By the time Tarantino played fast and loose with history and ramped up his masculine Los Angeles fairy tale to bloodily gruesome new heights, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood had pretty much lost me, and I suddenly realized this was one bit of loopy pulp fiction I could have done without.

Problem is, little of it is clear. Worse, most of it gets drowned in so much guts and gore, not to mention irredeemably abuse and sexism, listening to it is close to impossible. The Hateful Eight has lots to love, but just as much to abhor, making it something an elegant enigma that’s as frustrating as it is impressive.