In the opinion of this
reviewer, director Quentin Tarantino is a one hit wonder. That hit is
undeniably Pulp Fiction (1994); an
eclectic melding of four distinct movie genres (the crime story, the suspense
thriller, the screwball comedy, and the action movie) into one seamless and
enthralling spectacle that rivets the audience to its seats. Tarantino’s
screenplay is a brilliant patchwork of sordid stories remaining curiously aloof
and fascinating unto themselves, only to crystallize into one cohesive narrative
moments before the final fade out. That’s a tough sell indeed. But Tarantino
knows exactly when to cut away from one story and move onto another. He doesn’t
linger or divulge too much during any of these sequences, and manages the minor
coup of keeping us guessing where all of this gutter depravity will lead.
But the film is also a
potpourri for stellar cameos, made pointedly raw by Tarantino’s decided
disregard for the niceties. In retrospect, Pulp
Fiction is the movie that reintroduced audiences to John Travolta; that 70s
pop icon who fizzled in the 80s and was, by ’94 considered something of a
has-been in the industry. Travolta really does owe the latter half of his
career and staying power to this movie. It’s a new kind of Travolta we get in Pulp Fiction and that takes a lot of
guts. He’s playing against type, eschewing the clean shaven stud image that
made him a star and delving more deeply into a dark, often conflicted character
that is doomed to never be top dog in his chosen profession.
The plot concerns two hit
men, Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Jules Winnfield (Samuel L. Jackson). The
two are working together for crime boss, Marcellus Wallace (Ving Rhames) to
liquidate several former associates who have double-crossed Marcellus and
stolen a very valuable piece of property (more on this later). On their fool’s
journey Jules and Vincent inadvertently come in contact with Ringo (Tim Roth)
and Yolanda (Amanda Plummer) – a pair of amateur robbers about to hold up
patrons in a restaurant in broad daylight.
The narrative
unconventionally jumps about. There’s Vincent’s brief encounter with Marcellus’
wife, Mia (Uma Thurman) that almost ends with her death from an accidental drug
overdose. We’re also introduced to washed-up prize fighter, Butch Coolidge
(Bruce Willis) who refuses to take a payoff to throw his upcoming match. Christopher Walken makes a hilarious entrance
as a returning war hero whom Butch recalls giving him the gift of his late
father’s watch that he concealed in his anal cavity while over in Viet Nam. Don’t
ask.
Pulp
Fiction’s
major selling points are its star power and its shock value. There’s plenty to
unsettle just about everyone. An intentionally disturbing rape scene involves
rednecks Zeb (Peter Greene) and Maynard (Duane Whitaker) taking out their
sexual frustrations on a bound and gagged Marcellus that ends only after Butch,
their intended victim #2, manages to free himself and slice through Zeb with a
Japanese sabre. But there’s also Vincent’s accidental assassination of Marvin
(Phil LaMarr); a onetime associate of Marcellus whose head is blown off after
Jules hits a speed bump. The trick in these gruesome exercises is how Tarantino
manages to repel us with one act of violence – the rape – while ticking our collective
funny bones with the other – the shooting of Marvin. Somewhere in between our repulsion
and exhilaration comes Mia’s near death experience; having her breast bone
penetrated by a stabbed injection of adrenaline to save her life.
And, of course, there is
the language to consider. Pulp Fiction
is not a movie for the faint of heart or Puritan sensibility. This becomes
immediately apparent from the opening moments of the story when Yolanda
threatens to execute every last ‘mother
fucking’ one of the restaurant patrons unless they acquiesce to her
demands. And this is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. The film is
riddled with cleverly timed, expertly placed profanity that is as gratuitously
startling as it proves utterly hilarious. I don’t think I’ve ever sat through a
two hour curse show that seemed so pleasantly amusing – or, if you prefer,
profane with a purpose. It’s hard to refer to the ‘F’ word as charming, but in Pulp Fiction I think the case can be
made.
Perhaps even more
fascinating than how all of the parts come together in the end is just how each
vignette manages to perfectly function as its own independent mini-movie. The
great mystery in the film relates to what is inside the briefcase recovered by
Jules and Vincent on Marcellus’ behalf. Inside is…well…we’re not exactly sure.
Tarantino has always remained silent on divulging a concrete answer to explain
away the curious golden glowing object inside the briefcase. During the
sequence where Marcellus orders Butch to throw his fight we’re treated to our
first clue – a big close up of the back of Ving Rhames’ bald pate with a giant
Band Aid concealing…a scar? Again, not sure.
One interpretation of the
glowing object is that it is Marcellus’ soul, fallen into the devil’s hands and
therefore of the utmost importance to regain control. Question #1: If it is his
soul, how did it escape his body in the first place? Question #2: once reacquired,
how will it re-enter his body so that no one else can possess it? At some point
I suppose one has to simply accept or refute the evidence and go with the
assumption that it’s only a movie.
Since Pulp Fiction works on almost every other level, this blind
acceptance is not so hard to invest in and in the final analysis Pulp Fiction is a superior
action/mystery/ comedy/drama. That the film seems to have dogged Tarantino’s
reputation as a brilliant innovator ever since – and mostly to his own
detriment, as his subsequent movies have been unfairly compared and judged
inferior to Pulp Fiction – is a
shame. Still, what Tarantino has given us in this film is so good, so solidly
crafted, so utterly compelling on so many levels in all its many fragmented
pieces that fit so neatly together, its’ hard to fault him for perhaps failing
to live up to his own legacy, because Pulp
Fiction is a very tough act to follow.
New Line’s Blu-ray bests
its 2 disc DVD from some years ago. The image is impressive with bold rich and
vibrant colors. Contrast levels seem to have been bumped up, however. I’m not
entirely certain this is in keeping with the theatrical presentation, but DNR
has been liberally applied for a very ‘grain free’ visual that is decidedly not
in keeping with the way I remember this film looking on the big screen. We get
a sharp, but overly smooth and video-esque image. The audio is 5.1 DTS and
exhibits an exhilarating spread across all five channels. Extras include
extensive back story material, Tarantino’s ramblings on an audio commentary,
interviews and storyboards, script pages and a ton of press release junkets –
all imports from the old DVD release, but sure to please. Bottom line: Recommended!
FILM
RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
3
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