Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is the kind of film you get when Quentin Tarantino is let loose upon a massively significant six-month period in 1969 Hollywood. The film follows fictional actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), his stuntman Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), and Tarantino’s interpretation of the real-life actress Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) as they navigate the changing landscape of the film industry at the end of the ‘60s, and rocket toward the infamous series of murders committed by the followers of Charles Manson. At over three hours long (even when watching the standard release), it should perhaps feel like a chore to sit through — yet even without the massive, bloody action sequences that Tarantino is known for, every part of the film is a delight to watch.
Setting Hollywood in 1969 provides Tarantino with two fantastic plot opportunities, both of which he uses to their fullest. As evidenced both by this film and his past projects, Tarantino is clearly a student of film as well as a creator. He turns his attention to a certain subset of actors who found their careers floundering in the late ‘60s: those who once found success as action heroes but slowly began to slip into obscurity after the public turned their attention to someone younger and more exciting.
Rick’s storyline is based entirely around this concept. Rick can only watch as his career circles the drain, despite his best efforts to remain relevant. Most of the movie’s plot takes place over one day, and we follow Rick as he films a western pilot, throwing himself entirely into one last role before he may have to give up his Hollywood dreams forever. The threat hanging over his head is that, if he fails to attract some interest with this role, he’ll have to resign himself to making westerns in Italy — the last dying gasp for Rick, who was once the star of a beloved TV western.Â
DiCaprio is incredible to watch as Rick, swinging wildly between hope for the future, pride in his work, and a terrifying gulf of insecurity and self-hatred spiked by his alcoholism. Rick is based on a number of real actors, and his story is all too familiar — for every Steve McQueen, there were 10 Ricks in Hollywood.
The second opportunity Tarantino has concerns a darker underbelly of fame and the hippie movement. Sharon Tate was murdered in 1969, along with four others, in her home by three members of the Manson family. Our second protagonist, Cliff Booth, becomes intertwined by spending an afternoon with a member of the family. Cliff is less nuanced than Rick is, but Brad Pitt plays him affably; his laissez-faire attitude is really all there is to him, and his friendliness doesn’t conceal any kind of hidden rage.Â
Cliff comes across a young hitchhiker who leads him out to Spahn Ranch (the real movie ranch in the desert where the Manson family stayed) and introduces him to the rest of the family. This is where Tarantino’s deft hand in building suspense comes into play. Even if the viewer knows nothing at all about Charles Manson or his followers, the sense of danger when Cliff arrives at the ranch is almost overwhelming, and only just lets up as the scene drags out to its conclusion.
Not much can be said about the portrayal of Sharon in Hollywood — Margot Robbie plays her extremely well, but her purpose is only to give the audience a specific reason to be fond of her and to make them worry as the film races toward the date of her murder. As with the climax of Inglourious Basterds, which saw all of the top members of the Nazi party immolated in a planned theatre explosion, Tarantino decides to rewrite history at the end of  Hollywood. The two storylines then converge beautifully: the three Manson family members advance on the home of Sharon, who just so happens to live next door to Rick.
It doesn’t do Tarantino enough credit to call Hollywood a love letter to the real Hollywood of the ‘60s. The film draws you into its environment like no other: you’re in the backseat as Sharon arrives at the Playboy mansion for a party, you’re on set as Rick delivers a powerhouse monologue, you’re on the ranch as Cliff tries to figure out exactly what these hippies are up to. Neon hums to life, Joe Cocker blasts from a car stereo, and an era that is quietly slipping into legend is expertly illuminated, both lovingly and with the kind of edge fans of Tarantino might expect. This is Tarantino’s least stylized film, his most straightforward, and possibly one of his most effective.
In between horror movie marathons and arthritis-inducing embroidery sessions, Maecyn likes to correct the grammar of unsuspecting journalists. She’s currently pursuing a BA in History and a career in library science, which makes her the official ambassador for cardigan-wearers everywhere.
