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Pulp Fiction (1994)
Seven sequences, a few more scenes,
an inventive and juicy unchronological order, and a fresh and spicy
dialogue that took on a new level of realism in the midst of an otherwise exaggerated reality – that was all it took for Quentin
Tarantino to elevate his status from one of Hollywood's most
promising newcomers (after his debut
Reservoir Dogs) to one of the
greatest new American directors since Orson Welles. Twenty-five years on,
Pulp Fiction stands the test of time without breaking a sweat,
and it probably always will. One reason is that it is not
set in any specific period or location; it creates its own universe
based on an (un)idealized version of L.A. Another reason is that
it deals with timeless movie issues, if not necessarily life issues,
with which Tarantino toys with utmost skill and playfulness. There
is a crudeness to it all, too, but it's a naïve, curious crudeness,
not an exploitative one. And Tarantino is not out to trick anyone;
he's in love with his material. Or rather, he's in love with
what inspired his material. He's a movie aficionado at work – and in
full bloom – who manages not only to pay tribute to the medium he so
clearly worships, but also to advance it, creating and telling stories that are unique, irresistible, and transcendent. With an
ensemble cast that included many performers whose careers were
boosted by this film, not least a vigorous John Travolta, who
returned from the B-list to the A-list.
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