Pulp FictionThe cool thing about Pulp Fiction is that it might be one of the best movies to watch with a bud, chilling and hanging back with some junk food and a beer or two. Not because Pulp Fiction is some kind of "dudebro" movie, or anything; it is an intelligent and sophisticated movie masquerading as a dingy collection of vignettes, as if torn from the pages of some kind of tabloid-esque, lurid set of crime stories, designed to foster some kind of puerile teen fascination with drugs, gangsters, and lots of violence, the kind of thing you'd expect from the dime store penny dreadfuls and paperback schlock of yesteryear. Good, popcorn-snacking fun.
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In Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, the story is fractured, but like a bone, which gets stronger when broken. The film is as if a smattering of found back issues of some seedy pulp (yes, pulp) fiction style story, designed to lure you in with the fantastical; of mobsters and mayhem, of bullets and broads, though Pulp Ficiton isolates itself to the domain of bold and macho posturing, less of the "scantily clad" fare, and frankly it is the better for it. Certainly, Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) serves as the poster girl of the flick, but in the grand scope of things, she is but an ancillary character, a motivator for Vincent Vega (John Travolta) to discover a little more about himself by virtue of not screwing up any more than he absolutely has to, taking the lovely mob boss' moll out for Fifties-era five-dollar shakes and winning a dance contest...not to mention preventing the lady with a predilection for nose candy to avoid kicking the bucket after mistaking heroin for cocaine, and suffering the unfortunate results. Vincent Vega's excursion is a part of the whole--just as he is--a piece in this chromatic, inked, and word bubbled Los Angeles of any age, where he and his compatriot, Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) are hit men in the service of His Majesty, the illustrous "Marcellus Wallace" (Ving Rhames), the Count of Compton, Le Marquis d'Englewood, the mob boss to whom all owe allegiance, and the titan who sets the terror of retribution into the lungs of Jules and Vincent should they falter in their appointed duties to execute his will against those who would "attempt to poison and destroy my brothers". There is Butch (Bruce Willis), a faltering boxer who goes all in to profit at the expense of the mob, goes toe to toe with the mighty Marcellus, when he turns the tables on a fixed fight, and makes for escape to Knoxville after his bold maneuver, taking his lovely French girlfriend with him...but not without his treasured watch, which holds so much sentimental value, that he is willing to risk life and limb for its retrieval.
Quentin Tarantino's films often create a version of the underworld which is simultaneously sharply real and highly stylized, a cross between the deeply brutal and whimsical. Jules and Vincent are hitmen, but when they experience a near-death experience, Jules sees that moment as proof of divine intervention, whereas Vincent remains a skeptic, and the two share their theological and philosophical perspectives over English muffins and bacon at some coffee shop in the wake of a long morning of cleaning grey matter out of the bucket seats of a car, tactfully avoiding the "Bonnie situation". Jules has that rare moment of enlightenment--rarer for a man of his profession--but Vincent refuses to see the revelation, and pays for his ignorance, as we are privy to earlier. In fact, we already know much of the repercussions of the actions of foolish men before they transpire, not only due to our deference, but also to the segmented narrative, structured not for chronology but for context. Similar to Tarantino's other works, Pulp Fiction breaks up the story in to chunks, snippets which casts the plot in a new light. The surprising truth for a story which deals so frankly with morally reprehensible characters is that Pulp Fiction is a moral tale, and the righteous souls are saved from damnation, where the corrupt receive their just desserts. Maybe we get attached to Vincent Vega because we can empathize with the domesticated anxiety of taking a friend's wife out to dinner, without giving the impression that you want to sleep with her; but Vincent is a killer, through and through, and ultimately an unrepentant one when the moment of truth is revealed, a key moment which Jules grasps, but Vincent turns from, and is cast in salt as a result. And the manipulative Marcellus Wallace finds himself at the mercy of the most degenerate scum, only to receive redemption from the most unlikely of sources; until this point, he is willing to "scour the earth" to receive his vengeance. The end result of all the violence, the blood, the drugs, the everything, is that the winners in Pulp Fiction are those who can wake up to the scent of death closing in on them, and seek the salvation in the glory of goodness, lest they find themselves at the mercy of some hillbilly rednecks or a silenced uzi. And when the moment comes to abandon the darkness of hateful men and reach up to the light of forgiveness, seek not to flee from that salvation, lest you fall into the everlasting pit of damnation; I think I can picture Jules saying something like that now.
Recommended for: Fans of a fun and densely-layered crime story, broken up and restructured like a cubist masterpiece on newsprint, where the perspective matters more than the chronology. A story of characters confronted with their vices; the virtuous ones thrive, and the others...well...
Quentin Tarantino's films often create a version of the underworld which is simultaneously sharply real and highly stylized, a cross between the deeply brutal and whimsical. Jules and Vincent are hitmen, but when they experience a near-death experience, Jules sees that moment as proof of divine intervention, whereas Vincent remains a skeptic, and the two share their theological and philosophical perspectives over English muffins and bacon at some coffee shop in the wake of a long morning of cleaning grey matter out of the bucket seats of a car, tactfully avoiding the "Bonnie situation". Jules has that rare moment of enlightenment--rarer for a man of his profession--but Vincent refuses to see the revelation, and pays for his ignorance, as we are privy to earlier. In fact, we already know much of the repercussions of the actions of foolish men before they transpire, not only due to our deference, but also to the segmented narrative, structured not for chronology but for context. Similar to Tarantino's other works, Pulp Fiction breaks up the story in to chunks, snippets which casts the plot in a new light. The surprising truth for a story which deals so frankly with morally reprehensible characters is that Pulp Fiction is a moral tale, and the righteous souls are saved from damnation, where the corrupt receive their just desserts. Maybe we get attached to Vincent Vega because we can empathize with the domesticated anxiety of taking a friend's wife out to dinner, without giving the impression that you want to sleep with her; but Vincent is a killer, through and through, and ultimately an unrepentant one when the moment of truth is revealed, a key moment which Jules grasps, but Vincent turns from, and is cast in salt as a result. And the manipulative Marcellus Wallace finds himself at the mercy of the most degenerate scum, only to receive redemption from the most unlikely of sources; until this point, he is willing to "scour the earth" to receive his vengeance. The end result of all the violence, the blood, the drugs, the everything, is that the winners in Pulp Fiction are those who can wake up to the scent of death closing in on them, and seek the salvation in the glory of goodness, lest they find themselves at the mercy of some hillbilly rednecks or a silenced uzi. And when the moment comes to abandon the darkness of hateful men and reach up to the light of forgiveness, seek not to flee from that salvation, lest you fall into the everlasting pit of damnation; I think I can picture Jules saying something like that now.
Recommended for: Fans of a fun and densely-layered crime story, broken up and restructured like a cubist masterpiece on newsprint, where the perspective matters more than the chronology. A story of characters confronted with their vices; the virtuous ones thrive, and the others...well...