Neck-deep into Quentin Tarantino’s antebellum western “Django Unchained,” I had this mental image of the uber-geek genre filmmaker tapping furiously on his laptop, beaming at the brilliance of every new piece of dialogue he’s writ.

For all I know, Tarantino works on a typewriter, or longhand on a legal pad (or dictates his copy to a Gal Friday in spike heels), but in any event, as the banter ping-ponged across the dining table in the plantation mansion of slave master Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio, twirling his mustache), with Jamie Foxx (in the title role), Christoph Waltz (as a winking bounty hunter), Kerry Washington (the slave girl Django has come to rescue), and Samuel L. Jackson (Candie’s slave majordomo) all taking their turns, the endless, over-the-top badinage really started to bug me.

Tarantino has done this before (Sydney Tamiia Poitier and her gal pals gabbing away in “Death Proof,” the lengthy bar scene in “Inglourious Basterds”), and it really doesn’t make for great cinema, despite what Tarantino may think. Less is more, dude.