Review: Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)

What can one say about Pulp Fiction, that hasn't already been said about it? One of the best action films ever? No doubt about that. A masterpiece? Said thousands of times. Quentin Tarantino best film? Said even more. One of the best of the '90s? Been said even more again. It's one of those all-around great movies. Everything from the directing, writing, acting, editing, soundtrack, humour, even the set pieces – the adrenaline shot, the "Bad Motherf*****" wallet, and of course the much-documented suitcase (the contents of which we never find out) – is flawless.
Then there's the classic characters. The two bickering hit men Vincent Vega (a career-resurrecting performance by John Travolta) and Jules Winnfield (a hilariously unforgettable Samuel L. Jackson), their boss's sexy wife Mia (Uma Thurman), the desperate prize-fighter, Butch Coolidge (Bruce Willis) and the two clumsiest bank robbers ever put on film (Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer), all of them enjoyable. Travolta, Jackson and Thurman were all nominated for Oscars for their performances.
This was the movie that changed the face of indie films forever. But ultimately it's Tarantino's movie. He is responsible for putting all the elements of it together to form one massive and enormously enjoyable ensemble piece. His direction is outstanding and his screenplay – one of the best ever written – is even better. With great character development, wild action scenes, brilliantly inspired dialogue and memorable conversations between the characters involving everything from robbing restaurants to foot massages to the names of European hamburgers, it's no wonder why it won the film's only Oscar.
Throw in some clever editing, a typically Tarantino '60s and '70s soundtrack, and fine cinematography – the single shot of Jules and Vincent walking through the foyer of an apartment building is a highlight – and you've got yourself a masterpiece, one of the best movies of all time.
Let's face it, Pulp Fiction is most certainly not one to show to the kiddies (the F-word is used an unbelievable 271 times throughout its 2 1/2 hours, and that's just for starters) or to watch with Grandma (the rapist scene is not for the faint-hearted), but that only makes it even more of a guilty pleasure.
It remains the crowning achievement of one of the most daring and individual film-making talents to come out of the '90s.
10/10.