Django Unchained: How Tarantino Brought Catcher Freeman to Life

"Knock'em dead, kid"

I've never been a fan of Jamie Foxx. I always felt he was way too cocky for his own good, despite being clearly, if middlingly, multi-talented. That said, Foxx has made some decent movies, cockiness notwithstanding. With Django Unchained, he's finally at the center of a movie that matches the flair for cockiness and dramatic vulnerability that has defined his roles since his turn as Ray Charles. It just so happens that he does so in a movie most of us thought we'd never see: a live action version of the Legend of Catcher Freeman.

Django Unchained is unquestionably Tarantino's stab at bringing a Boondocks episode to life, right down to Samuel L. Jackson playing Uncle Ruckus. And what a magnificent stab it is. Django, like Inglorious Basterds before it, is the best kind of revisionist fantasy: violent, hilarious, and surprisingly sobering--all of which are expected from Tarantino. That Django is a ridiculously audacious sort-of masterpiece is no surprise, what is a surprise is the sheer fact that Tarantino can make audiences laugh so consistently at the single ugliest era of American history while still making them cringe. legitimately Granted, some members of the audience are gonna cringe at the buckets of blood Tarantino throws at the screen, but even more will cringe at the real, and occasionally exaggerated-but not too exaggerated--treatment of African-American slaves during the height of the Antebellum Era, an amazing feat that makes Django one of the most affecting--far more than the trailers would lead the audience to believe--exploitation homages in years.

With Django, as with most of his work, Tarantino takes a simple plot and runs with it in the most audience-pleasing manner possible. It all begins with German bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (played with immeasurable charm and grace by the consistently exceptional Christoph Waltz)--indeed, the irony of that character is not lost--and his search for a particularly nasty band of outlaws, The Brittle Brothers. In search of a way to identify the Brittles, the enlightened Schultz, who is positively baffled by this slavery malarkey, "purchases" former runaway slave Django (Foxx) on the condition that he will "free" Django if he helps him find the Brittle brothers. Their pursuit of the Brittle siblings leads the two to form a fruitful, long-term mentor-mentee partnership and begin a journey to save Django's wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who resides in hellish Candieland plantation in the heart of Mississippi run by dandy Calvin Candie's (Leonardo Dicaprio finally looking like he's having fun on screen) and house negro supreme, Stephen (a particularly evil Samuel L. Jackson knocking the Uncle Ruckus impression out the park).

As to be expected of a Tarantino enterprise, Django is an alternatively talky and violent affair elevated by amazing performances. At two hours and twenty minutes, much of Django's runtime is devoted to the colorful diatribes between the equally vibrant characters, though the dialogue is far more pointed and careful, considering the time period and the lack of widespread pop culture touchstones that would usually pepper Tarantino's dialogue. Of course, the big to-do over the dialogue is Tarantino's furious use of "nigger", which is essentially much to do about nothing considering this is a tale about a slave turned bounty hunter in the Antebellum South. If Tarantino didn't allow his characters to use nigger he would be courting the greater danger of being inauthentic; thus rendering much of Django's effectiveness mute by neutering the antagonists and diminishing the quality of the conflict. Indeed, some in the audience will be offended by Tarantino's flagrant, racially-charged expletive fest, but this is par for the course with Tarantino as is the ultraviolence on display. 

Within the first ten minutes, a horse's and a man's heads are decimated in a manner that is so gloriously over-the-top that it long jumps over realism into the realm of Looney Toon violence. While most of the violence is cartoonish enough for reasonable audience members to dismiss, there are moments of brutality that no matter how exaggerated will make even the boldest viewers flinch, but it is all done in a way to emphasize the cruelty of the characters rather than glorifying gore for the sake of gore. For all intents and purposes, the violence in Django is more punctuation than pure spectacle--though it is undoubtedly spectacle--and it is only relentless in bursts, which should be heartening for those with weak stomachs. However, audience members who are thinking about seeing Django should inform themselves about Tarantino's work before making the choice to see this flick. 

Dialogue and violence aside, Django is enlivened by uniformly strong performances with the real standouts being Samuel L. Jackson, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio. Jamie Foxx may take top billing but he's saddled with a typically stoic hero, albeit one with more pain behind his eyes than the average hero, who doesn't really become larger than life until the climax, and Kerry Washington is a tad underutilized in the damsel-in-distress role. Meanwhile, Jackson, Waltz, and DiCaprio get to have all the fun playing outsized characters. Jackson is particularly entertaining as the repugnant Stephen, an evil, quick-witted slave who runs Candieland with greater efficiency and cruelty than DiCaprio's "slave master". Stephen's dialogue is so vitriolic that he Jackson seems to spit every word, but it also teeters into inexplicably modern Sam Jackson, BAMF, territory that it becomes unsettlingly comical. Waltz, on the other hand, is consistently appealing as Schultz, the total flipside of his relentless but no less affable Col. Landa. Schultz is almost the living embodiment of white guilt, to a fault, and he displays overwhelming earnestness and grace that counters the duplicitous hospitality of the Southern gentility. Schultz effectively serves as a counterpoint to every slave master he and Django encounter, especially DiCaprio's Candie. Candie is the result of what would have become of Amsterdam Vallon if he embraced the ways of Bill the Butcher. He is a devilish fop with an affinity for Mandingo fights and humiliating his slaves. He is probably, and sadly, the most fun character DiCaprio has played on screen.  In fact, this may be the most DiCaprio has ever smiled in a film since Titanic. DiCaprio, Waltz, and Jackson may run away with the show, but even "bit players" like Don Johnson and Jonah Hill shine in small roles. 

