For some, brand building takes time. For others, establishing a distinctive identity that consumers instantly recognize never occurs. With 1994's Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino firmly established himself as a filmmaking iconoclast with quirky storytelling sensibilities and tendencies to ignore narrative conventions. Quentin followed Pulp with 1997's Jackie Brown, an ode to the blaxploitation era. When Jackie Brown didn't garner the praise Tarantino had anticipated, he took a directing sabbatical. During that time, the expectation for Tarantino's next project among his legion of fans reached a fever pitch.

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In Black Mamba's duel with Cottonmouth, Tarantino captures his most poignant images. In a visually stunning snow-capped scene of samurai swords-womanship, Black Mamba and Cottonmouth engage in a sensuous dance to an assassin's rhythm, where the silence of the wintry evening is cut by the occasional thud of a teetering water fountain.

Tarantino employs a talented ensemble cast for Volume 1's tale that jumps forward and flashes back. Most notably, he casts a cadre of thirtysomething actresses to portray the quartet of lethal badass mama jammas and resurrects legendary "Streetfighter" Sonny Chiba to portray Hattori Hanzo.

But even with strong acting and instances that pique interest like California Mountain Snake's Twisted Nerve intro, Gogo's spherical guillotine dance and the Crazy 88's exhaustive battle royale, Volume 1 lacks the distinctiveness Tarantino has achieved in past works. Tarantino can usually be counted on for choice dialogue to spice up his tales. But in Volume 1, the writing lacks pizzazz and Tarantino's attempts at sardonic humor occasionally miss the mark. For instance, the sound effects are annoyingly pronounced and seemed to be warped efforts at humor - the loudly buzzing, blood-sucking bug; the writhing and bloodied Crazy 88s and the nonsensical acquiescence to a command to stay put.

Admittedly, Volume 1 is half the story. Be that as it may, Tarantino's effort to create an engaging cliffhanger fails and is more akin to a needlessly long intermission between acts.

 Sometimes a carefully crafted production will yield a serendipitous cliffhanger (i.e., the "What happened to Big Pussy?" craze at the end of season one of The Sopranos) and spawn an almost insatiable desire to know. However, Volume 1's cliffhanger is foolishly suspenseful and it's forced. During the post-production phase, Kill Bill was split in two because the film was too long. Tarantino didn't want to cut crucial elements and Miramax didn't want to release a 3-hour film. Moreover, Black Mamba's aim is to kill Bill and come hell or high water, she'll do so or go down in a blaze of glory trying.

Kill Bill's audience won't have much to wonder about in Volume 2. The only intrigue is Tarantino's method of spinning the tale and unveiling Black Mamba's moniker. The battle of 6-foot blondes is inevitable as is Black Mamba going mano a mano with the men who tried to hasten her demise.

While there aren't enough original touches to distinguish the film and it's hampered by trite dialogue as well as over the top gore, Volume 1 has its moments and those are properly appreciated on the big screen. M

October 2003