If Quentin Tarantino is calling Big Bad Wolves the best film of the year, I’m automatically suspicious if not dreading the experience. I know I’m going to partly hate it, at the very least. Tarantino’s taste in movies can be ludicrous. The man lives for B-level cheese, for crap-dump exploitation, for the lurid and the squalid. How else can I put it? How about a simple “he occasionally flips out for movies that an emotionally balanced film buff would never consider renting”? Have you ever seen the original The Inglorious Bastards?