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'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?
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
WARNING: This review contains sweary words.
You have been warned.
Well, I'll be honest, I expected more. Oh, I knew SNF wasn't going to be a shiny-toothed dance-fest, and that we were going to see some Gritty Noo Yoik™ in between the scenes of flashing lights and stomping feet, but what I didn't expect was just under two hours of stilted, mumbled, inconsequential dialogue, delivered appallingly by actors playing characters that I couldn't bring myself to like in any way, shape or form.
Worse than all this, it's boring. Fucking. Boring.
Travolta and Gorney have got the moves alright, but their characters are so deeply flawed that their dancefloor scenes have all the atmosphere of a meeting with an estate agent. The longer the film goes on, the less joy there is in Tony's dancing, as the realisation sets in that not only has he surrounded himself with arseholes, but he fits into this equation perfectly himself. The only character of any interest is Tony's brother, Frank Jr, who's left the priesthood to the disappointment of his religious Italian family. He arrives, tells Tony he's great at dancing, then fucks off in a cardigan. Then nothing happens for a bit. Then there's a rigged dancing competition, an attempted rape, an actual rape, an accidental suicide, and Tony having a bit of a cry into a freezeframe while the credits do their best to sell you the soundtrack.
I don't even think that the problem lies in the film ageing badly; I can imagine it being just as exploitative and emotionally bankrupt in 1977, too. Because it's difficult for me to hold any sympathy for a character who tells a woman she's a cunt while she's crying after he's watched her being raped by his friend.
By the time something finally does happen to the characters, you really wish it hadn't (although not out of any sympathy for them). It's not that the Saturday Night Fever is uncomfortably stark in forcing the audience to confront issues, just that it's tedious and inherently unlikeable.
Well, the trailer's as dull as the film, so…
Nope.
For me, no.
Don't bother. Really.
Yes. I will.
Will I bollocks.
No.
How do you make the Bee Gees boring? Seriously? What the actual fuck?
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
