Spoiler warning: The article below contains spoilers for Inglorious Basterds and Kill Bill (Vol. 1 and Vol. 2), films of Quentin Tarantino. If you haven't watched these films, you might wish to avoid reading the article.

How can a film open with a nineteen-minute scene compromised almost entirely of dialogue between two characters, and have you on the edge of your seat?

It was 1998 when Quentin Tarantino began writing Inglorious Basterds - often considered his masterpiece - but the film wasn't released until 2009.

Tarantino had struggled with finishing the script, feeling the pressure of it being the “greatest thing [he’d] ever done”. Ideas were overflowing, and he “couldn’t turn [his] head off”.

So he decided instead to work on other projects. Kill Bill volumes one and two were released in 2003 and ‘04, and Death Proof in ‘07.

Making those films allowed Tarantino to settle another ambition: directing “one of the greatest action scenes in history”. He ranks the Blue Leaves nightclub scene, in which Kill Bill’s protagonist defeats a seemingly endless onslaught of attackers, “as good as anything [he’s] ever seen action-wise”.

But the time away from working on the script of Basterds also gave Tarantino the freedom to come up with a concrete storyline and an ending that had previously eluded him.

When he returned to the project, Tarantino used only the first two chapters of his original script, doing “a little rewrite on them”.

Let’s dig in to the opening chapter - possibly Tarantino’s finest ever scene.

It is almost exclusively comprised of dialogue between two characters, played by Christoph Waltz and Denis Ménochet.

The screen reads: “Chapter One,” then: “One upon a time... in Nazi-occupied France.” New territory for Tarantino - he had never made a war film before. And already it feels different, the opening credits soundtracked by an orchestral performance of “The Green Leaves of Summer”.

A farmer, Perrier LaPedite, is chopping wood with an axe, and his three daughters are immediately concerned when they see two motorcycles and a car approaching in the distance. “Papa!” He tells them to get inside, and he washes his face sitting on the tree stump, and there’s an impression that he’s allowing himself something final to enjoy.

The vehicles approaching seem menacing, but the piano soundtrack and the farmer’s expression as he watches them seem resigned to whatever awful thing is about to happen.

But as quickly as emotion has struck - through the combination of music, imagery and action - it is when Tarantino really gets stuck into dialogue that the scene is elevated into something rare and truly gripping.

Colonel Hans Landa, expertly played by Waltz, emerges from the car. Seemingly treating the farmer with respect, the Nazi official approaches, offering an introductory handshake. He is exceedingly polite - “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur LaPadite” - wearing a permanent smile as he waits for an invitation to enter the farmer’s home and meet his daughters.

Inside, Landa politely declines an offer of wine, asking instead for milk - “This being a dairy farm.” It is a continuation of his perfect politeness while imposing his own wishes, made odder and more uncomfortable by his holding of one of LaPadite’s daughters by her wrist as he stops her on the way to the wine.

He is enjoying the situation while it is clear that nobody else is, and smiles with glee at another daughter while she looks particularly displeased.

As the tension in the room becomes more apparent, Landa seems to enjoy the conversation even more.

He starts by complimenting the family and their cows with the first in a long line of sentences delivered with utmost drama and irresistible humour. He then invites LaPadite to sit at his own table.

This is a Nazi officer, someone who the entire family fears, and someone who you fully expect to be a horrible person. But he is utterly watchable.

He continues in his polite manner, asking permission to switch to English, having “exhausted” his knowledge of French.

Tarantino enjoys drawing out the reveal of Landa's identity. Landa asks LaPedite if he is aware of who he is. LaPedite’s hesitation and face full of concern hint at something awful.

It’s clever: there has been no explicit threat of violence. The men have not harmed LaPedite, his daughters or their home. Landa has been exquisitely polite. But the fact that we’re in Nazi-occupied France, as the title revealed, combined with the body language of the French family is enough to let us know that danger is lurking.

Perhaps, too, knowing that we’re watching a Tarantino film adds to that anticipation.

But it is the lack of some more obviously violent sign that makes the tension more powerful.

LaPedite says he is aware that Landa is responsible for “rounding up the Jews left in France.”

