Big Bad Wolves is maybe a tad too stylistically resplendent for its own good - I don't know that the world really needed a dead girl's underpants hanging around her calves so adoringly framed and lit? That problem rears its head a couple of times. There's also this jangly music on the soundtrack at inopportune moments - oh I'm sure the filmmakers were going for an "ooh we're naughty" frisson of blackest humor but sometimes it's much, much too self-aware. I'm not surprised that Quentin Tarantino loved it - it falls prey to some of his recent self-indulgences. Those missteps aside it's still mostly very entertaining, as far as comedies about toenail-tearing go, and it's successfully gut-punchy in its closing minutes.
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