In 2005, Eminem featured on the track 'Forgot About Dre', which was Dr (not a real Doctor) Dre's way of reminding folk that he wasn't washed up just yet. The Hateful Eight then, could be considered Tarantino's cinematic retort to his critics that he's not quite done with filmmaking, and that he's still got what it takes to make a damn fine film.

And if you're of the understanding that his output since Kill Bill hasn't been up to scratch, this latest effort should persuade you that Tarantino is back to his very best.

On the way to Red Rock with female felon Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh) handcuffed to him, John Ruth's stage coach is stopped in a heavy blizzard by a stranger. He announces himself as Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson) and requests a ride for himself and his three quite dead companions. It transpires that both men are bounty hunters, and both are eager to get to Red Rock to claim their respective bounties.

Soon after, the coach has to stop again, this time by Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins) who claims to be the new sheriff of Red Rock, and needs a ride there to start his new position.

I'll admit it's an unusal take on a Snowman, but valid nonetheless.

With the weather getting worse, the coach has to stop off at Minnie's Haberdashery, to seek shelter for themselves and their horses. According to the Mexican help, Bob (Demián Bichir), Minnie (Dana Gourrier) and Sweet Dave (Gene Jones) are visiting family and left him in charge.

They are not the only ones stranded at Minnie's: there's Brit Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth) who announces himself as a hangman by profession; Joe Gage (Michael Madsen) is on his way to visit his dear old mother for Christmas; and former Confederate General Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern) who is just passing through.

With the weather looking unlikely to let up for the next few days, it appears that no-one at Minnie's is going anywhere anytime soon. And with a number of them doubtful to be actually who they claim to be, none of them are necessarily in for a pleasant stay.

Although western themed, The Hateful Eight comes across as more of a homage to the thrillers of Hitchcock than the work of John Ford. It could probably be best described of a Who'll Do It; Tarantino gives his audience enough to go on in setting up the scene, then goes about playing with them for the duration. It transpires that someone hold up at Minnie's isn't who they say they are, and at some point they'll show their hand, but who is it? Even with the writer/director dipping in and out of back stories - mostly within dialogue and interestingly not flashbacks - he keeps his audience guessing right up until the point he reveals all.

The fact that the majority of this extensive film (at nearly three hours in length) is set within the confines of Minnie's, it has more than a sense of theatre about it, so it's no surprise that the curious collection of characters held up there add to the drama.

And he says "Why the long face?".

It's a film that is beautifully paced, with one character saying it all "we'll get there, slow it down, slow it real down" and Tarantino does. It may not be suited to those who are part of the quick injection of visual storytelling that comes with that of the Vine generation, in fact this can be seen, quite rightly, as a contemplative 'fuck you' to them. Tarantino takes his sweet time to tell his story, and more power to him. Not only does it give him time to develop his engaging band of rough around the edges players, but it also allows audiences, even on a subliminal level, to appreciate the craft that Tarantino has developed as a prominent filmmaker and modern day auteur. The film boasts that it is shot on 65mm film, using Ultra Panavision 70; this is basically visually thumbing the nose to digital cinema. It may well be the future, but there's something hugely satisfying watching real film, with its elegance and impressive visual Cinerama experience that digital just can't replicate.

Tarantino, as he always does, gets some terrific performances from his cast; both Jackson and Russell clearly appreciate the ability to let rip that Tarantino affords them, and they repay him in kind. But it's Goggins and Leigh (in her best performance by a western mile since 1992's Single White Female) who step up and give superb accounts of themselves.

With Tarantino claiming that he'll walk away from directing either after his tenth film (this is his eighth) or when he hits sixty (he's soon to turn 53) whichever comes first, there's a foreboding sense that cinema will imminently lose one of the greatest creative forces of its current generation. If that is indeed to be the case, at least he leaves behind some truly modern classics, of which The Hateful Eight is right up there with the best of them, and like the rest of his impressive work, is unlikely to be forgotten in a hurry.