It is around this point that Landa’s apparent desire to please and not offend starts to wane. He has already laid his gloves down on the table, and now readies his paper records and fountain pen.

Landa also makes no effort to hide a sardonic smile as LaPedite says he is unaware of the reason for the visit, “pleasant though it is.”

LaPedite asks for permission to smoke his pipe, and Landa, for now, is going along with the pretense of politeness. It is LaPedite's home, he says.

LaPedite says he has heard “only rumours” of the Dreyfus family (the Jews whom Landa is searching for), to which Landa exclaims with as much enthusiasm with which he praised the milk, “I love rumours!”

There is something childlike about Waltz’ interpretation of Landa. Many of Tarantino’s characters, it is probably fair to say, share a world-worn adult quality. Landa beams with a childlike enthusiasm.

He loves rumours? This is perhaps the first thing Landa has said that hints at just quite odd a character the film will go on to reveal.

LaPedite gives the names of the Dreyfus family - “not really sure” about their ages, hesitating over names - and soon the camera pans down to the floorboards, then underneath. We see Shosanna, who becomes one of the key characters, covering her mouth and looking fearfully up through the cracks, and her family members lying beside her.

Landa requests another glass of milk, seemingly looking forward to the next part of their conversation. He draws out his nickname from LaPedite, who would rather only say he is aware of what people call him.

Landa is “The Jew Hunter”.

He relishes explaining why he loves the name, claiming that he “can think like a Jew”. He smiles and laughs at unpredictable times, finding humour where there is none.

Another shot of Shosanna beneath the floorboards, before Landa likens Jewish people to rats.

He dives into a speech about rats, explaining that other Nazi officials are not able to think like Jewish “rats” due to their “hawk” mindset - whereas he is able.

He knows where people hide when they “abandon dignity”.

For the first time in the conversation, Landa wants nothing from LaPedite, except for him to listen. He does not pause, wait for an interjection, or any kind of response.

This speech seems prepared. He is not so polite now.

But then politeness returns momentarily as he asks for permission to smoke his own pipe. This is a moment Tarantino finds particularly pleasing.

Originally, Tarantino “had a couple more moments” where Landa smoked the pipe. Likening the pipe to a “Sherlock Holmes pipe”, Tarantino says that, as well as acting as a “sexual thing, because ‘my pipe’s bigger than yours’”, the pipe reveal says “‘I know you’re lying and I got you’”.

It is a ridiculous looking thing. LaPedite stares at him with hate and resign as Landa says that his men will “conduct a thorough search”.

LaPedite looks completely broken as tears fall from his eyes and he admits that “enemies of the state” are hiding beneath his floorboards.

The Jewish family do not speak English, and so have not understood what this moment means.

Landa switches back to French and carries out a pretend goodbye.

“We shan’t be bothering your family any longer,” he pretends to say to LaPedite’s daughters.

His men blow the floorboards to smithereens, soundtracked by buzzing and whirring sounds that hint at the horror of the Nazis’ acts.

There is a ceiling shot of Landa as he prowls across the room, tracking Shosanna - the only survivor - as she crawls beneath the floorboards on the way to her escape. It is the hawk’s view, and Landa is the murderous hawk.

As Landa watches Shosanna run across the field, he is pictured left of centre of the screen in a framing strikingly unfitting of this film’s era.

Finishing a scene which had been powered by dialogue, and dialogue alone - one which could be transported and fit snuggly into any era of cinema - Tarantino chooses camera work and instrumentation that are uncomfortably opposed to modern day.

Shosanna is crying as she runs with blood-splattered clothes and skin away from her dead family.

It is a distressing way to end a distressing scene. It is also captivating.

Perhaps it was how perfectly this scene played out that gave Tarantino confirmation that he could achieve another goal of his: to become a novelist. (It seems likely from his public persona, however, that he would have made it happen regardless.) Tarantino has long spoken of his plan to make ten films (counting Kill Bill as one) before retiring from film-making to concentrate on writing.

This opening chapter of Inglorious Basterds would have been a gripping read. Luckily we also have Tarantino’s film expertise and the wonderful Ménochet and Waltz performances to enjoy.