Whatever else it might be accused of, it can’t be said that Quentin Tarantino’s latest film isn’t a coup du cinéma in its 70mm ‘roadshow’ version, harking back to a lost showmanship of printed programmes, overture fanfare, intermission and extra-wide widescreen format. There are many things indeed that I might accuse the resulting film of, yet I find it difficult to build up the necessary steam of self-righteous anger. In short, it is everything that everyone most vociferously damns it for: it is a distillation of all Tarantino’s most annoying tropes, all the abused women (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and their abusers (Kurt Russell), racist Southern rednecks (Walton Goggins) and gentlemen (Bruce Dern), noble yet weirdly homophobic black men (Samuel L. Jackson), and disarming patter of movie-literate self-reflexiveness against the backdrop of real and disturbing historical periods (the post-Civil War Reconstruction period). It sets up a beautiful wintery world using its widescreen palette, quickly drawing us into the single remote location where the eight title characters (as well as one nice guy, and some surprise late arrival characters vying for equal hatefulness, one of which is the director’s voice) spend much of the film battling for one-upmanship, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste as it descends into the usual Grand Guignol of bloodshed that you expect. However, Tarantino’s filmmaking is so desperate in its mugging for cinematic approval that even the nastiest events (with the exception of a hanging towards the end) just pass by with a shrug of my shoulders. Perhaps the title should be a hint that its protagonists are hardly likeable, but for me the film isn’t either and that’s a problem. It doesn’t seem to speak of anything so much as of all the films Tarantino has seen (so no change there). Others have enjoyed this opus, others have eviscerated it. Me, I just can’t be bothered anymore.
NEW RELEASE FILM REVIEW Director/Writer Quentin Tarantino | Cinematographer Robert Richardson | Starring Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Bruce Dern | Length 187 minutes || Seen at Odeon Leicester Square [70mm], London, Sunday 10 January 2016
SPECIAL SCREENING FILM REVIEW || Seen at Cineworld Shaftesbury Avenue, London, Tuesday 20 May 2014 (and on release in 1994) || My Rating a must-see
It’s difficult to revisit this film after so many years, not because it’s not still a solid piece of cinematic entertainment (it is), but because for many of us who were film fans in their late-teens when it first came out, it has something of a watershed status. I initially saw it somewhat illicitly, with the thrill of being (slightly) underage at the cinema given its 18 certification, and subsequently watched it many times on home video — probably too many times, meaning I haven’t looked at it for a very long time. Plus so very much has been written about it over the years, I daresay there’s little I can add. In any case, this most recent screening was on account of its 20th anniversary (20 years!), and I can confirm it still holds up. Like director Quentin Tarantino’s best works, it has a loose shaggy feel to it, while still being tightly structured, and if there are strands and characters I’m less keen on, the overall effect remains undiminished. Part of that loose structural feeling comes from the fact that it features a number of separate stories, introduced by title cards and linked by some shared characters and — eventually — shared locations seen from different perspectives, but the tightness is in the interwoven nature of the storylines, which recalls Altman’s Short Cuts of the year before (and indeed the short stories of Raymond Carver on which that film was based). At the film’s heart are Jules and Vince, a pair of hitmen played by Sam Jackson and John Travolta, early and mid career highs for each actor respectively. Tarantino always was good at showcasing the best of his (often unfashionable) actors — here including Bruce Willis and Uma Thurman — but that sadly doesn’t extend to his own appearances; his infatuation with blaxsploitation filmmaking combined with a vocabulary that seems partly indebted to the gangsta rap of the period is not anything that should really be coming from his own lips, though I suppose his willingness to declaim it marks some kind of honesty. His other up-front influences are rather more delightfully integrated, including an obsession with Jean-Luc Godard that you’d perhaps expect from a filmmaker whose production company is called A Band Apart, and which manifests itself in an early shot of Jules and Vince framed from the back of their heads, and continues into Vince’s dance with an Anna Karina-like Mia (Uma Thurman), not to mention other little self-consciously cinematic flourishes. That’s not to say Tarantino lacks his own style, but a key part of that style is grounded in his own pop cultural education, and Pulp Fiction is where that all came together most forcefully, and still does.
CREDITS || Director/Writer Quentin Tarantino | Cinematographer Andrzej Sekula | Starring Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta, Uma Thurman, Bruce Willis, Ving Rhames | Length 154 minutes