RESERVOIR DOGS
A review by The Phantom
(sbb@panix.com)
It has been a superb year for films that are both low-budget but very high-quality -- terms that for most Hollywood executives mix about as well as oil and water. Want high quality? Then buy Ridley Scott all the fog and period costumes he can use, hook it together with an epic tale of conquest and discovery, spend spend spend spend spend -- and wind up with the biggest international dud since HUDSON HAWK. And who's to blame? Not Scott, who did the best he could do under the circumstances. Not Sigourney Weaver (she's never to blame). Best blame Michael Mann and Daniel Day-Lewis who together stole your thunder by sneaking THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS out a month earlier -- and by making it as entertaining as 1492: CONQUEST OF PARADISE was pretentious and dull.
Meanwhile, small independent filmmakers and distributors have managed to save the year with such well-made and exciting films as BOB ROBERTS, MISTRESS, LAWS OF GRAVITY, ONE FALSE MOVE, RAMPAGE, and now, RESERVOIR DOGS. The money spent on all of these films *together* likely does not equal what was spent on 1492; fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on which side of the ledger sheet you spend your time on), money doesn't buy quality in Hollywood -- though since it buys spectacle and advertising, it usually suffices.
Beyond quality, there is another way in which most of these films differ from the standard Hollywood fare: they are not utterly predictable. Even the best of the big Hollywood films this summer and fall were at best about three steps behind the audience even before the theater lights dimmed; one reason people so frequently feel let down by Hollywood's supposed blockbusters is that the films themselves are rarely creatures of great subtlety. And when they are, we become so familiar with them through the endless previews, advertising, and reviews by critics somewhat less circumspect than the Phantom in their reviewing style that little that develops on the screen comes as much of a surprise to us. Sometimes this is okay; after all, hearing "airplane" and "terrorist" is pretty much all you need to know about PASSENGER 57. But what of those previews for DRACULA? While the tag line "Love Never Dies" is intriguing, the preview that precedes it makes it plain that the filmmakers don't think that intrigue is enough to draw people to the film. So instead of mystery we get quick-cut editing featuring fangs galore, creepy demons descending from ceilings, close-ups of Winona Ryder, and a pretty fair plot summary -- in short, a little something for everyone, thrown together with no particular flair but on the assumption that oblique references to the most famous character in horror history, coupled with a mention of the cast and the director would not be enough to draw crowds sufficient in size to pay for all the blood, heaving breasts, and green fog. Would that all films were good enough to support BATMAN or TOYS-like advertising campaigns. (A big Halloween-season sigh for days gone by when horror films like HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER were allowed to creep up on us unnoticed, the better to be scared witless by them as we and our fellow unsuspecting audience members settled in for two hours of unpredictable, white-knuckled fun.)
But let's not sigh too loudly, for the subject of this review -- the outstanding new independent film RESERVOIR DOGS -- is very much in the "so what is it about, again?" vein. It's the kind of film that is exceedingly hard to ruin by excessive description (even Vincent Canby had trouble giving away the entire plot in his rather overly-descriptive review); in fact, RESERVOIR DOGS is a lot like HENRY in the sense that nothing you can say about it can in any way lessen the impact it will have on someone who hasn't yet seen it. (Actually, that's not true strictly speaking, since there are a few key scenes which depend quite a bit on their shock value for their effectiveness; but in general, just knowing the film's plot or being familiar with director Tarantino's style isn't enough to significantly lessen the film's impact.)
In fact, the plot both barely exists and is incredibly complicated -- take your pick. On the surface, the film is about a group of bad guys, the robbery they plan, and what happens afterward. But that's like saying that GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS is about a bunch of guys selling real estate -- it's true enough, as far as it goes, but it doesn't even get close to what makes the film so fascinating. RESERVOIR DOGS plays like a Sam Peckinpah film with dialogue by David Mamet, and the whole production has a wonderful -- and quite intentional -- retrograde seventies feel to it. It is as stripped down and spare as Scorsese's GOODFELLAS, but first-time director Quentin Tarantino is quite obviously not hoping to be taken for a Scorsese clone -- his distinctive style is very much his own, and his character-driven film recalls the best of the straight-ahead, no-frills films of the late sixties and seventies.
