Clerks (Smith, 1994)

I've taken a little departure from my previously outlined film viewing list. I am currently reading, as suggested by Anthony (who actually lent me his copy of the book), My Boring-Ass Life: The Uncomfortably Candid Diary of Kevin Smith. Interestingly enough, besides Dogma (1999) a fairly long time ago, I have not even seen any of Kevin Smith's films. So naturally, I decided to watch one, his first film - Clerks (1994). As a result, I had to return the DVD's I borrowed before getting to two of them; I'll get back to Chris Marker and Traffic as soon as I can.

I am not really sure how to go about writing on Clerks. It is really just about two guys that hate their jobs and are not all too nice to their customers. It is funny and definitely has its moments, but overall I was unimpressed. It does not feel like a film at all. It is just a series of events that do not go together coherently. I must say though, that as a former employee of Togo's sandwich shop, I can relate to the film. I think this is probably where the film gets most of its fan base; most people have worked in some job that had to do with customer service.

I do not understand the large following behind the movie, but it is at least somewhat entertaining. It is much better to bear in mind that Clerks is Smith's first film. With that, and the fact that he was a VFS dropout, in mind it isn't too bad of a film after all. I guess I will have to just keep reading, and check out Mallrats (1995) and some of his later movies.

Volver (Almodóvar, 2006)

In celebration of finishing my Spanish final I picked up four movies. The choice for that night was Pedro Almodóvar's 2006 film, Volver. I grabbed it because I remembered trying to decide whether to see it or a different movie at the Rialto Cinemas Lakeside one night. I actually don't remember what we did end up seeing, but I do remember thinking Volver sounded pretty good. so when I saw it, I grabbed it.

Volver was an interesting choice to celebrate the completion of this sememster's classes (except Canadian Literature, which I have tomorrow) especially Spanish, because, well, it's in Spanish. I enjoyed this aspect of it, I was actually able to make out quite a few of the words and phrases. I watch a lot of films that are not in English, but a Spanish language film is pretty rare in my viewing experience. The last film I can remember watching in Spanish is Guillermo del Toro's award winning El laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth) from the same year. The cool think about somewhat knowing the language of the film you're watching is that you do not need to read the subtitles so closely, and you can focus more of your attention on the screen. I certainly could not watch it without the titles, I am actually pretty bad at Spanish, but I was able to pay closer attention to the photography of the film.

The photography of this film is what really catches your attention first. The cinematographer José Luis Alcaine and Almodóvar create a beautifully colorful, brightly lit world to unleash this dark story upon. This irony comes in the very first shot. An extremely high-key, colorful, exterior, tracking shot roams passed women dusting/cleaning gravestones in a cemetery. Throughout the remainder of the film this style remains. There are certainly key scenes that are more darkly lit, which is clearly an attempt to make an obvious contrast between the two; but even the exterior night scenes are very high-key. I think the only thing that saves these scenes from looking like a 'telenovela' or even an American daytime soap opera is the fact that the picture was shot on film. Had it been shot HD or BetaCam I believe the lighting would have felt like daytime television. Since it was not shot on video, it works; it adds to the surreal or even ethereal fantastical feel to the film. High-angle shots are pretty common in this film. It may be a reference to the spiritual beings watching over the characters (supposedly), or maybe Almodóvar and/or Alcaine are just into the directly over head shots.

Penélope Cruz offers an impressive, yet goofily hilarious performance. She goes from intensely dramatic, to so silly it's hardly acting from scene to scene. And I am not quite sure if it was on purpose or not, but her make-up is all over the place. Some scenes she is stunningly beautiful, others she's lookin' about as Plain-Jane as Ms. Cruz can get in a motion picture. She not only has an impressive screen, her breasts almost play a character themselves. I am willing to guess that this is a cultural thing. The unabashed close-ups of her cleavage, as well as numerous references in the dialogue, don't really seem to add to the characters, and very little to the plot. I'm guessing Spanish culture places more blatant emphasis on the female body than we like to pretend we do in North America. The rest of the cast offers great performances as well. Since I am reading a lot of what they're saying, rather than listening it is truly hard to judge.

