Probably Tarantino’s smoothest and most affectionate filmmaking style, almost as if he didn’t make it for anyone but himself.
Tarantino’s idea of novelization is getting its feet on, firm and deep, no matter how familiar and even outdated the arena might feel like. This, often considered as derivative, formula coming from his very own project Reservoir Dogs, breathes this time a heavy western warm air in this cold land and among cold characters. But the entire quickness of the western genre is melted down to racial slurs when the writer-director Quentin Tarantino decides to slowly kill you off with a poisonous theme. His methods are tricky and even deliberately deceiving, thinning the crowd, he wishes to give the time of their lives for the viewers of his own taste.
And filmed in two 65 mm Ultra Panavision, the viewers are tamed to absorb the presence of the screen much more than the assumption skills. As in the film is not thought provoking, it doesn’t mean that the film isn’t smart, it’s just that it is shot with an intention of reading the lines, the screen with a warm tea on a rainy morning; ergo it feels like a book. And boy, is it a page turner! From chapter after chapter, Tarantino is giving you exactly what you are looking for with a predictable outcome, playing not a safe ground but a going-out-of-its-way rule.
Tarantino has matured the most as a director, speaking most of the story visually, he is probably underrated for this project of his, on not being layered enough. But if you see his characterization and mythical rumorization of the props you’ll feel like that element growing into a character, smooth and nice. For instance, if a film covers a flashback scene, and we are returning to the first shot of the film, Tarantino gives us a different angle, signifying the other side of the storyline that we are about to focus; not The Hateful Eight but the unsung one.