It's easy to see why Tarantino's film has been such a hit with film critics and film buffs. It's an ode to the movies. It weaves a story around showbiz icons and showbiz trivia. It is crammed with cute cameos. And it revolves around masterly performances by a couple of genuine screen legends. There's also something undeniably mesmerising about the era and the events around the Manson murders in LA. And the film positively oozes with Tarantino's enthusiasm for vintage 1960s Hollywood, and for all manner of sub-genres, from westerns to cheesy television to martial arts. But can we at least acknowledge that, for all the intoxicating nostalgia and quirky revisionist history, Tarantino doesn't really deliver much in the way of narrative drive. The film ambles along like a cowboy with three-day blisters. It shifts between scenarios that are almost devoid of dramatic tension (Sharon goes to the movies; Cliff fixes an antenna). And if it wasn't for Charles Manson and his crazies hovering over the proceedings there would be precious little in the way of suspense or dramatic tension through much of the movie. To that extent, Once Upon A Time is often a bit like a trip to a museum. It's often diverting. Occasionally fascinating. And you glimpse various different stories along the way. But it falls some way short of being a gripping, wholly engaging ride.