Gender plays an important role in this film, but I believe that it would take another viewing or two and some research to truly articulate and argument on it. I will mention though, that there are absolutely no important male characters in the story. There are some supporting males, but they occupy a minuscule amount of screen time.

I am now starting to equate Spanish-language/Latin American cinema with fantastic and imaginative stories, firmly routed in the real world. Almodóvar tells a wonderful, suspenseful story with Volver. You are never quite in the dark about the secrets of the plot, but you are still anxiously on the edge of your seat through the whole flick. I warmly welcome the unorthodox approach he takes to story-telling, and would recommend this movie.



Well, that's all I have to say about Volver for now. Even though the last sentence makes it sound like it, this is not a review (especially since the film has been out for 3 years...) but more just the thoughts off the top of my head on the film. I realize it is not that interesting for anyone else, like I said in my first post, I originally intended this to be in a notebook, but I figured I'd put in online for others to read if they want. So, if you do read it, let me know what you think. And if you like it tell your friends or something? Someone should put me in my place.

And so it begins...

Alright, about time to get this blog rollin'. My most recent post concludes this semester's term papers. I have just one more final left (Canadian Literature), so I can finally start watching some movies again. In celebration of finishing my Spanish final yesterday I ran (in the snow, with my hole-y shoes) to the Koerner library to pick out some movies. I grabbed Volver (Almodóvar, 2006), Traffic (Soderbergh, 2000), Rashômon (Kurosawa, 1950), and a DVD of two Chris Marker films: Sans soleil (1983), and "La Jetée" (1962). It's kinda funny, I went to get four movies to watch for fun, and when I walked out I realized all four were in different languages. Anyway, after some Super Mario Bros. for the NES and washing dishes with Acacia, we made some dinner and watched Volver. So, as you guessed it, my next post will be discussing said film.

I am not really sure at this point what form my writing will take; it will likely change, understandibly, from film to film. My style may change drastically, but after a few films I figure I'll sort of figure out what I'm trying to do here. I've decided not to read anything on Volver, so I'll try the first post that way. I'll likely write it later today, so stay tuned.

Representations of the 'Troubles' in Northern Ireland in cinema

Interpersonal Relations in The Crying Game and The Boxer

Daniel Robbins

FIST 332 - Studies in Genre or Period

Professor Mark Harris

11 December 2009

Films that aim to make a political statement often do so loud and clear, sometimes much too loudly, and much to clearly. Films dealing with ‘Troubles’ in Northern Ireland run the risk of becoming victim that very affliction. The Crying Game (Neil Jordan, 1992) and The Boxer (Jim Sheridan, 1998) attempt to show the “Troubles” of Northern Ireland through the interpersonal relationships between characters. They show the ‘Troubles’ in this way because it is difficult to show a political situation on film, while simultaneously telling a compelling story. Sheridan and Jordan both accomplish this endeavor.

In The Crying Game the first relationship between characters we are introduced to is between Jody (Forest Whitaker) a black British soldier, and Jude (Miranda Richardson) an undercover IRA volunteer. They are at a fair on what appears, at first, to be a date. We soon find out that she is luring him into an IRA trap, to be held hostage. From the first scene in the film Jordan is saying that, in this world, getting involved with someone can be treacherous. The first sequence sets the tone for the interpersonal struggles that permeates the entire film.

One interesting interaction between the two comes very early in the picture when Jude holds Jody’s hand while he urinates, because he is afraid she might leave him. It is a very interesting scene indeed. Jody seems very pleased with the sensation of a woman holding his hand while he urinates, a fact that becomes even stranger after learning of Dil’s ‘secret’. Jody also is afraid of being left alone, another sentiment that is brought up later in the film, in his conversations with Fergus. The two clearly are not meant to be together, especially after knowing why the are together. This scene in particular outlines Jody’s naïveté, as well as Jude’s deceitful ways.

