When you're being buried alive, the final nail in the coffin lid is a bad thing, relatively speaking. But maybe it's that first nail which really gets you thinking.
Kill Bill: Vol. 2, the second installment of Tarantino's masterpiece, is overshadowed by its own sense of casket-closing finality. Vivica A. Fox (Copperhead) and Lucy Liu (Cottonmouth) bit it in Volume One, so we're left with Daryl Hannah (California Mountain Snake), Michael Madsen (Sidewinder) and of course, Bill himself (David Carradine). Uma Thurman, aka Black Mambo, would like to kill Bill. And doggone it, we're rooting for her.
But sometimes, beginnings are more interesting than endings. All the things that get you out of bed in the morning--the goals, the passion, a sense of purpose, unadulterated bloodlust--are a way of life, not a means to an end. Those final, climactic death-blow moments, from the wet squish of an eyeball to the metallic snick-swish of sword on bone, are the most fleeting of pleasures. To paraphrase Michael Madsen's character, revenge has two sides: relief and regret. The thought of killing Bill is much more satisfying and more thrilling than watching the old guy actually croak and wonder, hmm. Now what?
The real kicker is that Volume Two is good. Better than good. One mustn't experience the five-point palm heart exploding technique, for example, to know that this is a very good, very effective method for disabling a mortal enemy. You'll see. The five-point palm heart exploding technique is for special occasions only.
There's no way around it: watching the credits roll on a long-awaited sequel is a downer. Volume Two is scintillating and satisfying and sexy, and all those other good alliterative things, but it's also sad. Granted, if Uma didn't kill Bill (no spoilers, but whatever), we'd take to the streets and riot. Props to Tarantino for doing what needed to be done, with a lot of style and even a little dignity.
Grade: A
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