Inglourious Basterds - the power and fury of subtext

In probably the most brilliant opening in cinema history, in Inglourious Basterds we see a still shot of bearded man with wide shoulders chopping wood in the French countryside. Left of the farmer is an old French country house, while to the right is a small herd of milk cows, grazing between two large trees. It is the year 1941, and the farmer is hard at work chopping wood.

One of his daughters has been hanging up sheets on a line before the house. From a distance, she hears the purring of motors and yanks a sheet out of the way to see what it is.

“Papa!” she cries, staring down the hill towards the road.

Several military vehicles are driving up the hill towards the house. The farmer slings down his axe, noticing this, and calls his daughter to fetch some water for him.

Gazing into the distance, the farmer watches some more as two military motorcycles and a car approach. He dries his brow very slowly in the hot sun, almost as if making the sign of the cross. He looks out again, towards the sight of Nazis approaching. And once his daughter returns, leaving a bowl of fresh water against the house, the farmer orders her to go inside with her sisters, “But don’t run!” he says, and then proceeds to wash his face and shoulders and neck.

Taking a moment, he pauses and looks out again, his eyes showing an intensity that as viewers we cannot help but notice as grave danger to come.

And there it is — within the first minute of the film a seed of tension has been planted. We are given a ticking clock of the Nazi’s arrival. We do not know what will come or what the purpose is for the visitation. We only know the year is 1941, and we are introduced to a stoic farmer, whose bravery we have not witnessed yet but altogether feel is there in his strong shoulders as he awaits what seems to be his doomsday.

And then, enter Christoph Waltz . . . It’s his debut moment in Hollywood, and he brings with him a performance that is to land him consistent work in the industry for the coming 10 years probably form this scene alone. But of course he does not know that yet.

And then, enter Christoph Waltz . . . It’s his debut moment in Hollywood, and he brings with him a performance that is to land him consistent work in the industry for the coming 10 years probably form this scene alone. But of course he does not know that yet.

Still, from a distance we see a short Austrian man exchange a few words in German with fellow Nazi officers. The little man approaches the farm house, amused with himself with his usual charming smile. And after he doffs his hat to the French farmer, what is to come is one of the greatest examples of not only incredible script writing — which shows how a writer should create tension in every line through the art of subtext — subtext being the true meanings beneath the actual words being said. But what’s more, we are given genius performances just the same, between Christoph Waltz, who plays Colonel Hans Landa, or “The Jew Hunter,” a fictional Nazi Army Colonel with a dose of Sherlock Holmes’ endless wit, and that of a second unknown actor named Denis Ménochet who is sheltering Jews..

In French, Hans Landa approaches the French farmer warmly and respectfully. He reaches out his hand. The farmer shakes it apprehensively. And once the farmer accepts to allow the Colonel inside his home, the scene to come is a masterclass for framing a scene, writing a scene, and creating subtext in every possible manner.

-But what does it mean to create subtext in a scene and why is this important?

We learn as the scene unfolds through dialogue that Hans has come to visit this French dairy farm on account of a missing Jewish family. But we are not flat out told that at the start. Many little rudimentary questions and politenesses are built up through the opening of the scene in the farm house. We first have a Nazi Officer who very clearly is amused speaking French, almost acting like a guest at a friend’s home, asking to try a little bit of the delicious cow’s milk.

We know that so much is wrong by the body language of the French farmer, and yet we go on watching as these two men comport themselves, both playing an act and being civil and decent towards each other for the course of a few loaded minutes. And as we as viewers know before long that Hans has come to play “Sherlock Holmes” and discover the real truth of the situation — before jumping into that pursuit we are given moments in scene of how these two men are acting like someone they are not.

Hans, whose power and confidence is clear before us — goes on in great amusement. He compliments the farmer’s beautiful daughters. He prances around with the greatest refinement and sensitivity towards the farm life and quaffs down a full glass of milk with the gratitude and enjoyment of a very cultured person. Hans partakes in the experience, comforting everyone in the room and showing how friendly he is, while altogether priming the farmer for what’s to come, which is to be a kind of backward interrogation that shows the great mastery of communication and story telling that makes Hans Landa the great antagonist of the film.

First we are watching a seemingly ordinary conversation play out about the cow milk and seemingly banal topics of his family and families in the area. Still, the owner of the house answers these questions with a great inner-struggle. When answering, he responds slowly and with considerable strain. We know what is happening and where things are headed, but Quentin Tarantino wants to delay the inevitable conflict to come. He wants to string us along an otherwise pleasant afternoon with an uninvited guest. And with each banal turn of phrase between these two men, the fact remains that nothing is banal and superficial. The slightest commonplace question harbors tons of weight beneath it; a weight that creates the most intense form of drama that holds any viewer, with the remotest sensitivity, glued to their chair and unable to turn away.

And then Hans requests to speak in English, as he heard that this specific French farmer could hold his own in the language. And it is at this moment, as if the speaking of the French happened to be more for the self-indulgence of the Nazi Colonel, playing along and enjoying the colorful language that perhaps he did not get a chance to speak enough — into that of a transition into the real work that is to come. The shift in the scene and in Han’s intentions lies in this language shift. And with it, we are invited to follow and detect truth versus lie within our own understanding of English as Han’s continues his speech.

He begins his true interrogation in English by asking questions that are almost entirely straightforward. But straightforwardness is only so on the surface, whether truth-telling or falsifying, and this is where the film’s opening enters into an even deeper layer of subtext that pulls us even more to the edge of our couch or chair or bed.

We already understand by the farmer’s physicality that he is fostering Jews against the Nazi’s wishes. He does not say this is the case, but through the questioning and answering, from the pausing and the tone of voice, we are almost there to judge the farmer’s reactions to the question as though being Sherlock Holmes himself. We push further, watching closely. And the further the Nazi Colonel goes, the more we go along with him, until it gets too much and all is revealed.

Naturally, this scene could have been executed in a great deal of many ways. In a usual film, the many details pertaining to the cow milk, the daughters, and even the fixation on the languages they are speaking would have been omitted or even deemed unnecessarily rendered. But what Tarantino gets right is that when the conflict of the scene is artfully planted early on — it is in the exchanges and interactions with such banal items where the drama and subtext lie. And when one can play off of all of these elements, it seems as though the art of conflict and tension can become so enhanced that the stakes and the characters we follow become so completely important to us that there is nothing we can do but stare at the flickering image before us, all the while being entertaining and hooked into a film.

-"Inglourious Basterds” Starring Christoph Waltz, is available on Prime Video.