Grindhouse may offer two films for the price of one, but only the second end of this devilish double feature is actually worth the price of admission. Made in the spirit of the splatter-fueled and breast-bearing exploitation spectaculars of the 1970’s, this blood, guts and gore monstrosity (complete with missing reels and faux trailers for similar titles) is a giddily self-indulgent freak-out. Some will love it; others not so much. For everyone else, no matter what this thing is certainly a three-hour experience few will likely be able to forget.

The brainchild of racy indie darlings Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez (who also joined up to make From Dusk til Dawn and Four Rooms), Grindhouse certainly offers mainstream audiences an experience unlike any they’ve probably had in quite some time. The thing is, while the former is willing to take the genre, subvert it and then spin it on its head, the latter is more than content to revel in the kind of crap this genre usually tends to revel in making for a wildly inconsistent night at the movies.

Granted, the level of nihilistic excess on display isn’t exactly a thing a person can judge all that critically. Part of the charm of these sorts of pictures is that they revel in depravity and badness, throwing everything they can at the screen (the more morally repugnant the better) in hopes that something, anything, will stick.

For me, what doesn’t stick is Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. This first entry in the double-bill is definitely one I could have missed and not lost a wink of sleep for doing so. The story of a military experiment gone horribly wrong that unleashes a hellacious plague upon humanity turning victims into mindless flesh-eating zombies, there just isn’t anything different or grotesque enough to warrant holding my interest. Sure this episode is the one with the now iconic image of actress Rose McGowan walking around (and straddling a motorcycle) with a prosthetic leg in the form of an automatic weapon, but razzle-dazzle like this isn’t near enough to erase the boredom I was squirming in my seat suffering through.

On the flipside, Tarantino’s Death Proof is a total kick in the proverbial ass. Featuring razor-sharp dialogue, blistering performances from Kurt Russell, Sydney Tamiia Poitier, Zoë Bell, Rosario Dawson and especially Tracie Thoms, and full-tilt car chases in the spirit of Vanishing Point and Gone in 60 Seconds (the original, not the crappy remake), this one grabbed me right from the start and then refused to let go. It is a joyous cacophony of violence, mayhem, screeching tires and shockingly rich and detailed female discussions, and by the time this one was over I wanted the projectionist to start it over so I could watch it again.

Add in the glorious fake trailers from Rodriguez (a gruesome revenge thriller called Machete), Rob Zombi (the hysterical looking Werewolve Women of the S.S.), Edgar Wright (a kitchen sink Brit horror simply titled Don’t!) and Eli Roth (the turkey-themed Thanksgiving featuring the one-of-a-kind shot of a naked trampoline jumping cheerleader landing bottom end first upon a large glisteing butcher knife) and it’s hard to not get a kick out of Grindhouse. Throw in some great use of classic movie music in Death Proof and a synth score for Planet Terror that would make John Carpenter proud and there’s even more to take delicious delight in.

Still, I'm not jumping down in enthusiasm. Grindhouse is a tale of excessive exhuberance and juvenile irresponsibility, and while I don’t have a problem with either of those two things both Rodriguez and (especially) Tarantino are too good at what they do to keep reveling in this kind of schlock forever. I’m a little bit over it, and even though I’m doing cartwheels over the gloriousness of the second end of this double feature that doesn’t mean I’m ready to keep from admitting sitting through all of this is, well, something of a grind.

Planet Terror Rating : ê1/2  (out of 4)
Death Proof Rating: êêê1/2  (out of 4)
Grindhouse Overall Rating: êê1/2  (out of 4)