A few years after the Civil War, mid-winter. Bounty hunter John Ruth, a.k.a. The Executioner, goes to Red Rock with his prisoner Daisy Domergue, who is to be hanged in exchange for a ransom. On his way, he meets Major Marquis Warren, also a former soldier turned bounty hunter, and Chris Mannix, the new sheriff of Red Rock. Surprised by a storm, they find refuge in an isolated cabin, where they are greeted by four strangers: an old Confederate, a Mexican, a cowboy and the hangman whose next job is Daisy. But while the blizzard descends on the cabin, Ruth is persuaded that at least one of the men is not who he claims to be, so he works to free Daisy...

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Tarantino is the master of theatricality. Divided into five chapters, The Hateful Eight lasts almost three hours, was shot in 70mm – a format that hasn’t been used for almost 50 years – begins with a musical overture and even has an intermission. It is done with the same love for the cinema that made him make the Grindhouse movies with Robert Rodriguez in 2007. But what is left beyond this technical fetishism? A chatty movie, sometimes surprising and often funny, but in the end very ordinary. In this closed setting populated with dirty mouths and dark souls, Tarantino has fun (though more restrained than usual) roughing up his actors in a story animated by the irresistible energy of some (especially the excellent Jennifer Jason Leigh and Tim Roth). But after three hours (including the intermission), there remains the odd feeling of having witnessed a small, inconsequential adventure, whose mechanics are too ordinary and that lacks boldness or soul.