Film Road to Halloween: Death Proof (2007)

The road to Halloween is paved with good films. Wherein we countdown to the spirited season with a hundred doses of horror. 64 days to go.

Although he’ll never be compared to, say, John Carpenter or George A. Romero, the ubiquitous Quentin Tarantino sure knows how to get under your skin and build tension. I’m referring to the ambiance of some of his darker directorial moments – though many feel the same about the man himself. The ear-slicing, the rape of a crime boss, the animated flashback, the introduction of the Jew Hunter, the poisoned coffee – are all pure horror.

There’s a bittersweet behind-the-scenes element to Quentin Tarantino’s 2007 howler, Death Proof. That is, this would be the dearly departed Sally Menke’s penultimate collaboration with the crowd-splitting filmmaker. The superb film editor would die in a freak accident some three years later. That is a horror in itself. And this particular full-speed movie was edited in just four weeks.

Menke is pretty much the maestro in the driver’s seat in Death Proof. Tarantino’s quicker than the eye vision and that tatty old grindhouse feel, was immaculately delivered by Menke. A film so frenetic in its energy, the film editing simply had to be on point. Some of the deliberate shoddy cuts are just terrific in their authentic crackliness.

“A mixed bag of B-movie violence, horror, and bawdiness – and they are all somewhere here with Death Proof.”

Quentin Tarantino appears in Death Proof as a shot-instigating douchebag, often a flaw to be found in his movies is that he plonks himself in there somewhere. But Tarantino’s proven skill lies behind the camera (and the typewriter). He was also briefly thrown into Planet Terror, Robert Rodriguez’s part of the double-feature. Which is far more horror than Death Proof in conventional terms. It was his long-time buddy, Rodriguez, that pushed Tarantino to act as Director of Photography too for this particular nasty project.

With Death Proof, however, you’ll see Tarantino tipping his hat to all manner of back-in-the-day movie makers – Sam Peckingpah, Dario Argento, Roger Corman, Russ Meyer. A mixed bag of B-movie violence, horror, and bawdiness – and they are all somewhere here with Death Proof.

Shot in both Austin, Texas and Buellton, California, Death Proof is perhaps most renowned for the spectacular speeding car sequences. Paying homage to Bullitt or The French Connection, Tarantino wanted to produce one of the greatest car chase sequences in cinema’s history. He also, however, utilizes the hot rods to spread an unmistakable veil of action and horror through the narrative, a la White Lightning or Mad Max. Cannonball Run is literally referenced here, and the bombastic car in that final sequence is Kowalski’s white 1970 Dodge Challenger with a 440 engine from Vanishing Point.

“Talking about talking is drawn out infuriatingly – why use three words when twenty-seven will do.”

As typical as those tributes to cinema, is Tarantino’s written banter. Much like some of the dialogue in the Kill Bill films (and later in The Hateful Eight), it feels both constructed and lazy. The supposed glorious details of a make-out session or pee fantasies feels uncomfortably too much like a man writing women talking. Almost like these ladies are auditioning for a Quentin Tarantino movie. Talking about talking is drawn out infuriatingly – why use three words when twenty-seven will do. “You said ‘Jesus Christ, Shanna,’ and then before the sentence was over you threw a ‘fucking’ in there to emphasize your irritatedness.” One particular bout of coffee shop banter later is neither exciting nor invigorating.

And Tarantino loves fucking with time. Pitching his tent in the 1970s – or at least a feel for the movies back then – he throws in a 90s style mobile phone, with one set of lady fingers texting away. There’s also mention of an ATM, the notion of CGI, one gal orders a Red Bull, and several magazines on a rack feature Kirsten Dunst in Marie Antoinette. There’s even talk about being Daryl Hannah’s stand-in, and one girl has a ringtone from the Kill Bill soundtrack.

One hand over mouth type horror occurs when Butterfly (Vanessa Ferlito) agrees to give Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) a lap dance, because he was going to file her under ‘chickenshit’ in his book. Perhaps it was the John Wayne impersonation that loosened the girdle. Moments later, Stuntman Mike has poor peroxide blonde Pam (Rose McGowan) trapped in the crash box, rattling about like bag of marbles as he sharp turns and jolts at great speed. And it is not over. Tarantino makes sure you get to see all four girls savaged in a head-on collision.

