happened, by placing his protagonists as the obstacles to the murders, he is reimagining a more innocent world where evil was taken down before it could destroy beauty, innocence and life.

Sure, that’s not what happened. But it could have.

In the distance between reality and Tarantino’s fiction lies his imaginary revenge, a sweet and futile attempt to alter the past.

Saw the break through Saudi-German film, Wadjda, last night. Had read much about it, and the trials of the first Saudi female director, Haifaa al-Mansour, during the making of it. From trying to find the financial backing, to getting filming permission in Saudi Arabia for the authentic locales, to having to work from the back of a van and communicate via walkie talkie with her cast and crew, so as to not be seen to publicly mingle with men in the hugely orthodox Saudi milieu, the movie is a testament to perseverance and talent.

Wadjda is a simple story of a young girls yearning for a bicycle. She is a resourceful, bright and competitive child, who refuses to be slotted by her gender or her financial incapacity. Wadjda makes mixed tapes and woven bracelets to supplement her pocket money. She acts as an intermediary for young lovers. She bargains with the shop keeper with an ease beyond her years. She is a girl, who is yet to have the fire in her extinguished.

Interspersed with the main theme are various sub themes that highlight the position of women in Saudi Arabia. There is Wadjda’s beautiful but insecure mother, whose worst nightmare of her husband taking on another wife, does come to pass. Simply because she is unable to give him a male heir. Then there is the uber strict headmistress at Wadjda’s school, whose own rebellious past has been stamped out forcefully, making her a staunch proponent of female subjugation. There are references to the religious police, to the inability of women to be seen in public in the company of men other than family members, the slow but subtle change that a few rebellious women and girls are trying to engender, through not toeing the line.

Strangely, none of it is strident or in your face. There is a warmth, a simple elegiac richness that make one identify and empathise with this diverse assortment of characters. One can’t help but champion Wadjda through her fruitless attempt to win the money for her precious bike at a Qu’ran recital or feel a certain pity for her mother’s equally fruitless attempt to hold on to a husband who is slipping away.

Ultimately, Wadjda is a gentle, uplifting and rare glimpse into a world that co exists with ours, and yet, is so very foreign. I urge as many of my readers as possible to watch this beautiful gem of a film. It is one that will stay with you for many years to come.

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