Any thoughts that Quentin Tarantino might add to his Cannes Palme D'Or for Pulp Fiction ought to be quickly dispelled by this absurd, overlong and mostly cardboard version of World War II which has Hitler and his cohorts blown up in a Parisian cinema while watching one of Goebels' propaganda films.

The coup is engineered by a Jewish refugee and the Inglourious Basterds of the title, led by Brad Pitt's tough guy sergeant. They are Jewish American soldiers on a special mission and intend to kill as many Nazis as possible in the shortest possible time. Among the methods used are scalping and clubbing to death.

Divided into chapters which, Tarantino says, each provide a homage to a different genre of movies, starting off with spaghetti Westerns, the film progresses, surprisingly without the flair of Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction, towards its incendiary conclusion often hindered by a screenplay that a much better director like Clint Eastwood would certainly reject.

This places its actors in the unenviable position of appearing either melodramatic, farcical or just plain dull. Even such good performers as Michael Fassbinder and Eli Roth as members of the Basterds can't make much of their parts.

Surprisingly the German actors playing nasty Nazis come off better, even if the brief portrait of Hitler from Martin Wuttke is more risible than threatening.The best [performance comes from Christoper Waltz as the slimy and soft-spoken Nazi Colonel in charge of ridding France of Jews.

The film begins as he visits a French farmhouse and discovers that the seemingly friendly farmer has hidden a Jewish family under the floorboards.All are slaughtered except one daughter (Melanie Laurent) who escapes to forge a new identity as the owner of the cinema burnt to the ground in the final reel. Dinae Kruger plays a famous German star who is also a double agent, finally strangled by the wicked Colonel with his hands.

Gallery: Cannes screening of Inglourious Basterds

Death and destruction are everywhere in the film whose six chapters seem to provide one block after another that stall the narrative in its lengthy tracks. There are some decent moments but they are few and far between.

This is Tarantino lite as far as panache is concerned, though it must be said that an indulgent audience seemed to enjoy the film more than many critics. Perhaps it will restore his reputation after the awful Death Proof, though I doubt it.