Quentin Tarantino's ego has finally overwhelmed his talents. This shameless self-ploitation film is unbearable for its horrible acting, cheesy dialogue, and bare-floor plot. Its celebrated cinematography, no doubt, is breathtaking. But this is a film, not a painting, and it can't rely solely on its visual elements to carry it forward (in this way it is excruciatingly similar to Eyes Wide Shut, another ego-trip from an otherwise immortal director). The cut is especially deep in that it is ranked ahead of films like Raging Bull, Ran, and Tarantino's own Reservoir Dogs (up there with Pulp Fiction for his best). Oh, to have those two hours of my life back (111 minutes of film, 9 minutes of quiet sobbing).