“I can’t speak on it ’cause I’m not gonna see it. All I’m going to say is that it’s disrespectful to my ancestors. That’s just me…I’m not speaking on behalf of anybody else.” – Spike Lee, on Django Unchained
“Kill all the white man.” – NOFX
I can't hear you, Spike.
I can't hear you over the sound of whips cracking and Luis Bacalov's spaghetti saucy theme for the original Django filling the halls of the audience's ears, ushering Quentin Tarantino's newest film, Django Unchained, into long-awaiting hearts.
I can't hear you over the subtlety and "speak softly and carry a boomstick" method employed exceptionally by Jamie Foxx as the title character, or the lip-smacking lust for the English language employed by Cristolph Waltz as bounty hunter Dr. King Shultz, who takes Django under his wing.
I can't hear you over the gun shots that turn human bodies into water balloons full of flesh and blood.
I can't hear you over the sound of roaring, malicious laughter at the sight of high body counts and when listening to inspired jokes about Southerners.
I can't hear you over the silent gratitude by fellow slaves (the ancestors that are "disrespected") as they look upon Django fulfilling each others deep-seated fantasies.
I can't hear you over Tarantino's pure love for the game.
I can't hear you over the audience getting their kicks at the sight of vicious slave owners like Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio) getting what they deserve, even if they could never bring to do it themselves.
I can't hear over the fact that Tarantino has finally made a movie about the black man he always saw within himself. After all, it's one of his trademarks. From Christian Slater in True Romance to his own turns in Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and From Dusk Til Dawn, he's always seen a tough, burly man beneath his own doughy surface.
I can't hear you over Tarantino's expert execution of the tropes audiences identify with him. Dinner never seemed more intense.
I can't hear you over the new music from Ennio Morricone and RZA that compete against the thundering action for the audience's attention.
I can't hear you over Robert Richardson's lush peeks into the former wild west.
I can't hear you over the fact that Tarantino, after many attempts, has finally made the exploitation movie he'd been dreaming of since his childhood.
I can, however, hear the envy in your voice. After all, Tarantino's bringing in the audiences you attempt to reach out to, but haven't been able to for a very long time.
Your revolution is not over, Mr. Lee, but condolences. You lost this one.