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>The recent opening of writer-director Quentin Tarantino's Pulp >Fiction is a high point in a low age. Already slobbered over >at Cannes and genuflected before by the New York press, it is, >perhaps, more than anything else, a continuation of Tarantino >themes thus far missed and another startling aesthetic victory >for a small, undeclared American film movement.
That paragraph meant absolutely nothing.
By looking >full face into the ethnic quirks and racial complexities of >our identity, Pulp Fiction addresses issues most effectively >pushed into the ambiguity, humour, and tragedy of art by such >different works as City of Hope, Mississippi Masala, One False >Move, Driving Miss Daisy, A Bronx Tale, and Six Degrees of >Separation. In that respect, no matter his present focus on >the underworld milieu, Tarantino is bringing a large and >subtle talent to subjects that have eluded even the most >consistently celebrated and publicized American directors of >the last few decades.
Pulp Fiction did not, at all, explore the racial complexities of a gotdamn thing.
And that last sentence sucks.
>Tarantino is deeply intrigued by the artistic challenges of >the many miscegenations that shape the goulash of American >culture and by how powerfully the influence of the Negro helps >define even those whites who freely assert their racism. Pulp >Fiction presents his most recent variations on Carl Jung's >observation that white Americans walked, talked, and laughed >like Negroes and that the black American was one of the two >figures appearing most often in their dreams.
None of that is true.
'Pulp Fiction' is about none of that shit.
QT thinks he's down with niggaz.
Most niggas don't even fuck with QT.
He ain't shit but a punk ass white boy to me, and his films don't "explore" a muthafuckin' thing.
Period.
>Drawing deftly imposing performances from an ensemble >featuring John Travolta, Samuel L Jackson, Uma Thurman, and >Bruce Willis, Tarantino brilliantly twists his Jungian themes >through the vehicles of cliched crime novel plots until they >achieve revelations sometimes so stinging that new life is >shocked onto the screen.
What?
"achieve relevatioins so stinging that nfew life is shocked onto the screen?"
Whose revelations? And whose new life?"
There were no profound revelations, and wasn't a gotdamn thing shocked.
The human nuances and surprises in >the writing provide fresh alterations of meaning as they >render a grittier and more relaxed integration that we almost >ever experience in American films. Those alterations reach far >beyond the customary racial cliches that thud upon us frame by >frame and the hostile or maudlin soap box oratory that washes >all possible eloquence out of dialogue. The viewing experience >is familiar and foreign: we feel we've seen it and not seen it >before.
The guy who wrote this is a fag.
>The virtuosity of Pulp Fiction is the culmination of the >self-taught, thirty-one-year-old Tarantino's only previous >works, True Romance and Reservoir Dogs. In those first >Tarantino screenplays, black people exist the way they do in >the films of Martin Scorsese. They are at the edge of things, >briefly stepping into view, sometimes important but most often >all-purpose inspiration for obsessive racial comments.
There is not racial commentary, for the love of fucking god.
Its a white film nerd who think he down with niggaz, and shit.
>Directed quite effectively by Tony Scott in the swiftly cut >style, color and lighting of television commercials, True >Romance clocks the adventures of Clarence and Alabama, a >rock-and-roll outlaw couple played with superior perception by >Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette. It is at once an >ingenious variation on Hamlet and a chase film that reaches >for the energy of anarchic destruction that defined one aspect >of American films made between the chaotic comedies of Mack >Sennett and the patriotic slaughter of World War II Hollywood. >That bloody disorder within the dramatic American tale was >stretched out further with Bonnie and Clyde, THe Wild Bunch, >Godfather I and II, and Taxi Driver.
I like Tony Scott's directing a lot more than Tarantinos.
>True Romance is informed by all that but goes its own way. The >twice quoted "something is rotten in Denmark" means the dope >world of casual sadism and murder. We see how the mistaken >grabbing of a suitcase of drugs sets in motion a negative >democracy of white "trash," black street criminals, Italian >gangsters, aspirant actors, pot-heads, Jewish film producers, >and law enforcement. That social sweep might have been >introduced in the drug dealing montage of stills Superfly >used, but it has never breached the condition of art this film >has. One essential reason Tarantino succeeds where others bit >the dust of exploitation is that he truly understands his >crime world within the larger context of our culture.
"Understands his crime world within the larger context of our culture?"
Meaning: He's watched enough crime movies to accurately bite other people's shit?