From performances to plot, every ounce of Django is masterful. Tarantino shows great maturity and restraint here, opting to tone down, but not eliminate, some of his trademark flourishes like the 70s score and old school on-screen graphics while delivering some great shots of the frontier. Yet, for all the mastery on display, I can't help but think all of the ground covered in Django was addressed with the same audacity, humor and violence in the Boondocks' "Legend of Catcher Freeman" episode, not to mention the Dave Chapelle's time traveling pimps who pleasantly introduced slave owners to a pistol.  By the same token, Samuel L. Jackson's Stephen is Uncle Ruckus through and through, just a bit more foul-mouthed. That's not to say that Django isn't a welcome addition to the canon of slave vengeance narratives; it's just not as original as it seems. But, what is? Still, it is an unabashed pleasure to watch a film as well-crafted and entertaining as Django based around the simple premise of a former slave dispensing righteous vengeance on his "masters". As Django says, "what's not love?"

The Idea of Control (INCEPTION SPOILERS AHEAD)

Regardless of one’s interpretation of Inception’s conclusion, the final minutes of the film exemplify the film’s overarching theme of control. Christopher Nolan’s dream-twisting heist flick may have audiences battling over the “truth” of the final frame, but the undeniable thematic truth is that Inception affirms the individual, conscious desire to control the uncontrollable, be it dreams, emotions or a life spiraling into the hands of fate. Inception, for all its sleek tidiness and meticulous narrative design, is essentially about taking control of the uncontrollable by letting go. Whether Leonardo DiCaprio’s Dom is in the real world or limbo by that closing shot, he decides to abandon the dreams and emotions that ruled his life and rushes to embrace his children, effectively reclaiming control of his life. Dom’s decision punctuates the theme of taking control that reverberates through every facet of Inception, from the setup to each “stage” of its climax to the dénouement.

Long before Inception’s multi-layered climax and perplexing conclusion, Nolan examines the concept of controlling the uncontrollable through co-mingling A-stories: Dom’s struggle to control “Mal” and his team’s quest to control the dreams of Fischer. Both plotlines deftly illustrate how the characters struggle and conspire to control unbound elements of the human psyche, specifically emotions and dreams. From the opening “extraction,” Dom struggles to avoid, ignore and altogether obfuscate “Mal,” the embodiment of his guilt over the death of his wife. Dom cripples his ability to perform dream-share extractions because he cannot control the grief that disturbs his subconscious. So disturbing is this grief that it emanates in the visage of his deceased wife and constantly threatens his team’s missions. Dom’s journey in Inception is as much about returning to his family as it is gaining control over a debilitating emotional handicap, in his case a devastating amount of grief. He fights with “Mal” through the duration of the film—physically, verbally and emotionally—and it is only when he faces her and embraces the irony of control—letting go in order to gain control—does he begin to conquer his emotions and escape his own personal “limbo.” By facing his emotions as an addict does an addiction that has overrun their life—by confronting and releasing the source of the pain—Dom achieves a semblance of control over a seemingly uncontrollable adversary.

Accordingly, Dom’s team plots a meticulous strategy—one that makes use of a wealth of talents to control the heretofore uncontrollable realm of dreams—to manipulate the dreams of global energy conglomerate heir, Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), and plant an idea that will prevent him from monopolizing the energy industry. Each member of Dom’s team represents an attempt to control some aspect of the dream process, from Yusuf (Dileep Rao) the Chemist, whose sedatives initiate near-endless sleep, to Ariadne (Ellen Page) the Architect, who constructs the dream world, to the Eames (Tom Hardy) the Forger, who creates weapons and identities out of thin air. The specialists all prepare clever plans to control their respective aspects during the multi-stage inception, the act of planting an idea in the mind by delving into deeper dream levels, yet they face seemingly preternatural resistance the longer they spend in Fischer’s dreamscape. In response, the dreamer, or controller, of each level must wrest control of their dream level from forces beyond their control, be they physiological or emotional. Inception’s climax bounces between dreamers on each level as they battle subconscious soldiers, anti-gravity, and errant emotional manifestations to regain control of their dream worlds. At crucial points during the climax, each dreamer regains control of their level moments before they are “kicked,” or awakened, into relinquishing control.

The concept of control also surfaces in certain concepts, characterizations and arcs. The very concept of dream-sharing, including the acts of extraction and inception, is built on the foundation of attempting to control a realm of uncontrolled thought. A victim of a dream-share extraction, Saito hires Dom to perform an inception on Fischer in an effort to both prevent Fischer from controlling an industrial monopoly and likely establish his own conglomerate. Even the target of the inception, Fischer, is seeking his deceased father’s approval to control his own life. To varying degrees, each character and concept in Inception is dedicated to echoing the theme of gaining or losing control.

By the conclusion of Inception, the idea of control is prevalent in every aspect of the story from the characterizations to concepts to the props (i.e. totems like Dom’s spinning top, which act as barometers of differences between controlled dreams and reality). When Dom abandons the top in favor of his children at the end, he becomes the embodiment of the idea of control and its inherent irony. He has become a man who has regained control, but only after struggling against, and frequently losing to, forces beyond his control, both internal and external. However, even in this moment of triumph, the irony of control—that delicate balance between losing and gaining control—lords over the scene. As Dom makes his way to his children and exits the frame, the top, which affirms Dom’s presence in reality by falling, he spun seconds earlier continues to spin until it wobbles, seemingly losing control.