It has been a long time since motion picture dialog has been so snappy and dramatic. If I could find these kinds of literate films, I'd watch them all the time. Even if they were thirds German, French and English.
There's really not much to say about this film that probably already hasn't been said. It's one of Tarantino's best. He's getting better. I don't know what that Grindhouse madness was all about, but this is a glorious film.
Every once in a while I come across a creative work that defies my attempts to critique it, and I feel that there is something useless about describing it. IB is such a work primarily because it doesn't inspire me towards any particular unspoken notion. Here are the pig boy Nazis in all their autocratic splendor, their insouciant suspicions and idiot prejudices snaking beneath the surface of their obsequious manners and cowardly duty. Here are the simmering and plucky French feigning cowed silence, unnerved by the pique of these Teutons and their faux civility, waiting, watching. Here are the canny and crafty Americans single-mindedly focused on bold, earthshaking and brutal vengeance.
To watch this film is to see how they get under your skin, these imperious victors. Oh how the world have hated the Nazis and be entirely tempted by them, just as the German people themselves were. How far might we have slipped under those silken sheets if the The Third Reich owned all the silk in the world?
Tarantino has made one of the top 10 films about WW2. Will we ever tire of watching Hitler shout?