In what ways can Inglorious Basterds be considered Postmodern

In what ways can Inglorious Basterds be considered Postmodern?

After the 1960’s it can be said that the film industry moved away from modernism and films with utopian ideals and general, large story lines. Instead it can be argued that there was movement towards a postmodern era, in which films today can still be catagorised, such as Inglorious Basterds. Post Modernism upsets the mainstream conventions of narrative structure and characterisation whilst films which are catergorised as postmodernism often use Hyper-reality as a means to define what is actually real. It can be seen that these characteristics can be seen in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds and this is what makes it an exemplar of PostModern work.

Postmodern elements run throughout the film; through each of the chapters given. Inglorious Basterds can be seen as postmodern due to elements in chapter one.

The first of these elements is that of his use of yellow text. It can be seen that Tarantino’s use of yellow text is Postmodern because it breaks conventions of text on screen, which usually consists of white or black subtitles, very rarely are they a colour; especially yellow. It is this yellow colour which is a second reason that this is an element of Postmodernism. it can be said that the use of yellow text for subtitles is a homage to his other work; for example Kill Bill. This is Postmodern as it reminds us that this is his piece of work and we as an audience are being told that this was created by Tarantino and thus we are reminded it is a text.

A second reason that chapter one of Inglorious Basterds can be defined as Postmodern is because of the Fourth wall. It can be seen that breaking the Fourth Wall is a postmodern element used by Tarantino throughout this chapter of the film. This is exemplified firstly via a birds eye shot of the room revealing the beams and thus the set and secondly by a pan down through the floor to where the Jews are hiding, rather than a normal cut which would have been expected by the audience. Again these are features of Postmodernism as Tarantino has gone to lengths to remind us that we are watching a film and not letting us become enthralled by the narrative.

Intertexual references within the first chapter are the third reason that Inglorious Basterds can be considered Postmodern. The intertextual reference is that of The Sound of Music and in particular the scene links strongly to the famous ‘The Hills are Alive with the sound of music’. This has been done so that the link is as recognisable as possible. This can be considered Postmodern as it adds an element of fantasy into the narrative-this coupled with the fairy tale title at the beginning allows the film to move away from the general story lines of modernist films and create something niche and unreal. To this point the theory of Levi-Strauss can be added. He believes in the theory of ‘bricolage’-that all texts are are constructed from the debris of other, socially recognisable texts.It can be seen that the use of The Sound of music back drop has been added by transposition from one film to another.

The use of music within chapter one is the fourth reason that the film can be considered Postmodern. It can be seen that Tarantino has deliberately taken the music from a Spaghetti Western and re-contextualised it to allow it to fit his own film. It can be seen that this is postmodern as it reveals the directors influence and helps to build drama and tension within the scene.

Elements of Postmodern film continue through chapter two. One element which makes the film Postmodern in chapter two is that of the acting. This links to that of both Brad Pitt and the actor who plays Hitler. In consideration of Pitt it can be seen that his acting is over done and at points it can be hard to take him seriously. This feature is also extended towards Hitler, who is portrayed as sulky and pathetic. This element of acting can be considered Postmodern as it links to hyper reality, presenting these characters to the audience as real when in reality it be hard to find anyone as characteristic. This parody of characters; especially Hitler can be termed hypotexuality as coined by Gerard Genette. This is when the text is a parody or has parody elements to it of a previous film. The portrayal of Hitler within this scene can be seen as a parody of the one portrayed in Downfall.

A second reason that Inglorious Basterds is considered Postmodern is because of how the main scene in the woods is established and written as a Spaghetti Western. It can be seen that the camera angles used and the position of the characters across the hill couple with the music is Postmodern. This can be considered Postmodern because of how it is a direct intertextual link to the penultimate scene in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, allowing the audience to associate the film with another.

A key element in chapter two which makes the film Postmodern is that of the voiceover. It can be seen that by using Samuel L. Jackson as the voice, the film gives direct links to Tarantino himself, whilst when the voice over is coupled with the writing on the screen it can be seen that it is a feature used to remind the audience that they are watching a film. This can be seen as Postmodern as it removes the audience from the narrative and allows Tarantino to present key elements of the film via a cameo role by his friend.

