Based on the Japanese theatrical cut, which is presumably the same as the stand-alone European cut.

Tarantino is a pretty divisive film maker these days. In one camp, there are people who accredit him for creating some of the most important movies of our age, of re-invigorating independent cinema, and presenting off-beat, niche cinema to the mainstream like few others have done before.

The other camp is an increasingly vocal one. They say he’s a hack, not so much as a revolutionary auteur as a plagarising copy & paste merchant, who owes his success to the films he pays homage to in his own works.

Generally, I fall into the former category. Tarantino’s films may be derivative, but there is no doubting his flair for writing and directing captivating dialogue. He makes no bones about the fact that his films frequently reference other works, and once the audience is aware of that, I’ve no problems with his unoriginality.

So, anyway, Death Proof. Death Proof was originally released as one half of Grindhouse. It supposedly came about as the result of a bet between Tarantino and long-time friend and collaborator Robert Rodriguez, with the challenge being to create the best homage to grindhouse cinema. However, when Grindhouse was released in the States, it was something of a flop, and so both halves of the film (Rodriguez’ Planet Terror and Tarantino’s Death Proof) were re-cut and re-released around the world as seperate, longer films.

Death Proof, then, tells the story of a stuntman who goes by the name of Stuntman Mike, played by the under-used Kurt Russell. Stuntman Mike travels the land looking for young women who he can torment and/or kill with the help of his trusty Hollywood-rigged car.

The above, coupled with the pre-release Grindhouse hype, might lead the audience to believe they’re in store for a no-holes-barred, dirty, low-budget horror/thriller.

Tarantino, clearly, had other ideas. The finished, re-cut film clocks in at a solid two hours, and, perhaps somewhat ironic for a director so often accused of plagiarism, this film references Tarantino’s previous works more so than grindhouse films. The film is essentially composed of long, meandering, irrelevant talking heads scenes between the female leads, bookended by literally a couple of thrilling scenes with Kurt Russell.

For fans of Tarantino, the thought of a film chocked full of his dialogue is perhaps a welcome one. And yet, the dialogue struggles to hold the audience’s attention. Tarantino’s most memorable dialogue has always come from male characters - the gangsters arguing over tipping a waitress, discussing European burgers and so on - and so it comes as no surprise when the banter between the female characters in Death Proof variously completely fails to captivate or sounds like it was written for Samuel L. Jackson or Harvey Keitel.

And so, what are we left with? A scenery-chewing Kurt Russell, a thrilling chase scene, and not a lot else. It is, as was originally planned, one half of a film.