Inglourious Basterds (18)

CANNES, three months ago, and the jet set recoil in horror as one of France's hottest actresses gets chatted up by a young man dressed as a Nazi.

No, Prince Harry hasn't gone "off- message" with his fancy dress costume again.

This, at long last, is Quentin Tarantino's war film - Inglourious Basterds. Wich gits a D mynus fur spellang but an A plus for effort.

Because it was more than a decade in the writing yet it premiered just seven months after filming began.

And the result is a dizzying Second World War epic, as only the Pulp Fiction maestro could do it - with all of his trademarks present and correct.

The flirtation between Melanie Laurent, as our Jewish heroine Shosanna Dreyfus, and Daniel Bruhl, as a young Nazi war hero, is just one part of a sprawling, multi-thread plot.

BRAD HIT: Pitt's simply glourious as chief Basterd

There's a cherry-picked ensemble cast of big stars, hot new talent, and at least one fading icon given another chance to shine (Brad Pitt, Michael Fassbender and Mike Myers, take a bow). The soundtrack's an instant classic (Now That's What I Call Spaghetti Westerns meets David Bowie).

There are lashings of the old ultra-violence plus a pervy shot of a blonde woman's feet.

Better

And the dialogue's so sharp that you could listen to it for hours . . . which is just as well, because it goes on for flippin' ages.

But Basterds is also very different from everything Tarantino's done before. And even hardcore fans will have felt a twinge of nerves at the trailer, with its hard-rawk soundtrack and comedy Hitler.

Cast those cares aside, amigos. Because Basterds isn't the movie you think it is, nor is it the movie they're trying to sell you. It's much, much better than that.

The first of the film's five chapters, "Once upon a time in Nazi-occupied France," sets the tone. A homesteader hacks at a tree stump in the middle of a rolling landscape. It's the French countryside but it might as well be the plains of the Old West.

JEW-EL: Melanie

And if that cloud of dust on the horizon is anything to go by, those gosh-darn Nazi bandits are on their way.

The Jew Hunter, Colonel Hans Landa (Austrian actor Christoph Waltz) is scouring the area for fugitives from the Holocaust.

And - first lofty claim alert - he's the best screen villain of the year. Seldom do you come across an actor who can stand beside Brad Pitt in a white tux and STILL be the coolest thing on screen. Waltz is a shoo-in for Oscar and Bafta best-supporting-actor nods come January, and with his opening scene - 20 minutes of knife-edge dialogue topped with a gut-churning blast of sadistic violence - Basterds has you hooked.

Next, enter the Basterds, a squad of Jewish commandos on a revenge mission to slaughter and terrorise the Nazi war machine.

Killed

Brad is their leader, Lieutenant Aldo Raine - nicknamed The Apache because he exacts payment for the Nazis' crimes in scalps.

"An' ah WANT mah scalps!" yells Brad to his men. And over the next 2½ hours, hoooo boy, does he get them.

With the help of Dietrich-alike double agent Bridget Von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger), the Basterds mount Operation Kino - a plot to kill the German high command at the premiere of the Nazi propaganda film Nation's Pride. But little do they know, the cinema's owner Shosanna has her own plans for the audience - because years ago her family were killed by Colonel Landa.

The many, many, delights in Basterds include:

Brad's opening speech and the uproarious intro to Nazi turncoat Hugo Stiglitz (Til Schweiger).

The genius casting of the Basterds themselves, who look like a right bunch of weeds.

Mike Myers' perfectly judged cameo.

Jacky Ido as the black cinema projectionist, Marcel - a lightly-sketched role but one of the best in the movie.

Landa's pipe.

All of the dark, unexpected humour.

Hostel director Eli Roth NOT muffing up his part as the baseball bat-wielding "Bear Jew".

The Mexican standoff in the Paris saloon.

The giant, cackling face in the smoke - probably THE single most impressive film moment of 2009 (lofty claim No2).

The ending, which is one of the bravest, daftest, most brilliant things you'll see this year (lofty claim No3).

And last but not least, the way Michael Fassbender owns the screen as the dashing, heroic, sexy British commando Archie Hicox - even though the last part of his name is "bender".

In short, this is a brutal, audacious, triumphant piece of filmmaking that hits harder than a baseball bat to the jawbone.

And man, does Tarantino know it.

The final words of the film are: "I think this might be my masterpiece."

They may be spoken by Brad Pitt - as he hacks a swastika into a Nazi's forehead, with a knife the size of Rambo's thigh - but it's Quent's voice through and through.

And do you know what? The jabbering, jester-chinned get might just be right.

OUT FRIDAY

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