You can watch this movie multiple times in one sitting and not be disappointed, finding something new on each iteration, but…

Whatever the technical genius Quentin Tarantino brings to his joints, he can’t escape the formula of unthinking entertainment for too long to say anything of importance or longevity. When the end credits roll to mood heightening music with lyrics suggestive of the slippery slope of the male ego, you can all but applaud at how clever it is, but just as quick you might realize how empty this cleverness is, much like the pop song it uses as a shortcut in evoking preconscious emotion.

No matter how enjoyable his movies, he can’t be rated as more than a “talented shit” with nothing to say. What one can say to his credit — or further discredit depending on your view — is that the list of talented idiots is long, the list of untalented idiots is even longer, and he is king of them all.