Released in two parts, Kill Bill was originally envisioned as a single experience, which has been teased since at least 2008. Now, audiences can finally get a taste of The Whole Bloody Affair across a gargantuan 275-minute runtime (including an intermission), as the unified version of Quentin Tarantino’s sprawling revenge saga roars into theaters after having been screened only sporadically over the decades.

The film is as vicious, fun, and sentimental as it’s always been, and although you could technically rewatch Vol. 1 (2003) back-to-back with Vol. 2 (2004) for a similar experience, nothing rivals the delights of watching Tarantino’s cross-cultural mash-up the way it was meant to be seen. At a micro level, the changes between the duology and the complete epic vary from a few shots to an entire 2D animated sequence (as well as a Fortnite-centric “lost chapter” that plays after the credits). However, the story’s emotional rhythms are also cemented far more firmly this time around. Watching Uma Thurman’s “Bride” — a.k.a. Kiddo, Arlene, Black Mamba, or B-[REDACTED] — tear her way through masked henchmen with a katana in Vol. 1 always felt like a markedly different experience from the more introspective sequel, but the two halves echo each other in more meaningful ways when watched in the same sitting.

For the uninitiated, Kill Bill traces the Bride’s non-linear, globetrotting journey after she awakens from a four-year coma and begins exacting bloody vengeance on her former assassin squad who tried to kill her on her wedding day. Adding to the emotional stakes is the fact that she was pregnant at the time, and now believes her child to be dead – a flourish Tarantino added when Thurman, his Pulp Fiction star, became a mother herself. The result is a fiery lead performance that lives on the edge of melodrama but never tips over into irony. No matter the mayhem on screen, it always feels personal. Recurring images of the wedding chapel massacre add fuel to the fire, but the story remains just as much about a vengeful killing spree as it does about the nature of revenge itself, as well as the way violence curdles the soul.

Of course, Kill Bill is the kind of movie that tries to have its cake and eat it too when it comes to this central theme. It’s a film that revels in the cartoonish blood spatter of classic samurai fare while also featuring harsh close-ups of a bruised and battered bride, presenting two dueling forms of bloodshed. On the one hand, there’s the righteous and ludicrously enjoyable violence of hacked limbs and severed scalps; on the other, the wince-inducing, unapologetically evil violence that robs a woman of her autonomy. It’s a cognitive dissonance the movie never fully resolves, but by the end, neither does the Bride. In fact, she seems consumed by this contradiction, and watching all ten chapters laid out end-to-end practically justifies Tarantino’s refusal to untie these emotional knots. Each vignette works perfectly in and of itself, and if that makes the whole thing a thornier predicament, then so be it.

Two decades on, the story, designs, and characters are as vibrant as they’ve ever been, from the Bride clad in Bruce Lee yellow slicing her way through the House of Blue Leaves (a sequence now entirely in color, emphasizing Robert Richardon’s resplendent cinematography) to the slick charms of David Carradine’s titular villain, who warps the whiz-bang saga into something far more melancholy whenever he’s on screen. Lucy Liu’s icy yakuza boss O-Ren Ishii remains a particular highlight, especially now that she receives an expanded backstory courtesy of an additional anime sequence that adds to her ruthless drive. An additional shot of a sliced hand is really the only major visual update in live action, but the movie’s structure is also impacted by the placement of a key reveal. What was once a cliffhanger at the end of Vol. 1, meant to hook audiences for a sequel, is now a shocking plot twist near the end. This may not change things for long-time fans, but going forward, it ensures that new viewers will never have more information than the Bride, resulting in emotional beats that perfectly map onto her journey.

A handful of theaters are showing the new release on pristine 70mm and 35mm film prints, which – if you’re lucky by way of geography – only adds to the splendor of Tarantino’s cinematic remix. It’s perhaps the mash-up maverick’s most overt work of cultural bastardization-slash-homage, a thin line he traipses with gusto by combining the sounds and styles of spaghetti Westerns, spy B movies, Japanese chanbara (or swordplay) and Chinese wuxia, all choreographed by Hong Kong stunt legend Yuen Woo-ping. However, the long-overdue release is also a more mournful tribute to bygone eras of cinema, simply by virtue of the passage of time: Many of its stars have since departed, including David Carradine, Sonny Chiba, Michael Madsen, and Michael Parks, as well as the film’s editor, Sally Menke. Kill Bill should have always been this way, but it’s better late than never.