I’m trying to be better about watching these vaunted masterpieces of cinema that I know I’d like but have never actually sat down to watch. Soon, Blade Runner. But after Conclave I was still feeling the cinematic spirit, so I figured I’d check out one of the few Tarantino movies I hadn’t seen.

First impression after finishing it? A gory Glengarry Glen Ross gone wrong as part of the plot. The underlying tension and friction of characters who have their machismo push them too far, but with a heaping helping of utter callousness to human suffering in a myriad of forms. Mr. White’s code of honor that has him defending Mr. Orange at all costs, even as he didn’t blink while gunning down several cops for simply daring to stop him from getting away with major theft. Mr. Orange himself, who was an accessory to mass murder of innocents and he himself shooting a woman who was simply defending herself against two criminals: himself, and Mr. White. Then of course, Mr. Blonde who has now reinvented ‘Stuck in the Middle With You’ for me. It’s not the most horrific torture scene in terms of actions taken, but Mr. Blonde was in that moment the most disturbing villain in media I’ve seen in quite some time. As over-the-top as the violence is, Madsen’s portrayal of him? It felt hauntingly real.

I think what I found most compelling about the film as a whole however, is that it really does almost come across as a stage performance turned into a movie. Much of the plot takes place in one room, with the flashback scenes being not insurmountable if it were to be put on as a live performance. So much of the tension is based on what’s said and not said. The fact that this was Tarantino’s directorial debut speaks to his talent—even now it doesn’t feel dated or cliché.

It also managed to thread the needle of a truly miserable, heartwrenching ending without feeling over-dramatized or insisting upon itself. A call was made, the truth came out, and there was nothing left but horror, rage and pointless violence. It’s a gut punch of an ending that comes so close to being so nihilistic it’s not worth caring about, but stops short of crossing that threshold. Instead, we’re feeling a lot like Robert Duvall in Falling Down at the end: glad the bloodshed’s over, but stunned at how far it went and struggling to comprehend the senselessness of it all.

I’ll also never listen to elementary school favorite ‘the lime and the coconut’ the same way again. Masterful choice, but those limes are bloody now.