MY MOVIE SHELF: Pulp Fiction

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 167  Days to go: 160

Movie #216:  Pulp Fiction

It was fall 1994. I’d been living in Columbus less than two months, and suddenly there was this whole wide world of independent films available. (When I visited Chicago ten years later, I realized that Columbus had barely a glimpse of the independent film market, but coming from nowhere in the middle of upstate New York, it was a treasure trove.) I became fast friends with a girl who shared my love for movies and the two of us hung out often with my boyfriend and his roommate. I don’t remember who suggested it, or how we got there (I assume my boyfriend’s car?), but we went out to one of the city’s independent venues — there were three all owned by the same family at the time, something of an oxymoron, an independent chain cinema — and stood outside in a line for the next showing of Pulp Fiction. The world was never really the same after that.

When the Oscars came around, my friend was definitely hoping for Pulp Fiction to pull an upset, but I didn’t really think it had a chance, given the Academy. Still, as enjoyable as I find Forrest Gump, there’s no denying it didn’t have the same cultural impact as Quentin Tarantino’s breakout. (Reservoir Dogs came first, but it wasn’t as big, as amazing, or as talked about.)

For one thing, a nonlinear timeline hardly seems notable today, but Tarantino’s fiddling with the sequence of events in Pulp Fiction had people obsessing for literal months, and it’s actually something I still think about whenever I watch: this is happening first, this happens later, this goes back to earlier, etc. In some ways, this structure feels like a novelty — self-indulgent, perhaps and almost certainly unnecessary — but in others, it serves to tell a very particular story in a very particular way. If the movie went from the morning hit, to Jimmy (Tarantino) and the Wolf (Harvey Keitel), to the diner, to the handoff of the briefcase,  to our night out with Vincent (Travolta) and Mia (Uma Thurman), to the fight, to the watch (the flashback featuring Christopher Walken would still be placed in this general area) , to the whole deal with Maynard and Zed (Duane Whitaker and Peter Greene), then the movie would actually feel less cohesive, I think. It would end on the down note of Marsellus (Ving Rhames) having just been brutalized, Vincent dead and Butch (Bruce Willis) leaving the city forever with Fabienne (Maria de Medeiros) rather than the triumph of Vincent and Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) over Pumpkin (Tim Roth) and Honey Bunny (Amanda Plummer). It ties the beginning of the movie with the end, so instead of being simply a series of almost unrelated vignettes, it’s an integrated and complete piece.

Secondly, Pulp Fiction is often touted for resurrecting Travolta’s career. This was certainly true at the time, but it’s overlooked how the movie gave a little boost to Bruce Willis as well, and what it really did was make household names of Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman. (“Uma, Oprah.” NEVER FORGET!) Both had been acting for a while before this movie, and lord knows Jackson especially was in just about everything in the late ’80s in some sort of bit part or another, but this is the one that made them icons. There would be no Kill Bill without Thurman. There would be no “motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane,” (or a hundred other motherfucking somethings, including Capital One ads), without Jackson. These two are icons now, all thanks to Pulp Fiction.

The movie itself is iconic, too. The scene with Lance (Eric Stoltz) and the adrenaline shot is still one of the most exciting scenes in film, and I still jump when it goes in. (And Rosanna Arquette, pierced up to Jesus as Jody, saying “That was pretty fucking trippy” with this gleeful smile is a perfect way to close it out.) Then there’s the gold gleam of the inside of the briefcase, or Mia and Vincent’s dance at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, or the perfect, sad, wistful, intimate kiss he blows her as she walks away. Not to mention how all his crucial life moments are connected to being in the bathroom.  And that doesn’t even go into the dialogue: “Royale with cheese.” “Ezekial 25:17.” “Well look at the big brain on Brett!” “Garçon means boy.” “SAY WHAT AGAIN!” “Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead.” “I’m pretty fucking far from okay.” “Will you give me oral pleasure?” “Catch up.” (I still tell that Fox Force Five joke, and I really wish that show was real.) “Bring out the Gimp.”

