Once Upon A Time In Hollywood brings out an indulgent Tarantino, at his best.

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is a deep, sombre and melancholic ride. It’s an unabashed ode to the titular gaudy film industry, but also a love letter, an appropriate send-off, for its jaded superstars. Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a now fading TV actor, best known for leading roles as the antihero in pulpy Westerns. Bounty Law and Nebraska Jim include the titles he graces. As an agent, played by the gleefully unhinged Al Pacino reminds him, his career is leading to a life less remembered by the common masses.

Dalton finds little consolation in his stunt-double/best friend, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). We’re told that he’s “more than a brother, less than a wife”. This bromance is the central anchor of the film. We watch as Booth and Dalton drink, smoke, party and weep about how life has treated them. It helps that the actors who play them, Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt, both Oscar winning artists, are soaked in this industrial-strength charm. But, they’re not afraid of ageing. In the latter half of Hollywood, Dalton’s put on 15 pounds and Booth’s wrinkles have become more pronounced.

I thought of Salman Khan doing the same thing in June’s Bharat (2019) and 2016’s Sultan, although even he is redeemed by an action sequence and a training montage. In director Quentin Tarantino’s delightfully unhinged universe (I’m referring to the polarising climax), there is no place for redemption. Every character is doused in this melancholic greed, that ultimately proves to be their end. You’ll remember principal characters from Django Unchained and Inglorious Bastards, Tarantino’s previous films, who met their end as an extension of their actions.

But unlike those films, Hollywood isn’t for everybody. It takes its time to ease into 1960’s Los Angeles, which in Tarantino’s retelling is just infested with film folk. There’s casual namedropping of Steve McQueen, Dean Martin, George Peppard and George Maharis. As with other Tarantino films, the references will probably fly over your head, but understanding them just makes the experience richer and more fulfilling. But the central problem arises with Sharon Tate, played by the radiant Margot Robbie, who is criminally under-utilised.

Her link to the surroundings is that she and husband, Roman Polanski, are Dalton’s neighbours in the Hills. Polanski, who’s riding off the high of Rosemary’s Baby, has a house with high creepers and big gates, while Dalton’s has a few cobbled steps as security. There’s a hidden meta-reference here on Polanski’s new security, his success, and Dalton’s insecurity, his lack of it. However, do note that knowing

Tate and her friends were gruesomely murdered in their house by members of Charles Manson’s cult may not be enough to enrich your experience of the film.

I walked out of it, both dazzled and confused. I didn’t understand the subtext, the messaging or the bizarre climax, because I was uninformed on the actualities of the event. My advice? Go ahead and read up a bit about what happened, it’ll only make your experience better and more mind-boggling. Leo DiCaprio is especially spectacular. He’s a fantastic actor playing a horrible one. There’s this one scene in a trailer, where Dalton just cries and screams, confessing to himself that he’s an alcoholic.

The camera lingers, almost for comedic effect. Tarantino wants us to laugh at Dalton and his flaws. There’s another standout one, where Dalton has a tragi-comic conversation with a young child actor on the sets of his newest venture. She is a good 30 years younger than him, physically, but 30 years older mentally. I think Hollywood’s second part (if Tarantino dares) should be about her. Brad Pitt is even more dazzling. He’s sidelined to be the supportive best friend, who romances with a hippie named Pussycat, unknowingly stumbling into something much bigger than himself.

Though relegated to the background, with his dog, Brandy (until the iconic climax, that is), Pitt has a quieter, less underlined existential crisis. If his ticket to success, Dalton, has no success himself, where does that leave him? Margot Robbie does the best with whatever she’s given, though very less. She’s appropriately ditzy, unassumingly kind and stunning to look at.

These three make Hollywood worth the two hour fourty one minute long ride, this film is ridiculously long. I suspect that you’ll either love Tarantino’s newest offering or loathe it. Because, the long build up worked for me. The twenty-five minute climax is gaudy, over-the-top and flat-out psychotic, but it made me laugh. It may piss you off.

But, in true Tarantino fashion, it’s nutty. There’s this one scene, without any spoilers, where a flamethrower scorches a woman in a pool, while a dog bites off somebody’s crotch.

If that isn’t enough to lure you in, I don’t know what is.