Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Kill Bill, Vol. II: Please Watch It

Hey, everybody, Q.T. here, glad y’all liked my chop-sockey bloodfest, Kill Bill, Volume I, starring the lovely, the super-sexy, Ms. Uma and my personal god, Sonny “Kung-Pao” Chiba. But, man, let me tell you the good stuff doesn’t even start till Kill Bill, Volume II! That’s right. The extent of my brilliant imagination cannot possibly be contained in just one movie. My pretentious-yet-low-brow, auteur-slash-hack, swipe-foreign-shit-nobody’s-ever-heard-of brand gimmickry is so freaking fucking goddamn Tarantino marvelous that Harvey My Main Man Miramax made me split it into two flicks like John Belushi’s super samurai delicatessen dude breaking a sawbuck. Booyah! Wrap your brains around that, fuckwads! O.K., O.K., O.K., O.K., y’all still with me? Good. Great. Here we go. I’m about to tell you, you lucky fucking assholes, just a teeny, tiny glimpse of what’s to come in K.B.V.2. Why? Because I am a benevolent god, and I like to reward my faithful fucking fanbase with scraps of goodness yet to come. Or, maybe, I’m just a petty dick who likes taunting losers. Either way, strap on your seatbelts, buckaroos, because here it comes:

Things to expect in Kill Bill Volume II. Here we go. Ready? Now. Fucking now:

O.K., when milady Uma first confronts a cadre of evil Asian bad guys, they prance around with their swords and taunt her by reënacting Letterman’s horrible Oscar-monologue bit, “Uma, Oprah; Oprah, Uma.” Then Miss Ums gets her revenge by slicing them all into jigsaw pieces and rearranging them to form the picture of four dogs playing poker. Kapow!

There’s also a fucking kickass bestest scene in the whole fucking history of cinema which involves Sonny Cheebz going one-on-one, mano-a-mano, vis-à-vis with a wild fucking turkey. Gobble fucking gobble, man. What you don’t know, is this: Sonny Chiba, having made his peace with the almighty, is a strict Vegan, and refused to ritually slaughter the wild turkey the script called for. So, through the miracle of movie magic, we had him slay a “Tofurkey,” a soy-based replacement. Kapow! Zing! Zang! Also, only my cultish fans with the most discerning eyes and a mental freeze-frame power will be able to spot the bizarre product placement of “Dill Bill,” a tasty dip from our good friends at Frito-Lay. Dill Bill! Judo Chop! Hiii-yaaaaa! Number one son! Me Chinese, me play joke. Gadzookie!

But wait, there’s more. More, more, more. Why? Because, I, the great and mighty Q.T., love you. K.B.V.2 will feature more than five straight minutes of yours truly, stuttering into the camera. I ramble, I babble, I blather, then my head explodes. It’s fucking awesome! All to the tune of Steely fucking Dan. There’s also a hysterical discussion of 70s-era sitcoms by a bunch of karate thugs speaking Mandarin, and you can just imagine the bloody hilarity that ensues when they fail to realize that the word for “Barney Miller” is just a very slight change in inflection from the words for “I slept with your ancestors.” Kapow!

Even a speed-crazed Lucy Liu gets in on the action, rambling through an intense 16-minute monologue about her Swedish masseuse. Yee-fucking-ha, mis amigos!

And, do not forget a fucking motherfucking cameo by Sam the Man Jackson as a badass mofo who … wait … maybe he’s not in this one. I forget. You see, though this is only the first movie you think I’ve made in like 5 years, in reality, it’s the 50th one I’ve made in my mind, which is where I prefer to do editing, anyway, because I’ve got a really fucking tip-top, top-notch, killer editing bay with Avid installed in there, so I can do nifty fucking cuts and import my super-sounds-of-the-70s soundtrack via my iPod in nothing flat. Plus, I’m free to kill and fuck and swear as much as I want and the motherfucking M.P.A.A. can’t make any suggestions. Fuck you, M.P.A.A.! Booyah! The movie’s playin’ in my mind, and you’re not invited. But know who is invited? All my freakboy video-store-clerk cinemaphile freako fantastico fuckwad fans. Yes, all of you. Come. Into my mind. Q.T. awaits you. There will be Whoppers and Diet Cokes and cigarettes. You must bring your own booze, though. Wanna see me dance? I can dance. Ziggy zaggy! Waa-ahh-haaa! Kapow!

Kill Bill, Volume II. Coming soon to a theater near you.

Quentin Tarantino is a critically acclaimed writer and director, and the star of Destiny Turns on the Radio.

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