John Saul

Tarantino aimed at the period and missed, making all his blondes look (and act) like go-go girls, his hippie women look like zombies, and fluffed too many details. The two leads were terrific, but the director needs to offload whichever of his sycophants told him that pretending the Tate murders went south was a good idea. It wasn’t, and at least for me, it made me a bit pissed I’d wasted so much time twiddling my fingers through the slow first hours, only to have the Fatuous Four slip the noose at the end. Brad Pitt, of course, was hot, hot, hot and made the whole thing almost worth watching. But only almost.