The next relationship to discuss will be that of Jude and Fergus (Stephen Rea). Fergus is first introduced with a clever tracking shot that reveals him watching Jude and Jody, and following them as they pass him. It is him who a few minutes later ambushes Jody and subsequently kicks him in the face. We find out in the next seen, back at the IRA hideout that Fergus and Jude were in on this plan together, and are actually romantically involved with one another. This time the relationship is introduced with deceit between it, but it exists on a basis of deceit. They are not just romantically involved; Fergus and Jude are together as participants in a political terrorist organization.

“Miranda Richardson has a key role as an IRA terrorist who toys with Fergus, early and late, confusing sexual power with political principles” (Ebert). Jude more or less tortures Fergus. She gives him a hard time for befriending the hostage, Jody, and even physically abuses his new friend. Toward the end of the film she turns up in London to involve him yet again in an IRA operation. She threatens to harm Dil, “the wee black chick”, if he does not agree to the plan. Fergus has realized that he is better off without them, and he has grown since then. Jude however, has not grown. She is the same deceitful snake that trapped Jody in the first sequence of the film.

When we first arrive at the IRA hideout where the hooded Jody is to be held hostage, we are introduced to leader of the little gang. Maguire (Adrian Dunbar) is first seen lighting a cigarette and informing Jody of the situation: that he is “being held hostage by the Irish Republican Army” and will be shot if the British army does not release an IRA senior member then Jody will be shot. As the top dog of the small group, Maguire’s relationship to Fergus is one of power. He is able to give orders, and Fergus is required to ask “permission to watch the prisoner”. Their relationship is facilitated by a notion that one person is more important, or powerful than another.

In the end, after Fergus does not show up to execute the IRA operation because he is ‘tied up’; Maguire attempts to do it himself. This results in Maguire’s death. He is nothing without his power. When Fergus disobeys him, deliberately or not, he is destroyed. Living through power over another person is not the most successful way to live.

The relationship that follows throughout the entire film is the one between Fergus and Jody. Jody singles him out as the most compassionate of the IRA people, and the two of them form a bond during Jody’s captivity. They form a most unusual friendship out of even more unusual circumstances.

In Jody’s yearning for communication, he tells Fergus a fable about a frog and a scorpion. The point of the story is that there are two types of people in the world, those who give and those who take. “Through both subtext and narrative, the film proves Jody’s thesis by refusing to draw a line between English and Irish, men and women, hetero and homo; each division is blurred” (Giles 54). Jane Giles’ words speak for themselves. The relationship these two men share, defined by Jody’s story, guides the viewer through the film and shows that people are people. It tells us that we are all humans, and it is our ‘nature’ that differentiates us, not our skin color, nationality, or sexual preference.

It is between Jody and Fergus that the hand holding urination motif comes back. Jody’s hands are cuffed, so he asks Fergus to help him. Fergus eventually gives in, because it is ‘in his nature’. He not only has to pull Jody’s penis out of his pants, and put it back, but he needs to hold Jody’s hands while he goes so he can lean forward. It seems a little bit as if Jody is insisting on this because he wants that kind of human contact. Whatever Jody’s reasons for asking, Fergus gives in and helps his new friend out. This form of humility toward the ‘other’ or the ‘enemy’ is what sets Fergus apart from the rest of the IRA group.

When Fergus first meet’s Dil at the ‘Metro’, the two of them are soon accompanied by the pestering ex-boyfriend, Dave (Ralph Brown). Dave spends his time following Dil and, rather pathetically, trying to convince her to take him back. This relationship, while being relatively minor to the plot, is based on a need for acceptance and companionship. This is a common theme seen throughout most of the characters, reflecting the people of Ireland and England at the time.

After Jody’s death, the film completely changes. We go from an IRA hideout in the Northern Ireland forest, to London. There, Fergus meets Dil (Jaye Davidson) and it is there relationship that the rest of the film hinges around. On Jody’s request Fergus is supposed to find Dil to tell her that Jody loved her. Fergus fails to tell Dil why he had found her, and Jody haunts their relationship which turns out to be based on more than one secret.

