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.