Once Upon a Time In Hollywood

Or: Helter Skid

Fast cars, poppy music, barefoot girls, hugs, drugs, and murder: these were the Halcyon days of Los Angeles, 1969. Along the interminable freeways and endless sun washed up actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) watches his career slowly desiccate, guided by his long time stuntman and altruistic psychopath Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). And that’s about it: three hours worth two guys getting drunk, trying and failing to make movies. Oh, and running into the Manson Family.

In you don’t know that much about the events of August 8th, 1969, you are out of luck in Tarantino’s new film. Not that the film is under any obligation to educate its audience, but there’s a there’s a lot that’ll go straight over the viewers head, and the time clock of its last hour, counting down the minutes to the arrival of the killers, doesn’t tighten so much as spool in the wind.

Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) most famous of the Manson victims, gets a nice treatment, but only as a satellite. Robbie’s not given that much to do except be sweet and have a good time which she does with her usual aplomb. A fine scene is when she sneaks into a theater to watch herself in the Wrecking Crew, with Robbie flushed with pleasure as she listens to the admiring murmurs from the audience as she watches Sharon Tate (not Margot Robbie dubbed in but the actual Sharon Tate, a genteel touch.)

But for most the time we are stuck with the boys, who literally just drink and drive, blaring 60’s hits, and looking fine. DiCaprio’s amusing as he descends into a smoking spiral of insecurity and self-loathing well familiar to any artist; particularly when confronted with the consummate professionalism of his eight year old Co-Star, Trudi Foster (Julia Butters). Pitt does well as a mild-mannered killer looking for work, but teflon like, failed to stick with anyone including the audience.

But, save when the film runs into a parody of a later day Western (villainous Tex Walton (Austin Butler) riding hell-for-leather through the sage brush) the movie lags. Like another Hollywood hagiography, The Cohen Brother’s collapsed soufflé of Hail Caesar, it’s all art and no matter. Only the last half hour ticks along, with Cliff and Booth making short work of the murderous would-be Manson assassins (with a special appearance by Lorenza Izzo as Franesca Capucci far more interesting than her two costars. And even then we are left with a broken glass that needs to be fitted together. When Rick finally meets Sharon the creaking of the electric gate, the lurking overhead shot, the close-folded music all point for them all to be slaughtered by the creepy army of adolescent girls who’ve been haunting the picture the minute kicks away. But no, apparently a good man with a gun (or dog, or flamethrower) is all that’s needed to turn the tide of history to good.

I don’t know. Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is like the people it chronicles, lovely to observe, not without charm, but a pain to put up with. Three hours of my life gone forever, and the best performance by young Butters; it’s not worthless, but certainly doesn’t cover the price of admission.