While I'm not as enamored of the Kill Bill movies, there are elements I appreciate about each one (especially Vol. 2) and feel that Uma Thurman's ferociously all-in performance keeps the whole bloody affair hanging together. With both Death Proof and Inglourious Basterds though, it seemed that Tarantino's prodigious technique was starting to supplant actual content. Yes, those movies contain terrific individual set-pieces (that extended sequence in the German tavern in Basterds, for example, is a remarkable piece of filmmaking), but for me at least, they don't function as complete wholes, trafficking too much in arch self-awareness at the expense of genuine feeling. Every time I listen to Tarantino talk about those movies, however, I find myself wanting to give them another chance, as his entertaining, insightful descriptions of his intentions and choices are more persuasive than the finished products.

Which brings us to the writer/director's latest film, Django Unchained, a slavery-themed Spaghetti Western that transports his increasingly familiar revenge narrative to the American South two years before the Civil War. I should say that, after only one viewing, I like Django much more than either Death Proof or Basterds and think it contains some of the most memorable scenes (not to mention one of the single best performances) of any movie this year. Nevertheless, reading (and hearing) Tarantino talk about it, I'm still noticing a discrepancy between the movie he's describing and the movie I saw. As he explains it, Django Unchained is designed to reverse the traditional cinematic slave narrative, turning it from one of victimization and suffering into vengeance and the pursuit of justice. Hence, his titular hero, Django (played by Jamie Foxx in a role that was reportedly written for Will Smith) begins the film marching through the dark woods in chains, having been sold at an auction in Texas to a pair of slave traders. The party is interrupted by the arrival of German dentist-turned-bounty hunter Dr. King Schultz (Inglourious Basterds' scene-stealer Christoph Waltz), who requires Django's aid in tracking the crooks that represent his latest payday. Schultz buys the slave's freedom and brings him aboard his one-man operation, first as an assistant and then as an equal partner.

It's Schultz who also helps Django realize his life's goal: rescuing his lady love Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) -- the woman he was forcibly separated from for daring to marry -- from slavery and living together as a free man and woman. Upon learning that she's currently being held by notorious cotton magnate and mandingo fighting (a then-popular Southern pastime that involved white men watching two black men beat each other to death) enthusiast Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), the duo hatch an elaborate plan to go undercover as mandingo traders and infiltrate Candie's plantation, Candyland, where they'll secure Broomhilda's freedom. What they can't count on, however, is that Candyland's real master isn't Calvin, but his chief house slave, Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson), an old, white-haired African-American whose frail exterior masks a whip-smart and deeply twisted mind. While he's technically enslaved, Stephen actually wields more power than Django does as a free man and he's not about to let it slip from his grasp without a fight.

Tarantino obviously knows that he's playing with a loaded weapon by taking on this particular subject on in this particular way and you can feel his transgressive glee spilling over into almost every scene. Is the film exploitative in its appropriation of slave imagery? Without question, but tying the subject matter to a revenge narrative gives Tarantino a convenient escape chute; Django and Broomhilda may both endure insults and beatings throughout the movie, but when the time comes, they pay the pain back tenfold. (It's the same trick that exploitation filmmakers have used for decades; for example, the notorious grindhouse horror movie I Spit On Your Grave may feature graphic scenes of rape, but because the female victim spends the rest of the movie wreaking havoc on her male attackers, it becomes all about empowerment. Or something like that.)

The deliberate calculation would be irritating if Tarantino wasn't still such a gifted writer and energizing filmmaker. There are several standout sequences in the movie, but the best of the bunch has to be an extended dinner scene at Candyland, where Django and Schultz try to put their plan into effect, while Stephen watches from the wings, just waiting for his moment to pounce. Although DiCaprio has gotten much of the early buzz for his joyously hammy performance, Jackson is hands down the movie's secret weapon. It's arguably his best collaboration with Tarantino to date -- yes, even outclassing Jules Winnfield -- and one of the best performances of his career. Beyond turning the traditional image of the so-called "Uncle Tom" on its head, the character of Stephen (whose name not-so-coincidentally echoes the controversial black silent film star, Stepin Fetchit) is a fascinating counterpoint to Django's more traditional hero. (You kind of feel bad for Foxx that he's largely stuck playing the straight man in a movie where the supporting cast gets to have a lot more fun. On the other hand, he does get to kill lots and lots of people, so that's a plus.)

And yet, even as I was impressed by so many individual elements of this film, as well as Tarantino's usual bravado in tackling seemingly impossible subject matter, Django Unchained also strikes me as the least disciplined movie in the director's canon, marred by long, tedious stretches, dragged-out diversions (like an endless, ultimately pointless sequence in which a recaptured Django is transported to a mine by a trio of Australian mercenaries, one of whom is played by Tarantino in another ill-advised acting gig) and generally ragged cutting. Perhaps it was the rushed production schedule or the absence of his longtime editor Sally Menke (who passed away in 2010), but the movie feels less polished than the typical Tarantino film; even Death Proof, which was supposed to mimic rough-around-the-edges grindhouse techniques, was still put together with a care that's missing from Django. The famous Tarantino verboseness also frequently gets in the way here, as scenes run on much longer than they need to because he doesn't permit the characters to just shut up and get on with it. And while he remains a gifted choreographer of mayhem, the film has one blood-soaked climax too many. Had he been forced to try harder, he probably could have found a way to squeeze it all into a single grand finale. (You know all the complaints that have been directed at Peter Jackson for super-sizing The Hobbit? Well, this film has its fair share of bloat as well.) Django Unchained is good -- I'd even go so far as to say very good -- but with a bit more care, it could have been as great as the movie Tarantino has been describing in interviews.

(Note: Django Unchained opens on December 25.)

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