Time Out says
Rodriguez’s contribution, Planet Terror, is the runt twin, despite the fact that his goopy, loopy zombie romp nails the ‘80s New World Pictures aesthetic. The casting of bona fide B-actors like Rose McGowan is genius; the rest of his tribute could be entitled “If I Were John Carpenter.” Tarantino’s Death Proof—a mix of Hal Needham-esque stunts, slasher-horror and Degrassi High gabbing—simply drops the homage pretense halfway through and turns into another talky Tarantino joint. Only now his dialogue and shout-outs reek more of ego-tripping (the nod to Reservoir Dogs’ opening dolly shot proves that he’s no longer content referencing other directors’ work; he’s got to give himself props as well), and the indulgences overwhelm the handful of inspired moments. Not even mondo car chases and a Faster, Pussycat! ending can keep the whole Grindhouse megillah from being, to quote a filmmaker who once showed such promise, nothing but a wax museum with a pulse.
Cast and crew