A fourth reason that the film can be considered Postmodern is because of the intertextual links provided to us in chapter two. It can be seen that within the Stiglitz scene there is the use of recontextualised Blaxploitation music which intertextually links to the film Shaft. Whilst within the woods scene there is the link of the scalping to western films and the baseball bat to the USA. This can be considered Postmodern as it allows the audience to be reminded of previous films during Inglorious Basterds and this constantly reminds us of Tarantino’s direction during the making of the film.

A final reason that it can be considered postmodern is because of how elements break the Fourth Wall. It can be seen that this is exemplified during the woods scene when the camera angles are focused upon the faces of the actors, and a high depth of field is used to blur the backgrounds. This is considered Postmodern as it allows the actors to appear to be communicating into the camera and thus through the screen to the audience. This is another medium through which the audience can be reminded that the film is a film.

Within the third chapter there are key Postmodern elements. The first of which is that of the electric guitar track from Blaxploitation films used when we are presented Goebbels. This can be considered Postmodern as it is a motif which is continued through the film several times. This continuation is a feature not often used in modernist films and thus it can be considered Postmodern.

A second element which is Postmodern is that of the public information film. This is a feature which is commentated by Jackson; again a motif which continues through the film. Not only this, but the short clip is British, giving no obvious reason why it should be portrayed to the audience. The Postmodern element of this feature is that of how it is unexpected; but is used as a different medium through which a vital component of the plot can be explained. Whilst there are not as many Postmodern elements within chapter three, those that are presented to us are definitively Postmodern.

Within the chapter Operation Kino the Postmodern elements are centered upon the British. This is exemplified in numerous ways including how the British have perfect accents whilst each British character has a witty retort. The character played by Fassbender is over the top and charming. This is seen as Postmodern not just because it plays upon American stereotypes of the British but it also portrays Hitchcox as a binary opposite to Brad Pitt’s character. Giving opportunity for the audience to compare the two whilst removing the film from modernist counterparts. it does as within a modernist film’s general storyline we would expect characters with binary opposite mannerisms to be enemies; however it Inglorious Basterds they are allies.

A second Postmodern element which again runs as a motif throughout the film is Tarantino’s use of Rod Taylor to play Churchill purely as a Cameo role. This can be viewed as Postmodern as it is a motif which aligns itself alongside Tarantino’s use of Jackson for the voiceovers.

Within the final chapter there is one key element which must be considered Postmodern. It can be seen that this is the projection room scene involving Shoshanna and Frederick Zoller. One reason this can be considered Postmodern is because of the music used. It can be seen that there is a deliberate use of contrapunctual music. This can be viewed as Postmodern as the audience is uplifted by what is romantic and pleasant music whilst we are also privy to a shocking scene in which both the characters die. It can be argued that this is Postmodern as it is a feature not used within previous modernist films.

Secondly, it can be said that there is a intertextual link to Romeo and Juliet within the scene in which both characters die at the hands of the other. This can be considered Postmodern as it allows a tragic ending and links the film towards that of a love story.

A final reason why the film can be considered Postmodern is because of Tarantino’s use of slow motion. Whilst it can be argued that previous modernist films have used slow motion; it can be said that Inglorious Basterds is different because of how the slow motion is used as a means to extend the tragedy of the scene. It extends this tragedy as it allows the audience to focus upon the death of Shoshanna; arguably the main character and gives the audience time with which to reflect upon how despite the fairytale beginning; the ending has no links to a happy ending.

However, aside from this scene, there are numerous postmodern elements. The first of which is that of how a 1980’s David Bowie song is played over the top of the first scene. This goes against what is expected of a specific genre; such as a war film. It can be seen as Postmodern as the audience would be expecting period music or classically scored orchestra music, whereas in Inglorious Basterds the audience is presented with an intertexual link to the 1980’s.

