Film review: Pulp Fiction (1994), directed by Quentin Tarantino

Occupying a lofty #4 on IMDb’s Top 250 list is Pulp Fiction, a cult film from 1994. What it’s about? Errm, yeah, that’s a good question. It’s told in a number of little episodes, you could say, each featuring a few characters of the criminal underworld that mainly talk to each other about their own little musings, and then it moves on to something else.

For instance, Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer have a conversation in a diner, which turns into a heist. Samuel L Jackson and John Travolta eat burgers in a car and then go into an apartment building talking, making their way to someone’s door.

Then there’s Bruce Willis who’s a fighter, Ving Rhames who is some kind of crime boss married to Uma Thurman, a junkie that John Travolta enters a dancing competition with. And it’s all a bit bizarre, to be honest.

There’s also Eric Stoltz, Phil LaMarr, Rosanna Arquette, Christopher Walken, Harvey Keitel and a number of others.

The dialogue is amusing, the violent scenes are violent (hey, this is a Tarantino film) and the story … while not exactly coherent has become one of the most popular cult films ever. And I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because it was told in little episodes and not as one big story, or that I simply don’t gush as soon as Tarantino’s name is mentioned, but no, I fail to see how this is the fourth best film of all time.

What’s so great about it? Beats me. Seemed to pass the time okay, but I wouldn’t go further than that. Oh well, can’t love ’em all, I suppose. Each to their own. Just thought I’d like it more, because it’s kept in such high regard by a lot of people, but alas, it was not to be. No matter how good the acting, or how clever the dialogue, it felt disjointed and more weird than wonderful.

2 out of 5 milkshakes.