if i were quentin tarantino

For starters, I would never give myself more than four lines. For a man whose acting is like a dried out piece of cheddar, I still come away from my first Pulp Fiction experience awed by the directing and writing genius of this first major Tarantino hit. While the dialogue struck me as a Cohen Brothers film that wishes it were cool, scenes like Butch’s sit down with Marcello, likewise show the incomparable captivation a director can evince by the intentional use of poor cinemagraphic composition and extremely long static shots of little visual substance. This trademark technique forces the focus on the intensity of the dialogue, delivered by characters he seems to know more thoroughly than they know themselves. In retrospect, I appreciate the palpability of this blood-fest, and attribute its success to his setting of bloody, ugly and unseemly situations in bright, warm and friendly surroundings, such as the hold up in the diner or the overdose in Mia’s open, sterile living room (not to mention the fun of bizarre characters in differently but equally bizarre settings, like the infamous dinner “not-a-date” between Mia and Vincent). While most directors seek to make a filmic statement through these dichotomies, Tarantino almost seems to be having fun with the characters and their believably unbelievable lives, both extremely appealing to the dark and anti-social side in all of us. A Quentin Tarantino kiss-up would not be complete without the mention of his almost Fellini-like placement of events in seemingly random order. From Butch and Vincent, among others, we learn a quick lesson to pay CLOSE attention to the essence of the characters, that we may eventually determine where a character’s transitioning personality (or death) fits into the sequence of events. The technique is so cleanly utilized that if it were not intended as an homage, it could still be viewed that way. My only dig in this area, lose the titles—it feels like Blade Runner’s concession to add voice-over for a completely non-cognitive audience. This is a film I could see over and over again, if only to wish I was Uma Thurman sans overdose, but also to relish the successes and failures of the rich and evil. If I were Quentin Tarantino, I would rest on my laurels with a big kahuna burger and a Sprite, secure in the knowledge that I would be known as an enduring auteur and unforgettable legend in the world of cult film.