This guest post by Rhianna Shaheen appears as part of our theme week on Movie Soundtracks.
I was obsessed with Kill Bill in high school. While other kids from school went to see John Tucker Must Die (not that there’s anything wrong with that) I stayed home jamming out to the “Malagueña Salerosa” from the Vol. 2 soundtrack. I legitimately thought I was Beatrix Kiddo.
Music is a hugely important aspect of Tarantino’s directorial style. In interviews, he often describes his creative process, which largely consists of writing scenes with a specific song in mind. It is how he defines the mood and rhythm of a film. He makes a song feel so organic to a scene that we forget its original source. I honestly can’t hear Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)” without associating it with Kill Bill.
Tarantino’s vast knowledge of music is clear from the very beginning with Reservoir Dogs. However, it isn’t until the Kill Bill series when his soundtracks begin to drift away from pop and instead embrace more orchestral sounds like that of Ennio Morricone. Viewers need no knowledge of the genre to instantly recognize that spaghetti western feel. It’s that famous mix of Spanish guitar, orchestra, whistles, cracking whips, trumpet, flute and sometimes chorus that recalls images of Clint Eastwood clad in a green poncho and cowboy hat as the iconic Man with No Name.
Tarantino enjoys honoring his film inspirations and obsessions by making countless references to them. However, his use of spaghetti western music is much more deliberate and masterful than just calling attention to older work. Through music he creates a mythology surrounding his heroine.
Bill: “I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating. Take my favorite superhero, Superman. […] The mythology is not only great, it’s unique. […] Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red “S”, that’s the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears – the glasses, the business suit – that’s the costume. Sorta like Beatrix Kiddo and Mrs. Tommy Plympton. […] You would’ve worn the costume of Arlene Plympton. But you were born Beatrix Kiddo. And every morning when you woke up, you’d still be Beatrix Kiddo.” (Kill Bill Vol. 2)
In the above quote, Bill argues that Kiddo is a “natural born killer,” making her no better than the clean slate she strives to achieve for herself and her daughter. Whether or not she indeed fits the anti-hero role in this story is arguable. Yes, the means to her ends are violent and ruthless, but the film does not exactly take place in the real world. It’s an ultra-violent world of revenge and vengeance where Beatrix Kiddo is the hero. She could have fled her assassins after waking from that coma but instead she decides to go on a “roaring rampage of revenge” for the sake of her daughter.
In Vol. 2, music becomes the climactic expression of Beatrix Kiddo’s heroism.
Where Vol. 1 is driven by action-packed fight scenes, Vol. 2 is driven by emotion and reflection. Through music the film delves much deeper into the transformation of Beatrix Kiddo from passive victim to active avenger. For me, this is really what makes it the stronger half of the story.
During her quest, Beatrix tracks down Bud, Bill’s brother and former assassin. She arrives at his trailer ready to ambush him when he thwarts her attack and shoots her in the chest with rock salt. He was expecting her all along. As an act of his own revenge, Bud seals her in a coffin and buries her alive for “breaking [his] brother’s heart.” This seems to be the end of the road for Beatrix Kiddo.
After a flashback to her master’s training, we return to her present state six feet underground. She lays there in complete darkness awaiting her Texas funeral when Ennio Morricone’s “L’arena” chimes in. The track was originally used in a duel scene from Il Mercenario (1968). Here it is repurposed to a similar effect. As the music swells and Beatrix slams her fist into that pine wooden box the scene becomes a showdown of epic proportions. The guitar and snare drum charge on and we think she has a chance. This song exemplifies Morricone’s “heroic style” that carries our character through the action. This scene is not action-packed with a ton of kung fu moves but the music makes this scene just as gripping if not more. It encourages us to spur on our heroine.
The Burial scene is a defining moment for our character in which we as audience witness her willpower and perseverance even on the verge of death.
After her escape, there is a short sequence of The Bride, worn and sand-ridden as she treks across the vast desert. She has come a long way on her journey. While this bit is not necessary to our understanding of the plot it is stylistically significant to our understanding of the character. A sun flare introduces the track “Sunny Road to Salina” from La route de Salina (1970) as a blurry haze of Beatrix emerges. The music is epic and grand, telling us that nothing will stand in her way in the final stages of her quest. This use of this soundtrack and this shot mirrors a similar long walking scene in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966) in which the Man With No Name is dragged and tortured across the desert by his adversary. Similarly, this is seen in the final scene of A Fistful of Dollars (1964) as the Man with no Name returns to confront the bad guys in the final battle.
Throughout the film Tarantino makes inter-textual references to Dollars trilogy, often comparing Beatrix Kiddo with the Man With No Name. Clint Eastwood’s iconic character is the stoic good guy with a strict but unorthodox sense of justice, a trope that has been repeated countless times since. These musical references not only make The Bride’s action sound absolutely badass but they also elevate her story to an equally heroic status as that of the Man With No Name. This is not to say that her story relies on his validation. That’s certainly not the case. I would argue that she is superior. While the Man With No Name is a mysterious trope Kiddo is much more three-dimensional. She has something worth fighting for. These musical choices only reinforce the mythology that Beatrix Kiddo’s story enters.
In the film’s final confrontation Beatrix must cut herself away from Bill for good. After giving each other their last words, they fight while their daughter sleeps. To Bill’s surprise, Beatrix uses the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, resulting in his fated death. Morricone’s “The Demise of Barbara and the Return of Joe” from Navajo Joe (1966) enters as an emotion outpour from The Bride.
Although Beatrix’s intense resentment for Bill drives the series what it has all built up to is in fact bittersweet. This is not an act of hate. Beatrix does this as an act of love for her daughter who should never have to live in a world of bloodshed and deceit. This moment is the ultimate catharsis for Beatrix Kiddo. As Bill walks to his death the song’s vocal rings like a heartbreaking cry, perhaps it is that of The Bride. Her journey has come full circle.
Rhianna Shaheen is a student filmmaker and artist with hopes of writing more in the future. She recently graduated from Bryn Mawr College with a BA in Fine Arts and Minor in Film Studies and Art History. She currently spends most of her time on an epic quest for a full-time job. Check her out on twitter!