“That implied voyeuristic depiction of women by Tarantino is fleeting in this instance, but it’s definitely there.”

The gore fits the horror trope, though, with flailing bloody limb and crushed face. His car is a monster after all, death proof, and clearly deadly. Stuntman Mike is even referred to as Frankenstein at one point. Though the same lawman assesses the fatalities of the metal-shattered girls as Princess Died. Tasteless prick.

Death Proof’s second part starts out in the same vein, only in black and white, and with a fresh set of chicks. The film jumps back into color as cute little Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) puts money in the vending machine. Tarantino also thinks it’s perfect opportuity to have her bend over in that cheerleader attire. As a character, Lee is embarassingly clueless, left with the classic chiller film pervert mechanic as collateral so the other three can take the 1970 Dodge Challenger for a test drive.

That implied voyeuristic depiction of women by Tarantino is fleeting in this instance, but it’s definitely there. And although there are blatant shots of crotches and asses, it is the feet that this filmmaker relishes. They are on the car dashboard, perched out the window, peering out on a rainy porch, between Stuntman Mike’s crotch – he even gets an opportunity to lick one and get away with it. Scared yet?

“Exhiliratingly set-up by Tarantino’s fluid direction, you absolutely want those girls to get the bad guy.”

Turns out, though, even with his murderously misogynistic ways, Stuntman Mike is a fucking cry baby when he more than meets his match. The girls in the first half (including Sydney Tamiia Poitier and Jordan Ladd) – pretty reminiscent of the kind of ill-fated souls you’d see in slasher movies – perhaps had little chance. But those bad-ass girls (Rosario Dawson, Tracie Thoms and Zoë Bell) in the latter segment grab their moment and retaliate in top gear.

Granted, though, that raggedy hum of the Nova engine is pulsatingly chilling. Even if it reminds us of those classic 70s duels on wheels. Tarantino is not interested in filing his movies under horror or comedy or whatnot. That final blow to Stuntman Mike with ‘The End’ jumping in the screen is fantastic – with an inch-perfect cut to the freeze frame. Not sure how necessary the cut back to the foot dropping down into the face was, but all in the name of good old-fashioned movie-making fun, right?

Exhiliratingly set-up by Tarantino’s fluid direction, you absolutely want those girls to get the bad guy. Those remarkable chase scenes put you in the front seat – or even on the hood. And you’re never out of the pursuit. Tarantino does not want his audience experiencing this as a mere passer-by.

“Quentin sure knows how to ignite a blistering soundtrack into his narrative, too.”

And with New Zealand stuntwoman, Zoë Bell (Uma Thurman’s stunt double in the Kill Bill movies), the filmmaker has struck gold. Not behind the wheel does she exude control, but holding onto the belt-strapped car hood, AKA playing Ship’s Mast. As well as the refreshing accent, and execution of some of Tarantino’s quips, Bell is incredible performing her own stunts (obviously) as she sways and bobbles on the front of the car during that frantic chase. Whatever you think about Tarantino’s depiction of women, he has a clear, proven respect and adoration for the stunt industry.

Quentin sure knows how to ignite a blistering soundtrack into his narrative, too. The music cues are, as ever, electric. Jack Nitzsche’s foot-tapping “The Last Race” is a cracking opener. Complete with engines revs. “Jeepster” by Marc Bolan and T. Rex is equally infectious, fueling the film with much needed buzz to give us a brief respite from the labouring dialogue.

Even the seemingly unnecessary (though I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it) lap dance is deftly performed to “Down in Mexico” by The Coasters. And the giddy “Chick Habit” by April March chugs out at the film’s finale – switching to the original French version, “Laisse Tomber Les Filles”, during the closing titles. And what better way to bob your heads prior to your brutal demise through horrific head-on car collision than Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich’s pounding “Hold Tight!”.

Tarantino doesn’t reach his more glorious moments of tension with Death Proof, but he comes close on a few occasions. What many consider his worst feature, still has much of the ingredients to quench the thirst of those looking for a Tarantino thrill ride.