A final element of Postmodernism given in Chapter five is that of a hyper-real ending. It can be seen that the ending cinema scene in which all the top Nazi commanders die can be seen as hyper-real as it goes against what is real, changing what has happened and presents it to the audience as reality. This is Postmodern as it gives direct links to Hitler’s earlier scene in which he is presented as a hyper-real character. plus it can be seen that in traditional war films, there would have been a desire to remain true and stay the course of history.

Therefore it can be seen that Inglorious Basterds is a Postmodern film; one which portrays key elements which define this. 

Baudrillard and Lyotard's Theories Within Inglorious Basterds

Braudrillard's theory his based upon the idea of hyper-reality; something which makes it easily associated with Inglorious Basterds. It can be seen that there are numerous points in which Baudrillard can be associated with Inglorious Basterds.  For example:

• The characters themselves can be classified as hyper-real; especially Aldo Raine and Hitler who are both portrayed as extremes within social boundaries.
• The death of Hitler and the top five within the Nazis party is particular Hyper-real as it alters reality in which none died in a cinema. It is taking this element from the film and warping it into its own reality.
• The portrayal of the British and British characters within the film is another point of hyper-reality. This can be seen due to the perfect nature of their actions and elegance, something from reality but viewed stereotypically to be correct.
• Props within the film can be seen as hyper-real. An example of this includes Hans Landas pipe in the opening scene. This hyper-reality is used to add humour and to break the tense scene. 

The theorist Lyotard believes in the idea that postmodern films are made of micro-narratives, which are unpredictable in nature compared to the grand narratives of of modernist films pre-1960. He believes films which fall under this category are those which are unpredictable to the audience and that reflect diversity in the narrative. There are elements of this in Inglorious Basterds:

• The plot takes a great twist in the projection room scene in the final chapter where Shoshanna and Frederick Zoller both die at the hands of each other. This is unpredictable because Shoshanna is established as arguably the main character-we do not expect her to die.
• There is an unpredictable nature to the tavern scene in 'Operation Kino'. The violent end is unexpected as the dialogue had be running for so long, plus there is the added element that characters defined as 'good' die in the scene.
• There is also the unpredictable nature of Tarantino's choice of music; highlighted by his use of the 1980 David Bowie song over the top of scene where Shoshanna prepares for the cinema evening.

Gerard Gennette

Intertexuality-Quotation, Plagiarism and illusion


There are elements of Intertexuality within Inglorious Basterds for example Tarantino has included music and positioning from the Spaghetti Western The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.
Second, the idea of killing SS and Nazis can be seen to have come from the film with Clint Eastwood, Where Eagles Dare. 
The background scene to the opening chapter can be seen to be taken or inspired from the The Sound of Music. In particular the scene in which The Hills are Alive with The Sound Music music.
Along side this is the the opening dark screen where the title is written in the style that would be expected from a fairytale.

Architextuality-Designation of the text as part of a genre by the director or the audience


It can be seen that there aren't elements of the actual film which fit under Architextuality however the film before it was produced was coined as Tarantino's war film and thus became expected by the audience as a film from the war genre.

Metatexuality- Explicit or implicit critical commentary of one text on another


Within Inglorious Basterds it can be seen that there are examples of Metatexuality when Frederick Zoller talks of Charlie Chaplain, his German counter part, Van Johnson and there is commentary on the film Pitz Palu and its director. This can be seen as Metatexuality as Frederick Zoller gives critical commentary on real films from the period in which Inglorious Basterds is set.

Hypotexuality-The relationship between a text and a proceeding hypo-text. A text or genre on which it is based but which transforms, modifies, elaborates or extends (including parody, spoof, sequel, translation)


There are elements of hypo-textuality in that Inglorious Basterds as there are numerous moments of translation throughout the film. For example there is translation of Where Eagles Dare, the Dirty Dozen

Review of Quentin Tarantino

Quentin Tarantino concludes his seventh feature, the Nazi-bludgeoning fantasy Inglourious Basterds, with a grisly flourish and a self-satisfied review. Having performed one of his signature mutilations, a character peers down at his handiwork and into the camera and declares: "This might just be my masterpiece." This is typical Tarantino bluster, in keeping with the image of the bratty wunderkind that he worked hard to cultivate and that, even at 46, he refuses to outgrow. But as the rare filmmaker who's also an avid reader of film reviews, he also surely knows that it's been a while since the critical establishment thought of him as a maker of masterpieces.

