Okay, Pulp Fiction: What’s the big hairy deal? I mean, it’s okay, but why edify the movie?
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Quentin Tarantino is Martin Scorsese on bad drugs. A true movie nerd, he packs more inside jokes, puns, and movie references into this profane, unintelligible pile of self-aggrandizement than any director has a right to do, save Francis Ford Coppola. Ballsy, but somewhat hollow.
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Uma Thurman has never been more unattractive. I mean, we’re supposed to believe this drugged-out waste of 6 feet of bone is sexy enough for a man to die (or, get thrown out a window) for?
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It’s the movie that saved John Travolta’s career. And all the Scientologists said ‘yay’. Personally, I *liked* Look Who’s Talking Now
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If Samuel L. Jackson weren’t in this film, it would be a total waste. His delivery, character, and the change he undergoes from detached killer to pseudo-savior fascinate me.
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Okay, okay, there are more quotable quotes in this film than all those from the 1980’s put together. How can you hate a flick that put “Gonna get medieval on yo’ ass” on the map?
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Did I mention profane? 271 usages of the word “fuck” + all variants thereof (Source: IMDB….I did NOT sit there with a counter and click ’em off). This movie is so profane you go past the point of desensitization, actually making you feel hollow when you hear people talking without cussing. Even in church.
All-in-all, the director is the real star of this ‘high-concept’ vehicle, and it mostly works, but it’s tiresome. I enjoyed Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights more, even without the backwards plot and biblical references.