Take this with a grain of salt, because with the benefit of multiple viewings, Quentin Tarantino’s films generally seem deeper than their superficially visceral appeal. But this gritty drama—about several snowbound characters trying to survive treachery and personal conflicts at a remote general store/tavern in post-Civil War Wyoming—initially feels even more superficial than the director’s other work. There are pleasures to be found: sharp performances by Samuel L. Jackson, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Kurt Russell, Walton Goggins and others; Tarantino’s trademark gift for using dialogue to convey the power of myth, legend and story; and the equally-trademark revelations of a backtracking narrative. Yet ultimately, this Western riff on paranoia-tinged horror like The Thing plays out largely as a profane, blood-soaked genre exercise, where Tarantino has previously wrapped the appearance of profane, blood-soaked genre exercise around something with a real moral compass. Sure, Q’s got a few salient things to say about cleaning up the legacy of American racism; it’s just harder than usual to hear them this time through the F-bombs, gunfire blasts and howls of pain. By Scott Renshaw