Django

Exchanging snow for mud. It's good, but worse than the great silence. That gun with infinite bullets. Those scenes like the one with the horse and the coffin really piss me off. Tarantino got ideas from here

Just your run-of-the-mill spaghetti western also-ran, complete with a joltingly simple plot, one-dimensional characters and the worst dubbed dialog this side of Pulp Fiction's basic cable edit. Django himself, an opportunist without much in the way of personality, is only likable in direct comparison to the cookie-cutter roster of villainy he mercilessly cuts down at every opportunity. Even the scenery, which normally delivers a heaping portion of a western's aura and mystique, falls flat in Django. Here the wide-open promise of a broad, sweeping landscape is reduced to dreary patch of mud, a fistful of thin, trail-weary horses and four pathetic, lifeless wooden shacks. If a steady diet of ricocheting bullets, heavy drinking and utterly pointless double-crossery is what you're hungry for, by all means chow down - this is ninety solid minutes of just that with little variation. Those with an appetite for more filling material, on the other hand, should just keep on walking.