My Tarantino kick continues, and this one I’ve only ever seen twice in my life—the last time being before I even started college. Favorite scene? Probably the twist contest with Vincent/Travolta and Mia/Thurman. Mia Wallace’s devil-may-care attitude expressed in every hair-swishing movement, with a frenetic undercurrent no doubt the product of the drugs taken earlier. Vincent, at once casual, understated even—but moving across the dancefloor as if it was second-nature. It’s no surprise of course, Travolta was known for Saturday Night Fever long before. Still, that scene with the narrative lead-up to it, the literal and cinematic comedown afterwards, it was marvelous.
I had forgotten just how non-linear the story was, leaving me thinking the movie was over twice—after Butch/Willis drove off on the now-deceased Zed’s bike, and later when Jules and Vincent were left to take a cab after leaving Monster Joe’s junkyard. This isn’t a negative; on the contrary, ending with the awoken wanderer of the world Jules and Vincent, who still kept his eyes shut and life on the way to its inglorious end was a great way to cap off a movie that lives up to its name. Schlock on the surface, tied together by masterful pacing and a single story threaded into a coherent yet mesmerizing pretzel with some standout characters for how little they’re actually featured, I’m not at all surprised this is the movie that put Tarantino into prominence. I still think Kill Bill is the best of his movies, but that’s fueled by memories that are over a decade old now. The last time I watched it I think it was off of the DVD box set I bought after being introduced to it by my father’s old friend. That same trip I was introduced to Hellsing as well as City of Heroes, so it might still be one of my most culturally eye-opening trips I’ve taken to date. Certainly one of the most formative ones. I’ll be in my wheelchair and greyer than Gandalf, still grinning like an idiot when Alexander Anderson starts stalking Seras to the tune of his taken theme.
This is precisely why I call these things ‘thoughts’ and not reviews. Pure stream of consciousness, no organization or editing, just written immediately after finishing the movie so I feel like it’s not solely a consumptive experience. With that said, damn if Jules isn’t an example of how good Samuel L. Jackson’s acting is. His entire conversation with Brett is just laced with surface-level charm and detached, clinical anger boiling beneath. It’s not personal, it never is—but he was hired to be a scary motherfucker, so scary motherfucker he will be. The cadence, the subtle tones in his delivery. Phenomenal stuff. With excellent music as per usual, although I’ve tainted Misirlou with the Black Eyed Pea’s version of it. I was expecting will.i.am’s vocals to show up any second in the intro.
Final thought I suppose: I can see why Spike Lee said back in the 90s that Tarantino had a fixation on the n-word. I don’t think he’s a racist at all; quite the contrary. But Jimmie’s fixation on the storage of dead individuals of certain ethnic origin seemed more out of place than other instances of characters using the word. Tarantino’s definitely improved since, ensuring when it and other slurs are used they add to the moment instead of feeling there for pure shock value.
