Review: "Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood" Rewrites Film History with Heartwarming Results

Scene from Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood

For most of the 21st century, director Quentin Tarantino has reveled in a certain kind of cynicism. You don't even need to see his films, as the mere presence of his titles (Kill Bill, Inglourious Basterds, and The Hateful Eight) all feature something confrontational. Even his last film ended with everyone dead. However, there feels like a change of heart with Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood, itself a play on the idea of fairytales and happy endings. Yes, he's still the verbose, sadistic filmmaker with a love for the comedic violence, but for the first time in decades, he feels... happy? With this being his presumed penultimate movie, Tarantino goes to the movies and, for nearly three hours, finds a reason to make us care not about the style or glamor that he's packed into so many frames, but of the people who made it possible. It's a story that repurposes careers and forces us to wonder how legacies are shaped, and it makes for one of his most reverent films yet.

There's something endearing about the sight of Cliff (Brad Pitt) driving around Hollywood in 1969, the top down on his car as the radio blasts a mix of radio jingles and classic rock. The frame is overwhelmed with a detail that is unmatched, as Tarantino actually made the city look 50 years old, capturing every last ad plastered on a business' wall. The movie posters lining the walls of the movie studios all have an artistic style reminiscent of another time. What it does so well is the thing that Tarantino has done for almost 30 years now: he's made the idea of movies feel vital, and the town that makes a lot of it possible is romanticized down to the last theater marquee. It's a place where Sharon Tate (Margot Robie) can walk around and take in an afternoon, buying rare literature and catching a screening of The Wrecking Crew (using actual footage from the Tate movie) where the audience cheers along with the heroes. This is the land of dreams, and it's the perfect place for Tarantino to be in 1969.

For those with an encyclopedic knowledge of history, 1969 was a major year. It was the end of a decade, but also the dawning years of New Hollywood. It's where figures like Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) are struggling to stay relevant as the TV westerns are fading in favor of figures like Tate. Even then, Tarantino revels in showing Rick and his stuntman Cliff sitting around watching these old TV series, feeling some joy in a mere cameo (at one point, DiCaprio is even placed inside The Great Escape, as he's rumored to have almost taken Steve McQueen's role. However, it's also the place where the Manson family preyed on Tate, ending her career before it could ever get started. These days, it's impossible to mention Tate without the word "murder" and "Mason" appearing somewhere within the same paragraph. 

Whereas Tarantino's previous targets were more symbolic forces of evil (Nazis in Inglourious Basterds, slaveholders in Django Unchained), this one feels more like a focus on the other end. He's not interested in humanizing Charles Manson, who is reduced to a mere seconds-long cameo. He wants people to understand the value that an artist has to the world, and that's by saving Tate. Yes, it's another alternate history story. The major difference is that this time he mixes reality with fiction in a way that requires some deeper thought. Tate is real, but Dalton isn't in spite of how he fits into the picture. Imagine a world where he was almost in The Great Escape, or a movie star who could survive the transition. The future literally lives next door to him with Tate, and he believes that it will save his career.

It's a question that's never answered, but even with the defeated Dalton, Tarantino wants to create an understanding of the fading star. He lingers on a day of filming that amounts to no more than an entertaining diversion from the plot. It's where DiCaprio really gets to play with the character and make something tangible. There's a sense of joy in his craft, even as he forgets his lines and has a mental breakdown in his trailer. He overcomes his problems, which is the only way he knows how. Sure, it's all very comedic, but it reflects the fragility of art, which is tied to relevance that a generation who grew up on Gunsmoke and Wanted: Dead or Alive (or, in Dalton's case, Bounty Law) cannot sustain. Everyone is younger and more relevant than him, and it's as sad as it is exciting to see Cliff's aging muscles perform the physical stunts, itself revealing how the sausage is made in Hollywood. 

While Rick and Cliff are the central figures of the story, Tate is the heart of everything. It's almost cooked into the marketing that the Tate murders are getting a rewrite. There's going to be that third act twist that reflects Tarantino's truer intentions. He is, after all, a student of film and wants to entertain. He doesn't care about the facts. He is more interested in the story he wants to tell, and it's asking audiences to learn to care about Sharon Tate as an actual human being and not the murder victim history has kept her as. It's why the footage from The Wrecking Crew is not distracting in spite of not being an exact duplicate of Robie's performance. It's Tarantino asking the audience to respect actors for the joy that they bring into our lives, and wish that they could stay young and vital forever. Even as he fades, Dalton has that energy in him, his passion for the craft. Tate doesn't have much that's wildly different in the first two hours (and is arguably secondary as a character) from her real life, and it feels like the most honest, heartwarming thing Tarantino has ever done. He doesn't want her to suffer. He just wants her legacy to mean something more.

He also has a strong disregard for the hippies adopted into the Mason family, who hitchhike up and down the Sunset Strip. The central figure Pussy Cat (Margaret Qualley) attracts Cliff's attention and sells him an "acid cigarette" to buy his interest. She uses him to get a ride. She is also the closes to sympathy that Tarantino gives these characters, made up predominantly of noteworthy child actors and offspring of major stars. They walk almost as this unified figure, trying to observe their target. They are hawks flying over Cliff, waiting for him to collapse so that they could attack. It's also where Tarantino requires the audience to have some literal knowledge of history, as the brutality that develops is gruesome but the great statement for Manson as a cultural figure that Tarantino wants to give. He isn't interested in sympathizing with them because of their real place in history. By forcing them to the fate that Tate had in real life, it creates a catharsis that Tarantino has never given this satisfyingly. It's graphic, but it's earned for everyone who has thought of Tate as a murder victim and not a human being. In a way, it's the ultimate symbol of love for the actress. 

With that said, Tarantino's indulgences feel more on display than ever. As much as his average film requires an extensive college course to fully understand, this is his overwhelming achievement. Every sound in the film puts Baby Driver to shame with its nonstop references (which itself may be a tribute to his first film Reservoir Dogs) that serve to make the audience smile, recognizing so much of pop culture and consumerism of the time. It's a request to look at history and see how much this has impacted the fabric of society. Even the cans of food are so specific that they raise questions about these brands. This is his treasure hunt for the audience, which does and doesn't work for the audience. It's interesting as detail, but more than ever before, he forces the audience to notice it and praise him for every last obscure reference. It's fun but serves as another exhausting detour to the plot. The film is flabby in a lot of ways, and the mileage of the endearing references will differ upon the viewer. It's too much, but at the same time... a man who has spent his life obsessed with movies wouldn't do any less.

Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood is the fairytale that Tarantino felt destined to eventually make. With his shift into alternate history now a decade old and his career reaching its presumed autumn years, it's interesting to see this as self-commentary on an artist trying to remain relevant. It's likely that DiCaprio and Pitt will still be around in a decade or two but will Tarantino? It's hard to say, but for now, he's here to remind us why movies are vital. It isn't just what the images do to the synapses. It's what the people who make the images do to us. It's personal, and most of all endearing to see him romanticize the achievements of artists at the expense of history. It's self-indulgent and overlong, but it also rights many wrongs of film history by giving Tate a more empathetic ending. It's the one she deserved. It's the one everyone deserves, actually. This shouldn't be a fairytale, but sadly the reality isn't always this pleasant. For three hours, Tarantino turns history into escapism and achieves a singular vision that brings so much of it back to life. The film may have flaws, but the choice to make Tate into a figure of admiration was not one of them.