Since it premiered at Cannes in May, Basterds has met with some wildly conflicting reactions (some of them—no surprise given its breezily outrageous approach to a loaded subject—highly negative and morally accusatory). Tarantino's career since Pulp Fiction continues to seem like one long backlash. Could it be that one of the most overrated directors of the '90s has become one of the most underrated of the aughts?

Tarantino's filmography is split in two by the six-year gap that separated Jackie Brown (1997) and Kill Bill Vol. 1(2003), during which, among other things, he worked on the notoriously unwieldy Basterds screenplay (which was at one point supposed to be a miniseries). The received wisdom has it that he never quite made a comeback. But the criticisms most frequently leveled against him these days—he's a rip-off artist, he makes movies that relate only to other movies, he knows nothing of real life, he could use some sensitivity training—apply equally, if not more so, to the earlier films. (Reservoir Dogs lifted many of its tricks directly from the Hong Kong film City on Fire; Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown are the Tarantino movies with the most flamboyant use of racist language.) Reviewers and audiences may have wearied of the blowhard auteur, but there's an argument to be made that Tarantino, far from a burnout case, is just hitting his stride, and that his movies, in recent years, have only grown freer and more radical.

Taken as a yin-yang whole, Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 constitute a globe-spanning feat of genre scholarship, blithely connecting the dots from Chinese kung fu to Japanese swordplay, from blaxploitation to manga to spaghetti Western. Tarantino's reference-happy method is often dismissed as know-it-all geekery or stunted nostalgia, the video-store dreams of an eternal fanboy. But there is something strikingly of the moment and perhaps even utopian about Kill Bill's obsessive pastiche, which at once celebrates and demonstrates the possibilities of the voracious, hyperlinked 21st-century media gestalt: the idea that whole histories and entire worlds of pop culture are up for grabs, waiting to be revived, reclaimed, remixed.

First released as part of Grindhouse, 2007's double-header exercise in retro sleaze, Death Proof confirmed that Tarantino has no interest, or maybe is incapable of, straightforward homage, even when that's the nominal assignment. While partner in crime Robert Rodriguez tossed off a scattershot bit of zombie schlock for his contribution (Planet Terror), Tarantino borrowed a few motifs from sorority slashers and car-chase zone-outs and fashioned a curious formal experiment that would have given a '70s exploitation producer fits. Death Proof (on DVD in an unrated, extended version) is split down the middle into mirror-image halves. In each segment, the same scenario unfolds (with very different outcomes): a group of young women has a scary run-in with Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a killer in a muscle car, and the exhilarating final burst of action is preceded by a provocatively long bout of directionless yapping.

Like their creator, Tarantino's characters never shut up and are plainly enthralled by the sound of their own voices. More than the spasms of violence, the lifeblood of his movies is their ornate dialogue, which tends to unfurl at great, meandering length. (Tarantino was sly enough to call attention to this hallmark early on: In Reservoir Dogs, when Tim Roth's character, an undercover cop, is handed the scripted anecdote that he will have to perform to pass as Mr. Orange, he balks at the sheer level of detail: "I've got to memorize all this? There's over four fucking pages of shit here.") Tarantino movies are known for two kinds of verbal expulsions: the stem-winding monologue (Samuel L. Jackson's Old Testament shtick in Pulp Fiction) and the micro-observational tangent (Steve Buscemi's anti-tipping tirade in Reservoir Dogs). In Death Proof, which revels in a buzzed, leisurely camaraderie, he quietly masters a third kind: the language of downtime and hanging out, not exactly naturalistic (his most subdued chatter retains a heightened quality) but less baroque and truer to the rhythms of actual human interaction. Modest as it seems, Death Proof is in fact a clear-cut demonstration of Tarantino's gifts. By so pointedly breaking the film into long, alternating sections—talk, action, talk, action—he distends the normal rhythm of his movies, weighing aural against visual spectacle and pushing each to its limit.

