"Blood doesn't just flow in Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill-Vol. 1"—it splatters and spurts and rises in fountains so baroque and luxuriant that there are moments when it seems as if it were raining red. It isn't, but only because there's little in this private fetish of a movie that relates to the natural world. Despite the occasional glimpse of the not-so-great outdoors, the first half of Tarantino's two-part anti-epic isn't about life—it's about movie-made death in all its spectacular and foolish excess."