These are things that still are quoted and said in conversation and looked at as iconic moments in film to this day. Plus, the entire Beatles versus Elvis conversation is a cultural touchstone now. Are you an Elvis person or a Beatles person? It’s supposedly one or the other, never both. If that’s true, I’d have to go Elvis, but regardless, I am definitely a Pulp Fiction person. As we all should be.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Out of Sight

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 172  Days to go: 171

Movie #205:  Out of Sight

Out of Sight is a coming together of greats. Everything great about director Steven Soderbergh is here, from his stylized aesthetic to his inventive nonlinear heist structure and the great performances he pulls from scores of interesting actors. Everything great about writer Elmore Leonard is here (the movie is based on his novel), from the interesting characters to the snappy dialogue to the sparkling chemistry and thrilling plot. Everything great about George Clooney (as Jack Foley) is here, from his suave, effortless charm to his no-nonsense confidence to his playful sex appeal. And Jennifer Lopez (as Karen Sisco) is at her very, very best in this film. Selena might’ve been her breakout, and she has certainly stalled as any kind of successful actress after the Gigli bomb (or the Maid in Manhattan bomb) (or the Monster-in-Law bomb) (or whatever), but she is phenomenal in Out of Sight — calm, cool, collected, enigmatic, assertive, outspoken, powerful, a force to be reckoned with, and absolutely the sexiest she has ever been, no lie.

Jack Foley is a bank robber, but the nice kind. He never uses guns, for example. As the movie starts, we see Jack leave one building in a fit of anger and frustration, notice the bank across the street, and go over to rob it as a way of calming himself down. He’s very smart, very methodical, and very courteous. He robs the teller almost entirely on wit and charm and only gets caught because his car won’t start. He winds up at Glades Correctional in Belle Glades, Florida, where he escapes with the help of his oft-times partner Buddy (Ving Rhames), and where he meets Karen Sisco, US Marshall, for the first time.

Karen is at Glades by chance, winds up witnessing the prison break by several Cubans, and is confused and then abducted by Jack and Buddy when Jack emerges from the escapee’s tunnel wearing a prison guard uniform. (It was a top-notch plan, if not for her presence.) They put her in her trunk, which Jack climbs into as well, and Buddy drives them off safe and sound. This is Jack and Karen’s meet-cute, where they spend a car ride locked in a trunk trading thoughts and feelings on movies and other minutiae. They have a lot of chemistry, but it doesn’t stop Karen from trying to do her job and foil their getaway. She only partially succeeds, however, and the rest of the movie chronicles Jack and Buddy’s working toward their big score up north and Karen’s constant pursuit of them, all while the two would-be lovers contemplate a life in which they could maybe take a time out and explore these ever-increasing sparks of theirs.

Soderbergh is known as an actor’s director, and it’s easy to see why with the amazing performances he gets out of not only his leads, but every single supporting actor (and even those with cameo roles) in his films. I love Don Cheadle, and his work here at Maurice “Snoopy” Miller is almost unrecognizable in terms of his total immersion into the role of a vicious, irredeemable criminal. Whether it’s murder or grand larceny or just throwing a fight, Snoopy has no qualms, no conscience. Meanwhile national treasure (and seriously one of the funniest character actors of our time) Steve Zahn — as screw-up stoner thief Glenn Michaels — is dopey and ditzy in the best possible ways, plus he manages to accomplish 90% of his acting through the wearing of a ridiculous headband. There’s also Albert Brooks as Ripley, who manages to look even dumber with hair than without, and Dennis Farina as Marshall Sisco, Karen’s dad, who is as no-nonsense a detective as she is but who is also so loving and accepting of her. Pile on top of that great small performances from Luis Guzman (who can’t believe magicians use fake legs), Catherine Keener (as Jack’s adorable ex-wife), Michael Keaton (as Karen’s FBI guy squeeze), and even Samuel L. Jackson as an inmate with a history of leaving custody, and you have a film chock full of surprising and entertaining performances. Honestly, every single one is a delight (even Isaiah Washington pre-Grey’s Anatomy as Kenneth who likes to tussle, and early era Viola Davis as his sister Moselle). That’s not an easy thing to pull off, but Soderbergh is a whiz at it.

