It took me a while to really appreciated Jackie Brown.
I was nineteen and in college when I first watched the movie. A friend rented it and we watched it with the expectation that it would be another Tarantino film that would be full of violence, fast music, and stylish characterizations. And, of course, Jackie Brown did have all three of those. But it was also a far more melancholy film than what we were expecting and compared to something like Kill Bill, Jackie Brown definitely moved at its own deliberate pace. That’s a polite way of saying that, at times, the film seemed slow. It seemed like it took forever for the story to get going and, even once it became clear that Jackie Brown (Pam Grier) and Max Cherry (Robert Forster) were going to steal from Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson), it still felt like an oddly laid back heist. Robert de Niro, the film’s biggest star, played a guy who seemed to be brain dead. Bridget Fonda brought an interesting chaotic energy to the film but her character was disposed of in an almost off-hand manner. The whole thing just felt off. I appreciated the performances. I appreciated the music on the soundtrack. But I felt like it was one of Tarantino’s weaker films.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to better appreciate Jackie Brown. First released in 1997 and adapted from a novel by Elmore Leonard, Jackie Brown finds Quentin Tarantino at his most contemplative. Indeed, Tarantino wouldn’t direct anything quite as humanistic until he did Once Upon A Time In Hollywood. If the heist seemed rather laid back, that’s because Jackie Brown really isn’t a heist film. It’s a film about aging, starring two icons of 70s exploitation. Robert Forster was 56 when he played bail bondman Max Cherry while Pam Grier was 48 when she was cast as Jackie Brown, the flight attendant turned smuggler. Jackie and Max two middle-aged people faced with a world that doesn’t really make much sense to them anymore. (Obviously, it’s easier for me to understand them now than it was when I was nineteen and I felt like the future was unlimited.) Max bails people out of jail and it’s obvious that he still has a shred of idealism within him. He actually does care about the people he gets out of jail and he’s disgusted by Ordell’s callous attitude towards the people who work for him. Jackie is a flight attendant who, when we first see her, looks like she could have just stepped out of a 1970s airline commercial. Ripping off Ordell isn’t just something that she’s doing for revenge or to protect herself, though there’s certainly an element of both those motivations in her actions. This is also her chance to finally have something for her. Jackie and Max are two lost souls who find each other and wonder where the time is gone. All of those critics who have wondered, over the years, when Quentin Tarantino would make a mature movie about real people with real problems need to rewatch Jackie Brown.
Of course, it’s still a Quentin Tarantino film. And that means we get a lot of scenes of Samuel L. Jackson talking. This is one of Jackson’s best performances. Ordell is definitely a bad guy and most viewers will be eager to see him get his comeuppance but, as played by Jackson, he’s also frequently very funny and definitely charismatic. One can understand how Ordell lures people into his trap. Jackson loves to watch video tapes of women shooting guns. He allows De Niro’s Louis to crash at his place and the scene where Ordell realizes that Louis is thoroughly incompetent is brilliantly acted by both men. And then you have Bridget Fonda, as a force of pure sunny chaos. Jackson, De Niro, and Fonda are definitely a watchable trio, even if the film rightly belongs to Pam Grier and Robert Forster.
The older I get, the more I appreciate Jackie Brown. This is the film where Tarantino revealed that there was more to his artistic vision than just movie references and comic book jokes. This film takes Tarantino’s style and puts it in the real world. It’s Tarantino at his most human.
London. 1961. Doctor Stephen Ward (played by John Hurt) is an artist and an osteopath. He counts among his patients some of the most distinguished men and women in British society, including the Minister of War, John Profumo (Ian McKellen). After meeting two young dancers, Christine Keeler (Joanne Whalley) and Mandy Rice-Davies (Bridget Fonda), Stephen becomes their mentor, the Henry Higgins to their Eliza Doolittle.
Through the Shattered Lens 