Yeah. Maybe.
Besides >cocaine, there are also the deadening mass opiates of rock and >roll, junk food, the amoral cartoonish gore of imported >martial arts movies, and a set of comic book conception of >romance, valor, and steadfastness that inspires the harsh >violence of Clarence and Alabama, who are either trying for >nobility or loyally responding to danger with hysterical self >defensive rage.
This paragraph communicated nothing.
>In Detroit, clarence spends one night with the novice >prostitute Alabama and marries her the next day. The film's >central icon is Elvis Presley, the white man who most >successfully and joyously "went native" by bringing black pop >rhythms into adolescent mass America. Presley is Clarence's >spiritual father. The ghost of "The King appears and orders >Clarence to Avenge his new bride's honor by killing Drexl, her >murdering white pimp. A venomous minstrel, Drexl "thinks he >is" black, sort of a Motor City Mr. Kurtz, a contemporary >version of "going native" the worst way.
Stop FUCKING GIVING CREDIT TO QT for all this racial commentary.
He is a white boy who thinks he's down with niggaz. He could give a fuck about commenting on racial complexities.
>In his dreadlocks, with his gold teeth, his scarred face, his >strained contemptuous black speech rhythms and falsetto >punctuation, Gary Oldman's Drexl is much more frightening than >his Dracula and inhabits an integrated world of criminality we >won't enter again until Pulp Fiction. At their showdown, >Clarence tells Drexl before he kills him that his black street >mannerisms aren't frightening because they don't include >anything that he hasn't already seen in The Mack, a >Blaxploitation film with Ma Julian and Richard Pryor. When >told by Clarence of his deed, Alabama weeps with pulp emotion, >because she considers the murder "so romantic." This >Shakespearean idea that all the world's a stage is perhaps >Tarantino's favorite theme. His people are executing roles >drawn from mass-media or personal contact, most of them >miscegenations of style.
This paragraph communicated nothing.
>This theme is extended when a Sicilian-American Mafia don uses >torture in an attempt to find out where the newlyweds have run >with the dope Clarence unintentionally took from Drexl, >thinking the suitcase contained Alabama's clothes. Christopher >Walken is the don, and Dennis Hopper is Clarence's father, a >retired cop. The don explains that lies won't work because >Sicilians are "great liars - the best," and that they can read >untrue faces better than anybody.
Uh. Okay.
>Hopper is then given lines that turn things around through one >of the most startling monologues in cinematic history. It is >perhaps his finest moment in film. Knowing that he can't the >torture, his character decides to make the don angry enough to >kill him. He attempts this through the shrewd use of racial >invective, informing the don that "Sicilians were spawned by >niggers." The supposedly startled don smugly demures.
Yes, i saw that. It wasn't that deep.
>The father, a former alcoholic and security guard who spends >time reading history, then speaks of the Moorish invasion and >the sexual pillaging of Sicily, which is why Sicilians don't >have blond hair and blue eyes like Northern "wops." He asserts >that, obviously, the dark-haired and dark-eyed don's >grandmother many generations back had "a half nigger kid." In >short, Sicilians are "part eggplant." The upshot is that in >America, where neither national nor world history is well >known, Sicilians who embrace traditional racism are also >acting; they are "passing" for white. Absolutely manipulated, >the don shoots him through the head.
Jesus.
The scene ain't about all that.
It was a good monologue and I like Dennis Hopper.
But cheel.
>Clarence and Alabama free to Los Angeles in his purple >Cadillac, where he arranges to sell the suitcase of cocaine. >The remainder of the film pivots back and forth between scenes >of either sadistic or chaotic violence and a telling send up >of self-absorbed Hollywood decadence, from the filthy homes of >aspiring actors to the cellular phones and sports cars of >drug-dealing producers. Almost everyone is doing some sort of >an impersonation or seeking public recognition, even the cops, >who demand credit for "the collar,' the drug bust that will >give them their media moment. An actor who is caught with some >of the coke and made to wear a wire by the police says to >himself as he prepares to betray his boss, "Elliot, your >motivation is to not go to jail." It is as hilarious as it is >harrowing.
This essay sucks and the writer is a fag.
Nothing else to say.
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O_E: Your Super-Ego's Favorite Poster.
"Any fighter that I face, I say prayers for them every night and that he and I live to fight another day."
(C) Floyd Mayweather Jr.
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