The tone of the movie is light, but also foreboding and wary. There’s a lot of hesitancy between what Jack and Karen feel for each other, what’s prudent, and what they can reasonably expect out of their attraction given their completely different lives, but in the end it’s actually heartwarming the way Jack and Karen’s fatalistic attitudes toward their futures don’t prevent them both from looking out for the other — Jack emptying his gun, Karen shooting him in the leg — and keeping each other safe. It’s as if they know they can’t call time out right now — and alter-egos Gary and Celeste have no chance of making things work — so they wait to find a better time. And, hey, it’s a long drive to Florida.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Con Air

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 301  Days to go: 290

Movie #72: Con Air

Con Air was actually the first movie I saw with my previous husband — we bonded over “Sweet Home Alabama.” Some people might call those two items “clues,” but we’ve already established I was completely fucking stupid at 22. It all worked out in the end, anyway, though, because we have a great son together, my ex is a good dad, and even though he’s not my favorite person, I wish him mostly well. And, to be clear, I neither bought nor kept Con Air out of some sort of sentimental attachment to that first viewing.

I’ve held onto Con Air all these years because, frankly (obviously), I hold on to all my movies. Sometimes I look up on my shelf and don’t see one I know I used to own, but I have no idea how it got lost, since it’s really rare for me to part with them under any circumstances. (I suspect it might be one of those breath-stealing gremlin-trolls from Cat’s Eye. Those things were creepy as hell.) As to how I wound up buying Con Air in the first place, I don’t know. I suspect it has a lot to do with John Cusack and Steve Buscemi.

1997 was a bit of a resurgence year for John Cusack, and a much-appreciated one at that. He managed to transition in that time from his former cute, crushworthy teen/twenty-something roles into full-fledged adulthood. And something like Con Air is not anything one would’ve expected to see him in — brandishing weapons, being a smart yet kickass U.S. Marshall, going on honest-to-god action movie car chases against criminals. It’s a fun diversion from a lot of the more hyper-intellectual things he usually does. And it winks at maybe his goofy sense of humor, because I find it hard to believe anyone took this movie seriously, except maybe Nicolas Cage.

Steve Buscemi, on the other hand, has always done offbeat stuff, and his portrayal of Garland Greene in Con Air is definitely that. It’s this ridiculous parody of Hannibal Lecter, with the crazy restraints and the face mask and the eerie, intelligent calm. He didn’t eat a census taker’s liver, but he wore some woman’s head as a hat. He makes biting observations about those around him. He doesn’t kill the little girl (which, the entire scene with the little girl is easily my favorite of the film), despite the early implication that he might. And he manages to slip away into the casinos of Vegas without a trace, a lucky shooter indeed.

The rest of the movie is absolutely absurd. I mean, right from the start. What veteran in Alabama is going to get jail time for defending himself against a drunk maniac with a knife and his two friends? I feel like even the worst lawyer in the state would manage to get Cameron Poe (Cage) off for that. Secondly, the DEA agent they sneak onto the plane is supposed to gain a criminal’s trust and manage to get some sort of taped confession in the span of a single flight? It seems like they really could’ve come up with a better plan than that. Poe’s friendship with Baby-O (Mykelti Williamson), meanwhile, is based in Sno-Balls (not a euphemism), but he risks his life for it with the worst plans ever, one after another. Good thing, then, he’s able to divert attention from his clear convict-subverting motives with some cheeky quips directed at black militant Diamond Dog (Ving Rhames).  And while I appreciate that the lady guard wasn’t brutally raped by Danny Trejo’s Johnny-23 (clearly, they didn’t want the movie to get too dark, as that tends to undercut the jokes), it’s pretty funny that murderous psychopath Cyrus the Virus (John Malkovich) is morally opposed to it to the extent that he is. Honestly, there’s just nothing in the movie that holds up to any sort of rational examination, so it’s best if you just laugh at it and leave it there. I recommend the part where Cameron SuperPoe charges the cockpit while getting jumped and shot at — he barely flinches and doesn’t alter course at all — and the one when Cyrus takes a giant wooden stake through the ankle, pulls it out, and doesn’t even limp while continuing to fight Poe on the top of a fire engine — despite shattered bones and almost certainly bleeding out, it takes crashing through a raised walkway and landing on live power lines to kill him.

I suppose I would be remiss not to also mention the very funny Dave Chappelle as Pinball, but honestly everything he does in this movie grosses me right the hell out. Or maybe it’s just the whole gross mouth thing he does, but that one thing is disgusting enough to dampen my appreciation for him. Sue me.

At the end of the day, of course, Cameron Poe has, in fact, “saved the fucking day,” as promised, but it’s still pretty ridiculous. The only thing I can’t decide, though, is if Cage knows it’s preposterous and likes to play camp, or if he considers himself a serious action star and sees his character as an honest-to-god hero. It’s a mystery of our times.