There’s a lot to say about Tarantino’s latest smash hit film but there is one thing in particular about this movie that continues to haunt and perturb my brain days after I saw the film.
This event happens just before the climax of the film and it completely derailed my ability to even comprehend what followed.
When Cliff and Rick return from shooting spaghetti westerns in Italy the movie portrays them as very clearly taking a non-stop flight from FCO to LAX. This is about a 14 hour flight.
I repeat: This is a FOURTEEN HOUR flight.
Now I will grant you, that the accommodations on the average flight from 1969 were significantly better than the sardine-can seating of today’s passenger aircraft, but one thing, to my knowledge has remained fairly consistent: the bathrooms are tiny, claustrophobia-inducing literal shit-holes.
This is important because Rick Dalton returns from Italy with a new wife. This woman is wearing a back-zippered, form-fitting jumpsuit pictured here:
Let me repeat for those of you who are not following: This woman, wore a back-zippered, form-fitting, CROTCHET jumpsuit on a FOURTEEN HOUR FLIGHT.
WHAT KIND OF A WOMAN WOULD DO THAT????
So how exactly did this woman extricate herself from this jumpsuit long enough to take a piss?
Did she dislocate her shoulder? Turn into some kind of snake monster and slither her way out? Is there a piss-bottle hidden under those bell-bottoms attached to some kind of catheter?
Because all I can imagine is the hell of being trapped inside a tiny, foul smelling room, struggling to reach the zipper tab, sweaty with exertion, causing the likely unbreathable sixties fabric lining the already too warm crotchet overlay to stick to her skin, exacerbating the struggle until she can finally get the zipper down and unpeel the jumpsuit like a molting snake under an increasingly urgent need to relieve her bladder. And then, once relieved, the even more difficult process of putting sweaty mess back on.
I gotta say, Rick Dalton does not seem like the kind of gent who would play zipper-man-in-waiting to help a bitch out by zipping and unzipping as she entered and exited the restroom, I just don’t see it happening.
The entire scenario caused me to break out into an anxious sweat and I COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. It still haunts me.
Completely took me out of an otherwise light-hearted romp about the Manson Family murders.
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How do you breathe a post in and hold it in your lungs forever. I have to know.
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I can’t help you there. Even contemplating that concept makes me hyperventilate which is hardly conducive to holding one’s breath.
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Mm. Unfortunate. It was worth a shot, at least. That jumpsuit needs to be sealed away forever.
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I’ve never wanted to wear a jumpsuit on an international flight more than this moment. Although, I’ve been blessed with a 32 oz bladder, so I might need to chug a gallon of water at the gate…for science?
Let me know how that goes. I have not been blessed with such a voluminous bladder and the thought of it chills me all the way down to my urethra.
It is a gorgeous get-up. But yes. I completely agree. In fact, I think Erma Bombeck has an entire humor essay on jumpsuits that turns on her, wearing a jumpsuit, trying to use an airplane bathroom. She returns to her seat, and her husband says, “How did you get that black eye?”
Also, did the lady wear that long, loosely curled hairstyle on the entire 14-hour flight? Or did she give up and do a French braid halfway through?
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That does sound like something Erma Bombeck would write about lol.
The woman was inexplicably perfect coming out of the plane even though she was also portrayed as sleeping flat against that hair so I can’t even imagine.