After Kill Bill nearly broke them, Richard Lewis, Thorin, and MonteCristo close the Tarantino arc with the film that was supposed to prove he still had it. The verdict: Inglourious Basterds contains two of the finest scenes Tarantino has ever directed (the farmhouse interrogation and the basement bar), but the rest of the movie can't sustain the altitude those scenes reach. What could have been a profound meditation on the power of cinema, the banality of evil, and Jewish catharsis instead settles for machine-gunning Hitler's corpse on the floor of a burning theater.

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