The big secret of the film, the fact that Dil is biologically male, comes as a complete shock to Fergus. Their intimate foreplay quickly becomes Fergus’ date with the porcelain throne. He can not immediately handle the shock, but he learns to cope. “After the revelation, Dil herself remains the same, but the film changes tone to hit its comic stride” (Giles 59). This is showing that the film itself, along with Fergus is learning to understand things that are different. It is learning to accept facts that it would previously have been at odds with. This sets an example for us in the real world, a hopeful message to the people of Ireland, and the world.

Roger Ebert argues that “the love story transcends all of the plot turns to take on an importance of its own.” While I agree with the statement, I disagree with the implications. Ebert is suggesting that the love story is so intriguing that it takes precedent over everything else. I find quite the opposite: that much like many of the other relationships in the film, Dil and Fergus’ relationship is a reflection of the larger social context that surrounds them. Their struggle with trust, and secrecy, as well as their ability to fall in love against all odds is a commentary that there is hope for the struggle in Ireland and England.

Jody is the tie between Dil and Fergus. “The image of the dead Jody haunts the film; Dil ends up wearing his cricket whites” (Dunne). Fergus has visions of Jody playing cricket throughout the film. Near the end, in an effort to hide her from the IRA by making her “into something new”; Fergus dresses Dil up in Jody’s cricket clothing. This makes it clear that their relationship is mediated by a middleman: a black Englishman, playing an Englishman’s sport, cricket.

The relationship between Dil and Jody, which we never actively see because the film begins after Jody is separated from Dil, is solidly the topic of interest, especially to Fergus, throughout the film. In the first half of the film, Jody tells Fergus about Dil while he is being held captive. Then, in the second half of the film Fergus prods Dil for information about Jody. Jody’s pictures adorn Dil’s apartment. Their relationship is defined by absence.

Sean Dunne points out this lack of togetherness in his review of the film, remarking that “while Jordan casts the characters in relation to each other, the film is also a study in loneliness”. The absence of one another in Jody and Dil’s relationship can be extended to most every character. They are all dealing with their own inner struggles. This internal struggle is an analogy for Ireland’s inner turmoil.

Through the way the characters interact with one another, Jordan reflects the status of Northern Ireland, and offers options, but not necessarily answers. The “social and political implications of the Northern Troubles” are not, as Sean Dunne states in his review of the film, “subsumed beneath the subtleties of personal discovery”; the ‘Troubles’ are addressed through personal discover and interpersonal relations.

In The Boxer, Danny Flynn (Daniel Day-Lewis) and Maggie (Emily Watson) take a form of a somewhat familiar ‘star-crossed lovers’ scenario. They had been young lovers, and when Danny went to prison for IRA activities they lost contact and Maggie married Danny’s friend. Maggie’s husband was sent to prison shortly afterward. When Danny gets out of prison he hopes to win back Maggie’s heart. Not only is their potential rekindling of a romantic relationship prevented by the fact that Maggie is married, the wives of imprisoned IRA men are expected to adhere to strict rules about who they talk to and where they are seen to protect the morale of the prisoners. This relationship of apparently ‘true love’ is prevented by the circumstances of the political situation in Northern Ireland.

When Danny gets out of prison he runs into his old friend Ike Weir (Ken Stott). The two decide to put the old boxing gym back together. Together the two of them, with their bare hands, attempt to bring the Protestants and the Catholics together under one roof the only way they know how, with boxing. Their relationship is based on the idea of uniting the two sects of people, not with politics, but with sports.

This bringing together of people is very important to a community whose “ordinary values have been distorted by years of violence” (Macnab). Ike and Danny are able to transcend the ‘Troubles’ by hanging up old pictures and training children. They bring in both sides of the fence in order to participate together as one community undivided.

Boxing ends up bringing Danny together with Maggie’s son Liam (Ciaran Fitzgerald). The two form a bond through Danny training Liam to box at the gym. Under the same roof that boxing brings the Protestants and Catholics together, this relationship is forged.

This changes when Danny and Maggie start seeing each other. Liam is afraid his mother is going to leave him and go to Britain with Danny, so in an attempt to rebel against England and Danny he, somewhat inadvertently, burns the gym down.

Liam eventually realizes that Danny is not the bad guy, and it is in fact the people his father is involved with that are the scary, violent people.

