In an interview with Charlie RoseQuentin Tarantino recalled a very specific criticism of his work: that he would never be a master of suspense because he was far too enamored with details. The criticism was not entirely unfounded and Tarantino himself has admitted that the criticism was justified. Until then, Tarantino had directed Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs. And for all their merits, suspense isn’t something these movies are known for. It was the everyday conversations about quarter pounders and tipping culture, supplemented by the over-the-top violence that made for a typical Tarantino movie.
In 2008, however, the author-director put this criticism aside by creating unglorious bastards, an oeuvre that is full of delicious uncertainty and unease. The film established Tarantino as a filmmaker with a strong rein over the element of suspense. It’s worth noting that Tarantino doesn’t abandon his signature subtleties for this project. Instead, he uses the details to increase the intensity of the film. Nowhere is this more evident than the opening scene of the film – one of Tarantino’s personal favorite scenes. So let’s take a moment to tour the cow country in an attempt to figure out why this opening scene is so intense.
A terrifying villain
What’s so great about the opening scene of unglorious bastards is that it introduces us to one of the most terrifying and charming villains of all time: Hans Landa (played by Christoph Waltz). On paper, Landa is the ideal house guest. He gives generous compliments to his hosts, he asks permission before smoking his pipe, and he is extremely polite. And yet, this scene begins with the realization that Landa can have his men break into the house at any time and kill all the residents with impunity – after all, he is a special agent of the Nazi party. But for all his might, Hans Landa is rarely an ungrateful host. His threats are never spoken out loud; his all-knowing smile hangs in the air like a cocked gun at all times. His confidence alone – in the way he carries himself and in the way he carries his reputation – is enough to remind his host of his situation.
Tarantino has said that Landa is primarily a detective. Everything he does is a form of interrogation. And an interrogation is essentially a bunch of brain games. Waltz approaches his character with in mind the spirit with which Tarantino wrote the character. From the moment he enters the scene, Landa asserts his dominance over the LaPadite family. When he walks into their house, he walks around like he owns it. When the hosts offer him wine, he declines, demanding milk instead, as if to say the family is there to serve him. Even more terrifying, Landa grabs the wrists of one of the daughters as she makes this demand – an action that subtly crosses the line into an overt display of power.
Landa also takes the time for everything he does. He is aware that people are waiting for him, and he has no qualms about keeping them waiting. He slurps the whole glass of milk with great satisfaction while the whole family waits for his beck and call. His pauses are frequent and his stares are disturbingly long. Like the beast he compares the German soldiers to, Landa likes to chase and tire his prey before chasing them.
An eerie sense of inevitability
The very first recording of unglorious bastardsThe opening scene gives us a glimpse into the peaceful life of a farmer and his family. From a distance we see a simple house, a few scattered cows, a farmer chopping the stump of a tree and his daughter hanging laundry on the clothesline. The peace is abruptly disturbed when a fleet of Nazi vehicles invades the pastoral life of the farmer. The accompanying music is a strange mix of “Fur Elise” and a cowboy western soundtrack. LaPadite reacts in a strange way to the approaching fleet, which immediately raises the tension. There is a slight sense of resignation, as if he had been expecting this heist to happen for a while. He orders his daughters to run to the safety of their home; but is this just a fleeting measure of precaution, or is there more going on behind the scenes?
All these suspicions are in the air from the moment LaPadite sees the vehicles approaching. These suspicions are not laboriously formed; the subtly unpleasant way he reacts to the sight pushes the viewer’s own sense of danger into gear. It’s exactly this feeling that continues to build throughout the 20-minute scene. And it is accomplished without much telling or showing us. With candid dialogue, awkward camera angles and a few charismatic actors, Tarantino manages to make us feel in 20 minutes what most filmmakers don’t do in an entire movie.
Long before we learn the secret beneath the floorboards, a sense of unease has already set in. While much of it is attributed to the terrifying effect of Landa’s presence, the dynamic camera angles amplify this in a great way. Shortly after Landa and LaPadite sit down, we see La LaPadite being tilted to the corner of the screen, while Landa takes up much of the center frame. The camera tells us that Landa cornered LaPadite. But once LaPadite starts to give confident answers, the camera switches in its favor. It’s the classic cat-and-mouse game, told from the perspective of a camera.
About halfway through the scene, the camera pans down under the floor to reveal the ticking time bomb. What we feared all along has just been confirmed. Now the camera switches to a low-angle shot, providing a disorienting view of the conversation. The tension reaches its peak after we hear Landa talk about rats and hawks. At this point, Landa drops the masquerade of politeness and reveals that he has been acquainted with the Jews under the floor all along. Finally, we see the camera zoom in on the faces of both characters, as one expresses authority and victory, while the other expresses fear and anxiety. But to get there, Tarantino completely wraps the viewer in the conversation between the two characters: the charming aura of an angel of death, an unwavering sense that his victim has something to hide, and finally, a growing sense of inevitable doom is what causes us to cling to every word in the conversation, to its violent conclusion.