PULP FICTION
A film review by Scott Renshaw
Copyright 1994 Scott Renshaw
Starring: John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Bruce Willis, Uma Thurman, Ving Rhames, Tim Roth, Amanda Plummer, Harvey Keitel. Screenplay/Director: Quentin Tarantino.
According to all evidence, PULP FICTION is going to be one of those movies that turns people into incarnations of Beavis and Butthead; either it "sucks" or it "kicks ass," apparently with no tenable middle ground. This of course is the natural course of things for films as unique as PULP FICTION. The same thing happened with NATURAL BORN KILLERS already this year, as proponents and detractors exchanged ad hominem volleys. Quentin Tarantino's stunning sophomore effort deserves better. It is the kind of film, imperfect though it may be, which should inspire discussion about how exciting the medium can be. There are more moments in this one film which awed me to silence than in every other 1994 release combined, and while its faults may not allow it to stand as the year's best film, it's certainly close.
PULP FICTION is divided into segments telling interlocking tales about a group of shady characters. Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Jules Winfield (Samuel L. Jackson) are enforcers for crime boss Marsellus Wallace (Ving Rhames). Vincent is asked by Marsellus to take care of his wife Mia (Uma Thurman) while he is out of town, leading to an adventurous night out. Marsellus, meanwhile, is arranging for boxer Butch Coolidge (Bruce Willis) to throw a fight, which Butch doesn't do when he figures he can clean up by winning. Then, in an out-of-sequence flashback, Vincent and Jules deal with an inadvertent killing, and a pair of madly in love robbers (Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer) in a diner.
This is what must be said about PULP FICTION: few films in the last fifteen years have left me so charged with the pure gonzo thrill of movie-making. Has there been a more erotically charged conversation than that between Vincent and Mia at a gaudy 50's-style burger joint? Has the flushing of a toilet ever caused such a combination of laughter and suspense. And has any scene caused an entire audience to squirm quite so violently as a spectacular moment involving an overdose victim and a six inch hypodermic needle? Quentin Tarantino refuses to let any moment just sit there; relationships between characters crackle with intensity, and darkly comic punch lines are spit out like bullets. I left PULP FICTION feeling as though I had not simply watched a movie, but *experienced* one. I was exhausted.
However, it would be a mistake to suggest that there is nothing to PULP FICTION but its visceral impact. Tarantino does not place his characters in a universe of amoral anarchy; as RESERVOIR DOGS first indicated, he is fascinated with loyalty and moments of improbable selflessness. Two such moments provide the moral backbone of PULP FICTION. In one, Bruce Willis' Butch makes a decision which could cost him his life--even if he is successful--all to save another human being from torture. In the other, Samuel L. Jackson's Jules undergoes a sort of conversion, and in the course of explaining his actions gives one of the most stunning speeches in recent memory. Both are showcases for career performances. Willis is better than his previous work had ever so much as hinted at, while Jackson delivers what is quite simply the best performance in an American film this year. It is at these moments when PULP FICTION, for all its frantic energy, reveals its real message: even in a world this violent, salvation is possible.
The only real problem with PULP FICTION is a significant lag between the marvelous middle segment and Jackson's tour-de-force monologue. It consists of the appearance of a low-key fixer named Winston Wolf (Harvey Keitel) who helps Vincent and Jules clean up after their car gets unexpectedly messy, and it never really develops the momentum that the Travolta/Thurman and Willis/Rhames segments do. But Tarantino brackets that lull with such sheer cinematic glory, that the sour taste doesn't linger. PULP FICTION is violent, profane and filled with addicts, racists and killers. At the same time, it may be one of the most moral stories the big screen has seen in years. That Tarantino was able to pull off that little maneuver says as much about his talent as a dozen Palmes d'Or.
On the Renshaw scale of 0 to 10 Palmes d'Or: 9.
-- Scott Renshaw Stanford University Office of the General Counsel
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