Liam’s relationship with his mother, Maggie, is stressed by the ‘Troubles’. They have a close relationship, but when Liam starts to realize how things work around him things change. Their relationship comes to be about fear of being separated, quite the opposite of the Northern Ireland ‘Troubles’.

One relationship that is legal, but basically nonexistent is Maggie’s marriage. Her husband Thomas, who is never seen on screen because he is in prison, still plays at least a symbolic role in the film. It is symbolic of what all of the wives of the imprisoned IRA men have to go through. The marriage stands to prevent the proliferation of true love between Maggie and Danny.

The danger that Maggie and Danny enter into when they become romantically involved is shown to the viewer before we even know that the two are connected. At the wedding reception of a woman and her imprisoned man, a boy dances with a woman who is married to a prisoner and a couple of Harry (Gerard McSorley), an IRA leader’s men threaten to shoot the kid in the knees if he ever does it again. They are not messing around. They intend to protect the morale of the prisoners, by means of violence.

As a married woman, Maggie is subject to this same kind of ‘protection’. Even though this practice may or may not improve the prisoners’ morale, it tears the community apart. The women are treated as objects and tools of the IRA’s cause. This kind of division reflects the practices of the terrorist IRA tactics. They are putting too much energy into the wrong direction to reach their goal.

The relationship between Maggie’s father, Joe Hamill (Brian Cox), and Harry (Gerard McSorley), two men high up in the IRA, is very contentious. Joe believes that the violence approach just is not working, and they need a new angle. Harry, however, feels that bombing is the only thing that works. The inner turmoil within the group represents the struggle with oneself, not the ‘other’.

In the end, in a surprising twist, the IRA kills Harry instead of Danny. This seems “to suggest that for peace and reconciliation to be achieved, men such as Harry must be eliminated” (McIlroy 82). In other words, Belfast was not big enough for both Harry and Joe. In the end a decision was made that in order to stop the violence, some violence must be committed.

Out of The Boxer’s “complex yet cohesive tapestry” of interrelated characters Sheridan is able to communicate the struggles of a divided community (Simon). Through the telling of a beautiful love story, he is able to show the problems within Northern Ireland and some possible solutions. He at least provides a bittersweet resolution, the gym is burned, and a man is dead, but Danny, Maggie, and Liam are happy so there is hope.

Both The Boxer and The Crying Game tell fascinating stories that deal with the ‘Troubles’ without pushing them to the side. They do not delegate the ‘politics’ solely to a contrived subplot. Both Sheridan and Jordan skillfully weave their commentary on Northern Ireland inescapably within and between each and every one of their characters.

Works Cited

Dunne, Sean. "The Crying Game." Film Ireland. December 1992. Film Ireland, Web. 19

December 2009. Film Ireland.

Ebert, Roger. "The Crying Game." Chicago Sun-Times: Roger Ebert. 18 December

1992. Chicago Sun-Times, Web. 10 December 2009. Chicago Sun Times

Giles, Jane. The Crying Game. London: British Film Institute, 1997. Print.

Macnab, Geoffrey. “The Boxer”. Sight and Sound. 1997. FIST 210 Custom Course

Material. Vancouver, BC: UBC bookstore, 2009. Print.

Mcilroy, Brian. Shooting to Kill. 1st ed. Richmond, BC: Steveston Press, 2001. Print.

Simon, John. “Fists, Fires, and Hearts”. National Review, Vol. 50 Issue 4. 1998. FIST

210 Custom Course Material. Vancouver, BC: UBC bookstore, 2009. Print.

Intertextuality in Pulp Fiction

Intertextuality in Pulp Fiction
by Daniel Robbins
Presented to Prof. Ernest Mathijs - 8 December 2009
FIST 300 - Cult Cinema - UBC

Drugs, sex, gangsters, guns, profanity, and witty dialogue: Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994) has it all. These are just the things that get cult audiences in the door, however. What makes them stay is quote-ability and intertextual referencing the film beats the viewer over the head with. Pulp Fiction creates a world not from reality, but from movies themselves for audiences to get sucked into, and take pieces with them when the film is over, and the credits are done rolling. Through persistent intertextuality, Quentin Tarantino creates a fan following to be reckoned with.

In Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino makes reference to, literally, countless films. These intertextual references are so numerous that they cannot carry any meaning of their own. Tarantino includes these references, possibly because he likes them, or because the viewers that ‘get’ the references like them, or both. There are some obvious references as well as some very obscure ones.

The scene at Jack Rabbit Slim’s when Vincent Vega (John Travolta) is showing Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) a good time for the boss, Marsellus Wallace (Ving Rhames) can “almost serve as a metaphor for the activity of the spectator at whom the film throws dozens and dozens of references.” (Polan, 2000: 17). Many of these are the easy references to catch. The wait staff is stocked with celebrity impersonators, most notably Marilyn Monroe, and Buddy Holly, who are even named aloud. Some of the other easy to catch references are: The dance scene in Jack Rabbit Slim’s as a reference to Travolta’s earlier dancing movie roles such as Saturday Night Fever (John Badham, 1977) and Grease (Randal Kleiser, 1978); a quick, but fairly obvious one is the nickname for the (never shown on screen) character Antwan Rockamorra, ‘Tony Rocky Horror’, which alludes to The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Jim Sharman, 1975); and just before Butch Coolidge (Bruce Willis) goes back into Maynard (Duane Whitaker) and Zed’s (Peter Greene) basement to save Marsellus he picks up a few items in an attempt to choose the right weapon for the job. Butch picks up a hammer, then a baseball bat, then a chainsaw, and finally a samurai sword. This is a reference to horror cinema, with the most obvious one being The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974). The rest of the weapons are a little more vague as to their referent, but the samurai sword is certainly meant to nod at Japanese samurai cinema such as that of Akira Kurosawa.

Tarantino uses innumerable intertextual references that are much more ambiguous and obscure. It is unclear how many and which of them are intentional, but the viewer rich in cultural capital can pull these things out of virtually every character, scene, and line in Pulp Fiction. The character of Mia Wallace, Dana Polan states, sports a hairstyle that “is like that of Anna Karina in several Godard films” (2000: 21). I saw an intertextual reference in Mia, especially her hairstyle, as well; but it was not in France in the 1960’s. Mia Wallace seems to be to be a reference to Louise Brooks’ character Lulu in G.W. Pabst’s great silent film Pandora’s Box (1929), which has become a cult film in its own right. Mia is not in every way similar to Lulu, but she does have a little bit of the pre-femme fatale, naive view on the world that is so alluring, and self-destructive in Lulu. One scene that seems oddly self-referential is when Butch and Marsellus are tied up in the basement, beaten and bloody, and Maynard is spraying them with water (possibly to wake them up). This immediately brought the image of soaking a beaten and bloodied person in gasoline from Reservoir Dogs (Tarantino, 1992). Butch wakes up with a start in his hotel room with Fabienne (Maria De Medeiros), he is awoken by a “motorcycle movie” that is a nod at exploitation ‘B’ pictures. The character of Jules Winnfield (Samuel L. Jackson) is a reference to blaxploitation in himself. Again, there are hundreds of other examples; these are just to name a few.

Yet another way Tarantino makes intertextual references is by referencing other directors. In an interview with Charlie Rose, Tarantino talks about his influences, among them include Brian De Palma and Martin Scorsese. As I have already illustrated, the films of the 1970’s are a major influence on Tarantino. These two offer a decent representation of the great films that were being created in the United States during that decade. Scorsese, who went to New York University, was part of a new wave of directors called the “film school generation” (Belton, 2009: 366). Not only does Tarantino cite Scorsese as one of the directors who influenced him most on the Charlie Rose Show, he claims Taxi Driver (Scorsese, 1976) as one of his top three favorite films, along with Rio Bravo (Howard Hawks, 1959) and Blow Out (De Palma, 1981). Elements of Taxi Driver can definitely be found in Pulp Fiction. Just after Butch flees the boxing match by jumping out of a window, he hops in a taxi cab. This vehicle is clearly not a modern 1990’s car; Tarantino uses a vehicle very similar to the one Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) drives in Taxi Driver. Butch’s conversation with the cab driver, Esmerelda Villalobos (Angela Jones), conjures up memories of Travis’s conversations with all kinds of “scum” in his taxi cab. Tarantino’s reference to De Palma is a little less concrete, or stylistically evident. Tarantino evokes a sense of De Palma’s influence through his constant use of intertextuality. De Palma’s ‘postmodern’ method of filmmaking involves the use of pastiche ,that is, imitation without any connotation around the imitation. De Palma used other people’s styles, specifically Alfred Hitchcock’s, without glorifying or satirizing them (Belton, 2009: 372). Tarantino uses elements from and even styles of his favorite directors.

