Tarantino: genius or... what?

Django Unchained (18)
Running time 165 minutes
Rating: ***
Whatever else you might think or say about director Quentin Tarantino and his films, you cannot ignore either the man or his work. You could say that he is an enfant terrible of Hollywood film-making, taking risks and chances where others less daring take the soft and safe options.
Evidence for this lies in the bleak simplicity of Reservoir Dogs and the complex narrative of Pulp Fiction.
Or, if you like, you could describe him as a ruthless self-publicist for movies that are little better than updated versions of previous genres. Some critics might propose the comic book characters in Death Proof and the wholesale samurai referencing in Kill Bill as examples.
So, when it comes to his latest effort, Django Unchained – only his eighth full feature film in a 20-year directorial career – the choice is straightforward. Is this a spaghetti Western (with Southern undertones) that takes the sub-genre in a whole new direction, or is it Tarantino’s idea of how Westerns ought to be made?
Either way, laid before us is 165 minutes of shooting, blowing up, very strange accents and sociology lessons, seasoned with a dash of cod Victorian psychology.
Django (Jamie Foxx) is a slave on his way to a new master, who is bought by German bounty hunter King Shultz (Christoph Waltz) to help identify some targets. Django turns out to be an excellent killer of white folks and they form a strange partnership which involves Django shooting everyone and the pair eventually rescuing Django’s wife, the operatically-named Broomhilda (Kerry Washington).
‘Hildy’ is owned by Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), a monstrously prejudiced Southern plantation owner. (It is said that much persuading was needed before the actor would accept the role).
A scheme to extract her is uncovered by a tame black servant, Stephen (Samuel L Jackson). More death and mayhem ensues.
The film reveals the grotesque attitudes at play in justifying slavery. No doubt more high blown language about that topic will be heard in the heavyweight Lincoln.
There is, as ever, the Tarantino love of tricksy dialogue, increasingly inventive ways of people dying in great pain, and bad people getting their just deserts (usually with a bullet in the groin). But beneath all the artifice and showmanship, there is a good film here, one that tells an effective story in simple, moral terms that everyone should be able to understand.
Audiences may not like all the violence, but it is sufficiently ‘comic book’ in style that it need not be taken so seriously. Only the viewers will decide whether Tarantino is a genius, or something else.