Quentin Tarantino's "Inglourious Basterds":
Screen International's critic had reservations, however, summarising the film as "a series of long-running vignettes strung together by a slender story thread".
"With some of the scenes running up to half an hour each, the thread of the drama is left disjointed and the focus ever-changing," writes reviewer Mike Goodridge.
Which sounds like a description of Pulp Fiction ("various lowlifes are drawn together as a result of a fixed boxing match and a bad blind date") and Kill Bill ("woman assassinates martial artists around the world, connected only by their acquaintance with Caine from Kung Fu and a lovers' quarrel gone wrong").
And that's the harshest criticism. I now expect to love this movie as much as The Big Lebowski ("warmed over Raymond Chandler rehash as told by mid-90s Los Angeles losers, with musical dance numbers a la Busby Berkeley").