Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction



Now I like Forrest Gump, don’t get me wrong. It’s a sweet and charming little film. But, how the hell it won the best picture Oscar when pitted against Quentin Tarantino’s masterpiece is beyond me. Giving Tarantino and Avery the best script award must have felt like little consolation when you’ve created arguably the best film in movie history.

The film spins three story strands, overlapping and tying them together throughout. The first concerns two hitmen Vincent (John Travolta) and Jules (Samuel L Jackson) as they try to retrieve a mysterious suitcase and return it to their boss, Marcellus Wallace (Ving Rhames). Along the way Jules has a spiritual awakening and Vincent takes his last ever shit.
The second strand includes Vincent again, as he escorts Marcellus’ wife Mia (Uma Thurman) to dinner and becomes smitten with her. Vincent must save Mia from an overdose and return her to her husband alive. An interesting night out by any standard.
The last story revolves around Prize fighter Butch (Bruce Willis) as he is offered a substantial amount of cash to throw a fight, by none other than Marcellus Wallace himself. Choosing instead to bet the money on himself, Butch must go on the run. But thanks to a McGuffin in the form of his Dad’s watch, he ends up confronting Wallace; Ultimately rescuing him from some Perverted Hillbillies.

The film is populated by some of the best scenes ever. Ask anyone and they’ll have a favourite: Christopher Walken’s war veteran explaining the importance of the watch to Butch; Jules delivering his biblical line before emptying his gun on his terrified victim; Jules and Vincent conversing over the ‘little differences’ between Europe and America; The Dance competition at Jack Rabbit Slims. To name a few.

The dialogue is so fresh and cool, it jumps off the screen and firmly implants itself in your memory, making its way into everyday conversation. How many people can say they haven’t learned Jules’ Bible speech by heart and recited it to their friends. Ezekial 25:17.

Like Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino establishes a post-modern world where the characters could easily exist in either 1960/70’s era or the present day. They wear slick black tuxedoes and dance to tunes like ‘Son of A Preacher Man’ by Janis Joplin. Everything in the movie is tailor made to epitomise the word ‘Cool’.

It slapped Hollywood across the face. It spoke to an entire generation. It raised Miramax from Indie pioneers to Hollywood heavyweights. It brought Tarantino’s skewed vision crashing into our consciousness. And it lost an Oscar to a retard who liked running. Shame on you, Oscar judges. Shame on you.

Verdict 10/10
Class in a glass. Don’t smoke grass, snort Heroin.