Originally posted on Sept 30, '07, at

So I finally picked up the Grindhouse double feature; Tarantino's Death Proof and Rodriguez' Planet Terror. I gotta say, the wait was worth it.

Now, if you've never seen an exploitation film, you probably won't get the joke here, but everyone who has seen this stuff in late night tv (in the states, not here) or in one of those little low rent movie houses during the 80's will eat it up. The film scratches, soundtrack pops, and missing reels really add to the feel that your sitting in some rundown cinema watching a seven-cent movie. I loved the silly trailers, especially Rob Zombie's "Werewolf Women of the SS" and Eli Roth's "Thanksgiving". I loved the pus filled cannibal zombies. I loved the crazy car chase. I loved just about everything about this 3 hour opus.

First off is Planet Terror, an old fashioned zombie flick. Bruce Willis unleashes a bio-toxin upon Smalltown USA in an effort to find a cure for his men. It's up to Rose McGowan, a stripper with dreams of being a comedienne and her machine gun peg leg to save the day. Don't miss Tarantino as one of Willis' acrotomophiliac henchmen. Or Fergie on a hospital gurney with her brain pan empty. ewww...

Then after the aforementioned trailers, we move into Tarantino's Death Proof. It starts with a shot of Sydney Tamiia Poitier's feet and only gets better from there. Some reviews will tell you that the first hour of the film is all talk, and that's true. Tarantino indulges his penchant for long, uninterrupted dialogue on pop culture and movie/tv lore, but the mundane first act is what really brings home the horror of the second.

You're not likely to forget the car crash that ends the first half of the movie. The slo-mo replay as Jordan Ladd is thrown 70 feet, as Poiter's gorgeous leg is sliced off, as that annoying girl from CSI New York's face is torn off by Stuntman Mike's tire...

Let me tell you, that scene is still with you when Zoe Bell, Rosario Dawson, and Tracie Thoms kick Kurt Russels's whiny ass during the last act.

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