Death Proof

Already released in the US to disappointing box-office as part of double feature Grindhouse, Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof arrives in Cannes as a Palme D’Or competitor, and with an extra 30 minutes. I haven’t seen Grindhouse but most of those who have had the pleasure agree that the longer version is better, except the experience of watching it diminishes for not being part of the Grindhouse package. In other words, Robert Rodriguez’s trashy zombie flick Planet Terror and the trailers for fake films from the likes of Eli Roth (Hostel) and Edgar Wright (Hot Fuzz) help create the giddy mood that might indulge and excuse Death Proof’s flimsiness. As it is, you get two hours of zesty girl banter and scarred, psychotic movie stunt driver Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) tangling successively with two bunches of gal pals. He has turned his car into a murder weapon, which allows Tarantino to present two major set-pieces of carnage. It’s a fun ride, but I might have felt differently if I’d paid £8 or £9 in the cinema to see it.