Review: Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction
Cert: 18 / 148 mins / Dir. Quentin Tarantino




I'm not sure what's more terrifying in 2014. The fact that Ghostbusters is thirty this year, or that when I saw Pulp Fiction, Ghostbusters was only ten. Damn, I'm old.

Despite the fine works which came before and after the 1994 classic, Pulp Fiction will doubtlessly be the film for which Quentin Tarantino is ultimately remembered; the zenith of his writing and directing career. With its non-linear timeline and a string of interweaving narratives which, in isolation, appear to be about 'not that much', it should be the least accessible of QT's works and yet the opposite has proved true. As much about the discipline of film-making as that of storytelling, Pulp Fiction has become a timeless classic (with the possible exception of some high-waisted jeans and a mobile phone with a pull-out aerial).

The script is dripping with sass and minutiae, in a way which even QT himself hasn't quite been able to replicate since, and that's not to mention the slew of über-hip gangster movies its international success inspired for years to follow. With very few exceptions, everyone in the cast acts their trousers off here, and despite belonging firmly to Sam Jackson, PF is a real team effort.

It's not often I get on my high-horse, but Pulp Fiction is a modern masterpiece.
If you haven't seen it, investigate at your earliest opportunity; if you don't like it, come back here. We'll talk.

Oh, and you know what's in the case, right..?





Well, that trailer's slightly more kitsch than the film itself, but yes.



Yep.



Yep.



If you get the chance to see Pulp Fiction at the flicks, do it; that's what it was made for.



I will a bit, yeah.



Undoubtedly.



No, but there's a boot-shot.

I'd never noticed before how much damage Vincent does to his car when he crashes it outside Lance's house (and, indeed, the damage to Lance's house). How the hell does he drive that back to the Wallace residence?

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