Tarantino is a 1990s icon whose films are both delightful and dismaying. Anthony Julius decodes their appeal, saves the director from himself, but worries about his futureby Anthony Julius / October 20, 1996 / Leave a comment
Published in October 1996 issue of Prospect Magazine
Tarantino’s films derive their force from a combination of elements which both surprise and delight and shock and dismay. I have in mind representations of violence which combine the murderously uncontrolled with the balletic; or his hoodlums, reflective brutes who kill and yet speak a language of moral discrimination; or the power of the films to affect us strongly-indeed to be direct assaults upon our sensibilities-and yet also to achieve a powerful allusive resonance. They disturb and cite; we cower and make connections. Tarantino can take pleasure both in the traumatising of his audiences and in their “creativity and ingenuity.” His films make victims and critics of us.
The choreographed shoot-outs in True Romance and Reservoir Dogs, these three-way stand-offs, place the combatants in triangular order, momentarily frozen at starting positions as if in readiness for some rule-governed contest, only to slide into unregulated murder. The films’ narrative lines converge with similar order, the convergence sparking destruction, not resolution.
There is then a comic combination of the controlled and the chaotic; there is a similarly comic combination of civility and viciousness at play in the films, especially in Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs. Debates on the etiquette of tipping or the propriety of a foot massage precede a heist or the humiliation and killing of young drug dealers. This sensitivity to the nuances of social behaviour and indifference to whether people live or die, this attention to manners and disregard for primary ethical obligations, is so troubling that it has to be comic.