But it's in Inglourious Basterds that the relationship between language and action becomes truly charged. Though the violence (much of it perpetrated by Jews against Nazis, with baseball bats and bowie knives) is graphic and memorable, the film consists largely of one-on-one verbal showdowns. As in Death Proof, but with greater purpose, Tarantino gives the conversations room to soar and stall and double back on themselves (especially in two agonizingly tense and protracted scenes, in a farmhouse and a basement tavern). Language is the chief weapon of the insinuating villain, brilliantly played by Christoph Waltz, a Nazi colonel fluent in German, English, French, and Italian. Power resides in the persuasiveness of speech; the success of undercover missions hinges on the ability to master accents; and as characters strive to maintain false pretenses, words are a means of forestalling death.

Inglourious Basterds addresses head-on many of the standard anti-Tarantino criticisms. You say he makes movies that are just about movies? You think they present violence without a context? Luring the elite of the Third Reich to an Art Deco cinematheque in Nazi-occupied Paris, Basterds gleefully uses film history to turn the tables on world history; its context is nothing less than the worst atrocity of the 20th century. This only seems to have further infuriated Tarantino's detractors, some of whom are appalled that this terminal adolescent would dare to indulge his notorious penchant for vengeful wish fulfillment on such sensitive and sacrosanct material.

Needless to say, Tarantino's movie shares little common ground with—and, indeed, is probably a direct response to—your typical Holocaust drama. It has no interest in somber commemoration, and it refuses to deny the very real satisfactions of revenge. Like all of Tarantino's films, Inglourious Basterds is about its maker's crazy faith in movies, in their ability to create a parallel universe. His films have always implicitly insisted that movies are an alternative to real life, and with Inglourious Basterds, for the first time, he has done something at once preposterous and poignant: He takes that maxim at face value and creates his own counterfactual history. It may not be his masterpiece, but for sheer chutzpah, it will be hard to top.

Analysing the Tavern scene

For Lights, Camera . . . , we ask a craftsperson to talk about a specific scene in his or her latest film. This week, Sally Menke,Sally Menke, film editor on " Inglourious Basterds," talks about the shootout scene in the basement tavern.
Quentin Tarantino told the multiple stories of "Inglourious Basterds" in five distinct chapters, and we knew from the script stage the film would hinge around the set-piece in the tavern La Louisianne. The daunting task of putting a 25-page dialogue sequence, spoken almost entirely in German, in the middle of the film, weighed heavily on everyone's minds, and it all had to come together in the cutting room. Just mentioning the name La Louisianne created tension among the crew, but we needed that tension to transcend to the audienceIn La Louisianne, the Basterds meet their German movie star contact, Bridget von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger) for the first time, and they must all pretend to be old friends by posing as Nazi officers. Much to the Basterds' surprise, they not only find Bridget in the dangerously cramped tavern, they find the basement bar filled with drunken, celebrating Nazis, one of whom happens to be enamored with the German movie star and continually pesters their table. The tension in the group runs high as we watch the real Nazis begin to question the origin of the British Archie Hicox's (Michael Fassbender) strange accent, and we hold our breath.
La Louisianne required detailed attention to character development as well as numerous story points, all the while using the device of language to create tension. Quentin and I felt it was essential to have the characters not simply drive the scene toward a plot point, but to be fully nuanced characters, while continually building the tension that would culminate in an explosive gun battle that kills all but one. We knew the gunfight would work all the better if we could carefully manipulate and build the tension through a give and take of emotions, playing a cat-and-mouse game with our characters -- and our audience.
Our editorial intentions had to be completely clear in how we wanted the audience to feel at any specific moment in the scene -- the Basterds are screwed, wait, no, they're OK, oh, no they aren't, this Nazi knows, he's on to them, no, no, they are OK -- until Hicox makes the fatal error that unequivocally gives them all away as impostors. Every line had a layer of tension, and we needed to play their reactions to the lines as much as the lines themselves to build it properly. Every beat counted. Every second someone delayed their response gave the audience a chance to think, "Did they figure it out? Do they know?"
We obsessively controlled every moment so that in contrast, when the climactic gun battle finally does erupt, it explodes in the loudest, craziest and most shocking way possible. But again, while doing this, we always had to return to the human element -- our character development. Hicox gets a bit of a tear in his eye when he realizes he will live no longer, and if we have done our jobs correctly, so will our audience.
Another challenge was to seamlessly integrate a lot of key information for upcoming plot points without them feeling perfunctory, heavy-handed or pedantic. For example, we needed to show a close-up of Bridget's shoes so there was no doubt in the audience's mind who it belonged to later on when Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) discovers the shoe while inspecting the aftermath in the bar. We can't draw attention to the shoe in a way that says, "We're showing you a close-up of a foot," but we do need to make enough of a point of it so the audience knows it's Bridget's -- instantly. The solution was to use the shoe as character introduction, to show the style and glamour of this movie star/double agent whom we, the audience and our characters, meet for the first timeThe tavern music was another way we developed a character. The music at first works environmentally and emotionally in the scene but then functions to locate a yet-to-be-seen, off-screen character, the Gestapo Maj. Hellstrom, who, when revealed, we see has clearly been controlling the music selections. We also now know that without a doubt Hellstrom had been listening to the Basterds' conversation the entire time, and we now use the absence of that same music when Hellstrom purposefully removes the needle from the record player to show that he has taken control of the scene. The Basterds, and our audience, are now in Hellstrom's hands.
The last issue we had to contend with was the length. A nearly 25-minute dialogue scene that starts 69 minutes into the film can be a potential challenge for audiences, as most scenes by this point play considerably shorter. But it was our belief that if we could hold the scene's tension, we could not only develop character and attend to the story but actually stop the scene to allow Hellstrom to play his King Kong card game, a story in and of itself, which cinematically alludes to another oppressed group, the slaves in America. I could go on about many other layers that needed our attention, but, unfortunately, in this situation I am not the editor with final cut and must end the piece here.

