Once Upon a Time in Hollywood: A Song That Slowly Grows on You
Like many people, I too have been a fan of Quentin Tarantino over the years. His cinema has always had a certain swagger — loud, unapologetic, bursting with pop culture references and stylised violence. So when I went for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, without having seen a single trailer, I genuinely didn’t know what to expect.
What I didn’t expect was to be lulled.
Because this is not Tarantino firing on all cylinders from the word go. This is Tarantino letting you settle into a rhythm. Letting you soak in a world. Letting you breathe.
And then, almost without realising it, you’re hooked.
This film is like a song that grows slowly on you. At first, you’re listening politely. Then you begin to notice the melody. And suddenly, somewhere near the end, you realise you’ve been humming along for quite a while. That’s how Tarantino builds this film — patiently, indulgently, lovingly.
There isn’t much of a conventional story here. And that’s the point. This is less narrative and more poetry — visual poetry, told with immense style and an almost old-fashioned affection for cinema itself.
Two Men, One Era, and a Fading Spotlight
There are two protagonists here. You know who I’m talking about.
I won’t attempt to say who is better — because the film itself isn’t interested in that competition. What I enjoyed most was Leonardo DiCaprio’s vulnerability. There is something deeply moving about watching a man who knows his best days might be behind him, trying desperately to hold on — not to fame, but to relevance.
DiCaprio brings an aching honesty to Rick Dalton. Beneath the bravado and tantrums lies fear. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of becoming obsolete. It’s an unusually tender performance in a film that could have easily become a nostalgia exercise.
Brad Pitt, on the other hand, is pure ease. He glides through the film with a quiet confidence, anchoring it emotionally. Together, the two share a chemistry that feels lived-in, unforced — like two people who’ve spent years circling each other’s lives.
Hollywood as Memory, Not Myth
What struck me most was the depiction of the era. This is not Hollywood as myth, but Hollywood as memory — sun-drenched streets, radio jingles, movie marquees, the slow rhythm of a city that doesn’t yet know it’s about to change forever.
Tarantino recreates late-60s Los Angeles with astonishing authenticity. Not as spectacle, but as atmosphere. You don’t just see the period — you feel it. The film luxuriates in details: the cars, the clothes, the pacing of life itself.
And then there is that ending. Tarantino, being Tarantino, reminds you that cinema can rewrite history — not out of denial, but out of longing. Out of love.
By the time the credits roll, you realise you weren’t watching a film about Hollywood at all. You were watching a film about time. About change. About holding on.
I would love to watch this movie again. Three hours of paisa vasool!
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