It opens on a Shawscope title card. A cheesy, neon-lit ’70s “Our Feature Presentation” announcement. An Old Klingon Proverb. The gritty, bloodied, black and white image of Uma Thurman’s face, dealing with a morose off-screen killer. Nancy Sinatra singing Sonny Bono’s “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down).”

This startling amalgamation of styles and influences colors all of Quentin Tarantino’s astonishing fourth film, “Kill Bill, Volume 1,” a three-hour-plus epic. Miramax will release the first volume tomorrow, with the conclusion to follow early next year.

Thurman is The Bride, an assassin whose name is censored by convenient off-screen buzzes. Through Tarantino’s trademark narrative deconstruction, we eventually learn how her wedding was spoiled by a handful of unwelcome guests — The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (DiVAS).

When The Bride somehow survives a bullet in the head at the hands of DiVAS’ Charlie Townsend-with-a-staff Bill (David Carradine), she sets out on a journey of revenge — to kill anyone who has wronged her. This first installment focuses primarily on The Bride’s search for the fearless DiVAS assassin O-ren Ishii (Lucy Liu), who, despite being a part-Japanese part-Chinese part-American woman, rules the streets of Tokyo.

The film itself is divided into five chapters, each with a distinct style. The destruction of The Bride’s funeral echoes a character-driven western, replete with cowboy hat tips and bolo ties. The movie’s climax in the House of Blue Leaves is a stunning homage to the Shaw Brothers martial arts films of the ’70s; and the opening confrontation with fellow assassin Copperhead (Vivica A. Fox) plays like a colorful domestic sitcom — with knife fights.

Such dynamic touches make “Kill Bill” the best movie for movie lovers since, well, “Pulp Fiction” nearly ten years ago. Like “Fiction,” it is an exhilarating tour of grindhouse cinema, bearing Tarantino’s unique cinematic compassion: honoring B-grade films without parody.

Tarantino is such a fervent cinephile that his films manage to honor the “bad” films he loves without dipping into ironic pretention or condescension. In the climactic showdown, heads and limbs are cut off to reveal cheap fountains of blood, the red tubing almost visible from the prosthetic stump that once held an arm.

Remarkably, this isn’t cheap or corny — it’s surprisingly visceral and disturbing, recreating the shocks and brutality a teenaged Tarantino must have devoured in the back of kung fu houses in the ’70s.

The film’s brand of violence is elusive. Excessive but not ironic, useless but strangely urgent, it’s a fascinatingly nihilistic (and ultimately, very Tarantino) exercise in shock. Considering Miramax poured millions into “Kill Bill” to recreate a low-budget look, these contradictions aren’t surprising.

The dismembering is accompanied by tape-recorder sound effects of swords and screams that punctuate the film’s fantastic music. From Ennio Morricone to Quincy Jones, the soundtrack is pitch-perfect. Its brilliance explodes in the final sequence, where the score moves from sock-hop obsessed Japanese girl bands to mariachi to The RZA to disco covers with unconscious grace and subtlety. It’s as if these songs have existed for decades solely to play together in this scene.

Tarantino and Kevin Smith were both Miramax poster boys in the early independent film heyday of the ’90s — both are avid film lovers who unabashedly channeled their influences into their work. But while Smith’s gratuitous “Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back” (2001) was a boring, self-congratulatory comedy reflecting Smith’s cinematic roots, “Kill Bill” is riveting entertainment, turning Tarantino’s imitation into a celebration.

Always attracting attention, but more through his dynamic personality than a belief in the high art of his films, Tarantino has denied any suggestions of genius. He asserts that he makes movies for himself, and “Kill Bill” is certainly a $60 million fantasy come true.

And while Quentin’s obsessions are admittedly nerdy, that just increases his fervor, his passion. “Kill Bill” is more than a little indulgent and more than a little violent, but that doesn’t make it any less fun. A