Review of Inglorious Basterds

Dir. Quentin Tarantino, USA/Germany/France , 2009, 153 mins, partly in French, German and Italian with subtitles

Cast: Brad Pitt, Diane Kruger, Christoph Waltz, Mélanie Laurent, Daniel Brühl

Review by Richard Mellor

Let’s start with an easy one: into what genre does Inglourious Basterds fit? Ahah, you see it’s an, er, comedy espionage thriller. Sort of. Well, except that such a description brings to mind Inspector Clouseau, rather than the Nazi-bludgeoners that Quentin Tarantino‘s film dreams up. Nor does it illustrate the World War II setting and historical re-imagining. Or the level of racism. Or indeed the gruesome violence - likely to horrify more conservative viewers, if not seasoned Tarantino regulars. Blimey – good luck categorizing this one, Amazon. Better to simply begin with the plot, perhaps. Spanning five distinct chapters and an overly colossal 153 minutes, it has Brad Pitt’s jocular Lieutenant Aldo Raine leading The Basterds, a group of vengeful Jewish assassins, around Nazi-occupied France, their intentions solely to kill and then scalp Germans. A meeting with pin-up actress cum spy Bridget von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger) diverts them towards Paris, where Hitler and other Third Reich luminaries are to attend the premiere of Goebbels’ latest piece of feature film propaganda – the story of war hero Fredrick (Daniel Brühl), now a hideously conceited actor.
The villain of the piece is Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz, foremost among many unheralded German actors that Tarantino has daringly cast). The Nazi Head of Security and a bit of a Rob Brydon lookalike, he is a fabulous cocktail of menace and mirth, as mean as he’s meticulous and as savvy as he’s smiley. For all that, Landa’s unaware that Goebbel’s chosen cinema is run by Shosanna (Mélanie Laurent) - a Jew whose entire family he slaughtered three years ago in Inglourious Basterds’ torturous opening. Unsurprisingly ripe with hatred, Shosanna shares Aldo and co’s desire for avenging Nazi wrongs as brutally as possible. Hitler had better watch out…
The pivotal scene in all this comes when the Basterds first encounter Bridget, in a cellar bar in a sleepy French village. Having already been forced to pose as Germans in front of a genuine Nazi patrol group, the initial trio sent in by Aldo further endure a drunken father, a pistol stand-off involving guns-to-testicles, and a sticky-head game, at which the rival Captain is impossibly good. It’s a long, spellbinding section that never leaves the murky room and that dramatically undulates in mood - terrifying one minute, amusing the next. This weird balance renders Tarantino’s movie a strange, unprecedented movie experience.
And such a frivolous blend feels all the more surprisingly in a film about the Second World War - surely the last subject you joke about? Tarantino has never been one to play it straight though, and besides, Inglourious Basterds so brazenly re-writes history that you can’t possibly take it too seriously. The initial tagline – once upon a time in Nazi-occupied Germany – suggests a fairytale and later scenes are duly subject to panto-esque exaggeration. Witness a permanently-apoplectic Hitler “nein nein neining”, or Churchill’s grumpy tactician, stuck in a slapstick scene with Mike Myers’ colonel and a British commando film geek.
