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Temporally twisted
tale-telling techniques had been nabbed by a maestro going by the moniker Q.T.—who I’d
first encountered when he’d orchestrated a jewel caper with a color-coded cast of
gangsters dubbed the Reservoir Dogs. The muse to his latest chronologically
chaotic two-part revenge epic
Kill Bill (see my review of Volume 1) had
clued me in on the case, but to get the scoop I needed to
tap into The Fiction—I
needed to know his motives.
Pulp
Fiction‘s disorienting expression is a credit to its noir heritage;
encapsulating the momentum of Dogs interwoven with noir/neo-noir flavor, black
comedy and ultra-coolness in a multi-temporal fashion. At once The
Fiction was a
reflective work of neo-noir and a unique creation unto itself; its method is perhaps its
most pronounced feature.
The surrealistic format of The Fiction seems to
serve several purposes—the first a credit to the noir heritage from which it hails. Film
noir has received props for coining the “flashback” as a storytelling technique, plying a
twin temporal movement approach to the narrative that functions both in “real” time and
“memory” (or “remembered”) time. Since Double Indemnity (1944) first applied this
style—opening with a “real” time
confession, cueing a “flashback” that takes viewers
through “remembered” time,
eventually integrating the two tracks to conclude the
film—it has become a staple of noir. Of course, this device is not limited to the genre,
and Q.T. definitely embellished on it in practice.
Second, each vignette
sets up a self-reference which will payoff later in the
narrative structure—the way a
joke gives set-up for the punch line—clues are deposited early on to cue connections
later in the film. It’s as post-modern as post-modern styles get, providing keys like
“gold watch” to express themselves later. A more serious thematic aspect of this is that
each episodic event provides a discourse on redemption; in chronological order these
conclusions would be lost.
For example, when Butch (Bruce Willis) is first
presented with his father’s gold watch, it’s a hilarious—almost mock spin on the
cinematic motif of masculinity, honor, and duty. Complete with Christopher Walken as
Captain Koons in a role reminiscent of the classic Vietnam-era work of masculinity,
honor, and duty: The Deer Hunter (1978). Koons states: “Your birthright,” handing
him the watch that had been lodged in his ass for years. In an ironic twist, the watch
actually plays an integral role in Butch’s own test of manhood—going back into the fray
to rescue his sworn enemy from a
deplorable fate in a cross between samurai honor and
the proverbial “leave
no man behind.”
The film’s ultimate redemptive
tale centers on Jules (Samuel L. Jackson), whose exchange with partner Vincent Vega (John
Travolta) and constant quoting of scripture (before he puts a cap in someone’s ass)
underscores the more spiritual aspects of the theme—exploring determinism and free will.
No sooner has Jules accepted his “fate” in reverence to an “act of God” and submit
himself to wandering the land Kung-Fu Caine style, does this choice get put to the test,
forcing him to choose between mercy or the violence he has become accustomed
to.
Pulp Fiction‘s non-linear order is essential to effectively
expressing its
interrelated stories—it ushered in a neo-noir revitalization usurping
some of the very values the sub-genre was founded on. It departed from pessimism,
alienation, and despair to concoct a warped vision of morality, salvation, and
hope.
There were still uses for the deconstructed construct that hadn’t been
explored
yet—it was time to get philosophical on the matter…
Don’t miss
part one of Josh’s series: “Memory, Metaphor, and
Time: Volume 1”
And watch for “Memory, Metaphor, and Time: Volume 3”—coming on
July 28!
