Death Proof

Thanks for the 20min car chase, Quentin. My fiancé's decided to finally get his drivers licence! I'm grateful, but he's not allowed to Death-Proof the Daihatsu.

You may, like me, spend the first half of this film wondering what the point is.

You may even be as confused and pent up as I was that you almost cheer with relief when you hear the title "Death Proof" quoted at 60 minutes in.

"HOORAY! Maybe now something will happen besides three hot bitches talking in a bar! Since when does Tarantino do chick flicks anyway?!?"

My theory is thus. What could be just self-indulgent direction – a reasonable suspicion of Tarantino – could also be a genius ploy to create the perfect mix of relaxed anticipation necessary for ULTIMATE ENJOYMENT of the last 20 minutes of shit-your-pants-muscle-car-chase-joy.

You get me? I'm saying it's on purpose. The boredom. If it's not on purpose, it's a happy accident because I have never enjoyed a car chase scene before and I loved this one so much I laughed hysterically all the way out of the theatre and into my one litre, yellow Daihatsu Sirion…where I then cried.

To make up for nothing happening for so long, Tarantino – wise and generous - has cast some scorching hot lady asses for you to watch. He has looked at men's and women's magazines and said to himself "everyone likes hot lady asses". I thank Tarantino for this. As I drifted off from the inane dialogue on screen and my eyes followed the asses, I thought how I should really begin a programme of lunges and squats.

I can only imagine what my fiancé was thinking as his eyes followed the asses. Perhaps that his fiancé should really begin a programme of lunges and squats?

Whatever he was thinking, what he told me is this: he's finally decided to get his driver’'s license.

I'm so grateful about this I'm not gonna question his exact motivation, but I'll tell you one thing, he's definitely not death-proofing the Daihatsu.

- Claire Hooper