Around the time of the movie release I read in an ecological magazine that by the time an US family sits at the New Year's eve table for dinner it has already consumed amount of fossil fuel an average family somewhere in what is crudely called third world would consume in one year. I thought why this guy don't make a movie about it instead of this "cool killings" mannerist indulgence.
It's hard to escape the sense that Kill Bill is a little duplicitous. It pays lip service to the weight of revenge, but overwhelmingly plays it for B-movie thrills. There's something to be said for heartfelt themes that pour from good-looking, 'schlocky' works like Gurren Lagann and Kill La Kill (long as we're talking Japan). And there's no such earnestness of theme, here. The blood flies high; the taste flies low.
The main problem with the violence in Kill Bill is that that’s all there is. It’s like ordering a Mac Royale and getting a kilo of raw meat — no bun, no ketchup, certainly not any pickle. Elevating B-movie schlock into mega-budgeted, over-hyped blockbusters is exactly what Hollywood has been doing since the mid-’80s, and Tarantino joins the club here.