For all the cinematic dreck currently peddling disorienting editing
as «action,» no one in good conscience could deride Tarantino for his indulgence in split screens or extreme close ups or smash zooms or any other mode of cinematic gimmickry, when it affords us hauntingly sparse
centerpieces such
as The Bride's live burial, an aural choir of oppressive dirt,
panting whimpers, and futile struggling set to the visual accompaniment of pitch black confinement that stretches on well past any spectator's comfort level.