Pure cinematic joy

I have started and scrapped about three different posts on "Inglourious Basterds." Many of my readers know of my long and complicated relationship with the filmmaker. However, I present for you, in all its glory, a review from Mick LaSalle, from the San Francisco Chronicle, someone who feels about the film about as closely as I do. Someone, in fact, who seems to understand that this is Quentin's masterpiece. Forget the bourgeois haters, the namby-pamby flim-flammers, the people who want him to fail. Experience the joy of cinema, remember what it's like to feel pure exhiliration from watching a movie. "Inglourious Basterds" is that movie. Listen to the poetry of the language, the fugues and jazz and operas. Marvel at a movie that has four languages in it, whose most charasmatic character (maybe unwittingly due to the extraordinary performance by Christophe Waltz) is an SS Officer. See the movie and let me know what you think. But remember, this is a Quentin Tarantino movie, not a Spielberg film. Be prepared. Be warned.