These famous icons aren’t alone in being rather cardboard. For all that he chomps on gum and speaks cutesy phrases and slogans, Pitt’s malevolent Aldo scarcely gives an inkling of the man behind this likeable sheen or explains the motivation behind his bloody campaign. Kruger’s Marlene Dietrich-inspired moll is similarly ill-defined, but thankfully the characters of Landa, Shosanna and Fredrick are much better drawn. The former is gradually exposed as a control freak with a habit of consuming dairy products in terrifying fashion, while the latter purposefully recalls Audie Murphy, a real-life WWII soldier-turned-actor.
Indeed the power of celluloid is a central theme in Inglourious Basterds, as in all Tarantino movies. The terrible bloodshed on show deliberately echoes Goebbels’ films, with sections shot at the same studios once used by the anti-Semite. And the concluding scenario contains Tarantino’s own propaganda: the chance for cinema, metaphorically and lyrically, to vanquish the evil Nazis and save the day. Other cinematic references muscle in, too: the purposefully misspelt title pays tribute to Enzo Castellari’s Inglorious Bastards (Castellari appears briefly as himself), while spaghetti western music sounds throughout.
There are also echoes of previous Tarantino efforts via Inglourious Basterds’ genre-bending (Kill Bill), glamour (Jackie Brown) and gore (Reservoir Dogs). But the strongest recall of all is Pulp Fiction, with Tarantino’s dialogue back to its electrifying best. His characters’ verbal exchanges are once again faster and more thrilling than a Wimbledon rally. Language and pronunciation are particular obsessions in this latest treat; the funniest scene of all has Aldo and Landa discussing game-show catchphrases amid a supposedly tense interrogation. “Is that the way you say it, ‘That's a Bingo?’”, queries the German. “You just say "Bingo", replies Aldo, disgusted at the elementary mistake.
The scene’s brilliant, brazen and utterly bonkers - like this strangest of war films as a whole. That’s a bingo indeed.

Tarantino's influences for Inglorious Basterds...

Where Eagles dare

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRHqtbt3ORc&feature=related


There are links from Where Eagles dare in Inglorious Basterds via the death toll of the Nazis and the joy in which they are killed.


The Good The Bad and The Ugly




Tarantino takes framing from spaghetti westerns and uses it within Inglorious Basterds. It can also be seen that he is influenced music wise by the composer Ennio Morricone who composed the music for The Good The Bad and the Ugly.
It can be seen that the shots used in the scene with the Bear Jew are reminiscent of that of the penultimate scene posted above.

Shaft

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiCB2isZcRM&feature=player_embedded


It can be seen that Hollywood wanted to appeal the African American audiences by creating Blaxploitation films such as Shaft. 
It can be seen that in the cinema scene in Inglorious Basterds there are elements of Blaxploitation.

Battleship Potemkin Odessa step scene






The pram rolling away from the mother and the shot to the eye in the clip from Battleship Potemkin Odessa are both referenced in Inglorious Basterds.