The action in RESERVOIR DOGS unfolds largely against the backdrop of a single set (a warehouse used as a rendezvous point), though much of the film's exposition is handled through flashback. Tarantino jumps us backward through time, then forward again to the present moment, sometimes jumping to a parallel story line before returning to the warehouse. The result is one of startling effectiveness, as we are moved -- ever so slowly, ever so subtly -- to the robbers' point of view, always finding ourselves back in the warehouse after recalling bits of (our) past, all the while growing impatient at the waiting and fearful of what the future may bring.
Even putting aside the compelling performances; the well-drawn and quirky characters; the no-nonsense -- yet slightly tongue-in-cheek -- tone of the film; even putting aside all of that, this effect is above all why RESERVOIR DOGS is so interesting -- and so compelling. For Tarantino allows us to feel something that is rarely felt in modern American film: it's a feeling of uncertainty, of doubt, even of dread. Throughout much of RESERVOIR DOGS, we just don't know what's going to happen next; and even hearing a full description of the plot hardly lessens the feeling, since so much of the film is presented to us out of strict chronological order. All we know is that nice things are unlikely to occur, and that if we had to guess, it would be that events in this single-minded gift to our mainstream-starved intelligences might not end with a nice, tidy Hollywood bow on top. But to be honest, we just don't know.
As a lover of horror and all things unknown, it may be that the Phantom appreciates this more than most; after all, the memorable (but outlandishly audience-insulting) BASIC INSTINCT was filled with what passes for mystery and uncertainty in Hollywood these days, and just look at how many copies are available for your rental pleasure at your local Blockbusters. Verhoeven knows what sells, if nothing else, and he's blatantly uninterested in attempting anything beyond the paint-by-numbers thrillers for which he's so justly famous. But was there anything about BASIC INSTINCT that wasn't telegraphed in excruciating detail -- detail that would do Western Union proud -- before even the opening credits had rolled? Perhaps only whether or not the beautiful, rich, naked bisexual woman who does/does not kill people with an ice pick actually did/did not kill people with an ice pick -- not exactly a question to keep us watching the film on anything other than a purely voyeuristic level.
While voyeurism plays a large part in our experience viewing RESERVOIR DOGS, there is -- thankfully -- much more to Tarantino's screenplay than blood and gunplay, and whether or not the bad guys are going to get caught. In fact, you'll very quickly find that these rather prosaic considerations get left behind as you get caught up in the characters themselves, each brought to unique and individual life by a marriage of first-rate characterization and first-rate acting. (And the Phantom's Harvey Keitel rule is very much in effect here: as always, it never ever hurts to have Harvey Keitel in a film.)
The performances are uniformly impressive; RESERVOIR DOGS could hardly be the outstanding ensemble film it is if they were not. Keitel and Steve Buscemi -- playing a man with well-considered and firmly held opinions about Madonna and her music -- nearly steal the show from Tim Roth, who plays the character with whom the audience is most likely to identify. To say more about what roles these characters play -- or even to reveal their names -- would add little to this review, but would definitely detract from the film's effect.
RESERVOIR DOGS is best seen as Tarantino presents it to his audience: cold and without any preconceived ideas. It is a violent film in which a strictly male-only world is portrayed; the characters themselves are not wholly rounded, three-dimensional or self-conscious; and no feelings are spared. It is not a politically correct film (the Phantom directs your attention to the rapidly -- and deservedly -- fading 1492 for politically correct narrative), and no one's feelings are spared as we eavesdrop on this motley crew of characters as realistic as they are compelling. Tarantino doesn't pander even for a moment; as a result, his film is as wholly successful as any you are likely to see this year.
Nearly everything about this film is little short of amazing; although it is not a horror film per se, it is more likely to evoke that which the best horror films evoke than any recent horror film or thriller. That alone should get phans desperate for good horror cinema to the box office with $7.50 proffered eagerly in outstretched hands. If they look around, they'll see people who came for the cinematography (by relative unknown Andrzej Sekula); for the music; for the acting; for the dialogue. The Phantom rarely recommends a film as strongly as he does this one; not since HENRY has he been as excited about a new release in his favorite genre -- even if it isn't really in his favorite genre. Neither horror nor exploitation, RESERVOIR DOGS is just good in every way; and needless to say, it's well worth seeing.
: The Phantom : sbb@panix.com : cmcl2!panix!sbb
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