Another director who is extremely well ‘quoted’ in this film is Alfred Hitchcock. Tarantino uses many various techniques of Hitchcock’s in Pulp Fiction. One of these techniques I attribute to Hitchcock more because of the term I choose to use than anything. The brief case, which the whole narrative revolves around, to me is a clear example of Hitchcock’s idea of a ‘MacGuffin’. No one knows what is in the case, and it really does not matter. The case moves the plot forward without anything specific being inside. Another Hitchcockian technique Tarantino employs is what is known today as the ‘Hitchcock Zoom’, ‘Dolly Counter-Zoom’, ‘Zolly’, or ‘Vertigo Zoom’. This occurs during Vincent’s date with Mia. This one, however, could be another reference to Scorsese, as he uses it in Goodfellas (1990). But either way it is a reference to Hitchcock, whether it is through Scorsese or not.

It has been said that the film is half European Art-House, and half Exploitation cinema of the 1970’s; that it is half French New Wave, half blaxploitation. I already mentioned that Mia Wallace can be seen as a reference to Anna Karina in Jean-Luc Godard’s films. Tarantino uses quite a few other references to the French New Wave cinema. To me, Butch and Faibenne’s relationship feels like Breathless (Jean-Luc Godard, 1960). The man is on the run from the law (or the gangsters in Butch’s case) yet the relationship has this existential quality about it. This is not always the case since Butch has to go back to retrieve his watch and comes back bloody, for example. But having conversations about ‘potbellies’ instead of talking about how Butch just killed somebody in the boxing ring, or about their plans to leave the country in the morning evokes the same feeling for me as Breathless. Another French New Wave reference comes when Vincent and Jules “go to the house of Jules’s friend Jimmie (Quentin Tarantino himself), which some see as a reference to Jules and Jim[mie], a masterwork of the French New Wave cinema that is so central to Tarantino” (Polan, 2000: 20). I would not say that the characters represent Truffaut’s Jules and Jim completely, but the names are there and should be taken for what it is. Tarantino is clearly influenced by the French New Wave, and weaves elements of those films into his own.

I still have not nearly exhausted the number of elements that Tarantino has used from other films in Pulp Fiction, but I have given several examples in various contexts that will show that rather than being one film, Pulp Fiction is a conglomeration of other films. Just as Umberto Eco said about Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942), Pulp Fiction “is not one movie it is “movies”” (1984: 74). Much of the appeal of the film is that it is constant puzzle for yourself. The viewer is able to search, and find pieces of movies of their past.

Now that this film is fifteen years old viewers have a much different view of it than they did when it was originally released in 1994. Even though it is not logical, viewers can ascribe pieces of the film as references to movies that came out after Pulp Fiction. “A modern cult film is merely one huge collection of quotations, no matter whether, intertextually, it points forwards: Casablanca refers to ‘Play it again, Sam’, or backwards: ‘Play it again, Sam’ refers to Casablanca.” (Jerslev, 94). Jerslev is saying that the quotes from a movie can make you think of the movie, or the movie can make you think of the quote. The interesting thing is that she misquotes from the film. Play It Again, Sam is a 1972 film directed by Herbert Ross, starring Woody Allen. The line that Bacall’s character, Ilse delivers is merely “play it, Sam”. This speaks to our ability to identify movies, and lines from them, with one another. Every time I watch Pulp Fiction, in the scene where Vincent in shooting up heroin, Tarantino shows extremely dramatic, close-ups of the lighter and the needle and the bent spoon. These shots invariably make me think of Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky, 2000). In Requiem, Aronofsky uses the same sorts of intense shots of drug paraphernalia against black backgrounds, he takes it one step further with really inventive use of sound, but that is another topic entirely. Tarantino clearly could not have taken from Requiem, but every time I watch Pulp Fiction the thought goes through my head.

Beyond the highly intertextual nature of Pulp Fiction, what really give it its cult status are its highly dedicated fans, which is not too surprising considering, as illustrated above, Tarantino himself is the ultimate movie fan. Unlike many cult films, Tarantino’s second directorial effort, Pulp Fiction was fairly well received. It won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, and its opening weekend grossed over nine million dollars (exceeding its production budget) (Box Office Mojo, 2009). Critics thought fairly highly of it as well; it was given good reviews by The Rolling Stone (“Pulp Fiction”, 2000), BBC (Haflidason, 2000), and Roger Ebert (Ebert, 1994). They did not seem to know what to think of it, but the bottom line of all three reviews was that it was a good movie.

Since its theatrical release in 1994, its popularity has grown much further. “Pulp Fiction is not so much a film as a phenomenon. Winning major prizes, giving rise to an immense culture of obsessive fandom, generating countless wannabes” (Polan, 2000: 7). There are various websites dedicated to the film. Sites such as pulpfiction.com, “a Tarantino fan site for bad mother fuckers”, offers a place to discuss the film, watch videos, look at pictures, and read about the film and its director. This seems relatively normal compared to “one of the most striking cases of fan dedication, the Fox Force Five website” (Polan, 2000: 11). With this, fans of Pulp Fiction have taken a minor part of the story and given it life in the real world. Fox Force Five is the name a of television show that Uma Thurman’s character, Mia Wallace acted in the pilot for. The show was not picked up and that is the end of it, in the film world. In the real world the fans have “their own culture built from the semiotic raw materials the media provides” (Jenkins, 1992: 444). For the fans, the Pulp Fiction does not exist solely within the 154 minutes of the film. They are able to appropriate pieces of the story to create their own fan fiction.

Pulp Fiction still holds a place beyond the very niche culture of the fanzine crowd that creates websites and art about the movie. Any time I walk into a store that has a display of posters, Pulp Fiction posters are nearly always included. Jules and Vincent adorn the walls of countless college dorm rooms. The film is extremely quote-able. It “provide[s] a completely furnished world so that its fans can quote characters and episodes as if they were aspects of the fan’s private sectarian world” (Eco, 1984: 68). Pulp Fiction lends itself well to a cult following. It is easy for fans to pick out pieces and lines to emulate or repeat.

Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction will surely remain a cult film for a long time to come. Its use of innumerable quotations and paraphrases from other movies lends itself to repeat viewings, and dedicated fan participation. The intertextual references cover such a broad range of cinema, that there is an ‘inside joke’ for everyone. In this way it is easy for groups of fans to gather to discuss the film through their own, fan-created forums. This inevitably breeds more fans.

References

Belton, J 2009, American Cinema American Culture, 3^rd Edition, Higher Education, Boston.

Box Office Mojo 2009, viewed 5 December 2009, .

Ebert, R 1994, “Pulp Fiction”, Chicago Sun-Times, viewed 7 December 2009, .

Eco, U 1984, ‘Casablanca: Cult movies and intertextual collage’, in The Cult Film Reader, eds E Mathijs & X Mendik, Open University Press, New York, pp. 67-77.

Haflidason, A 2000, “Pulp Fiction (1994)”, BBC, viewed 7 December 2009, .

Jenkins, H 1992, ‘“Get a life!”: Fans, poachers, nomads’, in The Cult Film Reader, eds E Mathijs & X Mendik, Open University Press, New York, pp. 429-444.

Jerslev, A, ‘Semiotics by instinct: “Cult film” as a signifying practice between film and audience’, in The Cult Film Reader, eds E Mathijs & X Mendik, Open University Press, New York, pp. 88-99.

Polan, D 2000, Pulp Fiction, British Film Institute, London.

“Pulp Fiction” 2000, The Rolling Stone, viewed 6 December 2009, .