Pulp Fiction at 30

An iconic shot in Pulp Fiction.

Pulp Fiction turns 30 today. It was a sensation in 1994 and I saw it in the theater several times. Something struck me while watching the DVD this time around. The film is an iconic, episodic masterpiece, but, somewhat surprisingly, there is only the thinnest narrative stitching all the memorable scenes together. Writer/Director/Actor Quentin Tarantino chose to tell the story non-linearly. Chronologically speaking, the last scene (Butch on a chopper with his girlfriend) actually happens with over 42 minutes remaining in the picture and the first scene we see (the diner robbery) is something that occurs near the end of the story.

I know some people have found the film “difficult to follow” or are unclear as to the “point” of it all. Sigh. There is no “point” to Pulp Fiction. That is part of the point. These remarkable scenes do connect but that is not as important as it normally is in a given film. They do so only to satisfy our deep psychological need for an overarching “story.” In reality, each episode of the film should be appreciated for what it is, not for any larger story or meaning. Don't mistake the ambiguity of the film for something deep. It isn't. It is Tarantino asking you the fill in the blanks he creates, asking for multiple interpretations. Once you understand that, you can remain in the present moment and you'll find Pulp Fiction a garden of delights.

But, for the sake of starting out this review, let me unscramble the thin narrative and tell the film in chronological order. This will be useful soon. I won't try to tell every little thing that happens in the film. Tarantino treats us to his vast knowledge of past films and fills this movie with references and salutes to them all. I will attempt to tell just the essential structure. The story begins with young Butch Coolidge receiving a visit from Captain Koons. The captain, a former North Vietnamese prisoner of war, delivers a gold watch to the boy, a family heirloom, explaining its history and how Butch's father died protecting it during their time as POWs near Hanoi. This moment establishes the watch's significance in Butch's life.

Years later, Vincent Vega returns from a 3-year stay in Amsterdam. He reunites with his partner Jules Winnfield, and they prepare for a job assigned by their boss, Marsellus Wallace. Their task is to retrieve a mysterious briefcase from some young men who have apparently absconded with it.

After some marvelous banter between Jules and Vincent about the latter visiting Amsterdam, they arrive at the apartment of Brett and his friends. “Check out the big brain on Brett!” is one of many iconic lines in the film, this one exclaimed by Jules. They retrieve the briefcase after a tense and philosophical conversation, then they execute Brett and his buddies. However, a hidden young man emerges and fires at them, missing with multiple point-blank shots. Jules interprets this as divine intervention, while Vincent dismisses it as luck.

Following this incident, Vincent and Jules drive away with their associate Marvin, who was a plant/informant in Brett's “organization.” During their conversation about the "miracle," Vincent accidentally but still shockingly shoots Marvin in the face, creating a bloody mess inside their car. They seek help from Jules' friend Jimmie Dimmick (played by Tarantino himself), which leads to the arrival of Winston Wolf, a professional fixer. Wolf helps them dispose of the car and the body.

Wolf hoses them down with cold water in Jimmie's backyard. Jimmie had some dorky looking tee shirts and shorts which are given to them to wear in place of their badly bloodied suits. Vincent and Jules then have breakfast at a diner. During their meal, a couple named Pumpkin and Honey Bunny attempt to rob the establishment (this scene begins before the film's opening credits). In a very tense scene, with ultimately four guns pointed at each other, Jules, still affected by his divine experience, talks everybody down and allows the couple to leave with the money they've collected, but keeps the briefcase (the scene is split, this part is shown at the end; clever and smart. The film begins and ends in the diner.).

Vincent and Jules then deliver the briefcase to Marsellus Wallace at his bar. As they arrive, Marsellus is concluding a conversation with Butch, now a professional boxer, bribing him to lose in the fifth round of his upcoming fight. Marsellus wants to see Vincent next, who has just arrived from Amsterdam, remember? Butch exits but passes Vincent on his way out. Without direct provocation, Vincent speaks condescendingly to Butch, creating tension between them.

Vincent is upset about unrelated things. He was just teased about being tasked by Marsellus to take his boss's wife out while he is away on business. Plus Vincent has had a frustrating morning, killing Marvin and all. But what his specific motivations might be for his behavior toward Butch are unexplained. Like a lot of Pulp Fiction, you just have to roll with it, or use your mind to fill in the ambiguity. After this, Jules, deeply affected by his near-death experience, decides to quit "the life" and walk the earth “like Caine in Kung Fu"  - a  classic 70's TV cult series. This decision stands in contrast to Vincent's fate and completes Jules' character arc.

As mentioned, Marsellus tasks Vincent with entertaining his wife, Mia, while he's out of town. Vincent and Mia's night out leads to dinner at Jack Rabbit Slim's with an incredible $5 milkshake and a twist contest, which they win. Suddenly, the evening takes a dangerous turn when Mia accidentally snorts heroin (thinking it is cocaine, which she snorts a lot) she finds in Vincent's coat while he is in the bathroom (I will come back to Vincent and bathrooms later). Vincent rushes her to his drug dealer Lance's house, where they revive her with an adrenaline shot to the heart, which no one present ever attempted before. It is another wonderful, comically tense moment.

Then comes Butch's boxing match. Butch double-crosses Marsellus, wins the match (actually killing his opponent), and prepares to escape with his girlfriend, Fabienne. However, Fabienne failed to collect Butch's father's gold watch at his apartment when packing (the couple are going to leave Los Angeles for good) so Butch returns to his apartment to retrieve it.

At the apartment, Butch encounters Vincent, who was waiting to kill him for his betrayal.  The boxer kills Vincent instead.  As Butch leaves, he coincidentally runs into Marsellus. A chase ensues, leading them both into a random pawn shop. They proceed to beat the crap out of each other. The pawn shop owner, Maynard, and his associate, Zed (the one with the chopper), capture them, releasing a strange character known as “the Gimp” in the process. This leads to a disturbing scene where Marsellus is sexually assaulted. Butch manages to escape and knock out the Gimp but chooses to return and, in another bloody moment, save Marsellus, earning his forgiveness in the process. Butch and Fabienne ride off on Zed's chopper, leaving behind the traumatic events and starting a new life together. The end.

That's the linear story. Pulp Fiction would have flopped if it had been told that way. There is nothing special about the story itself.  Most of it is actually kind of cliché, even before everybody started copying its style. What Tarantino masterfully does is shoot everything outside of the conventions of the various genres of the film and then scramble the events so that they make sense episodically and achieve a certain pacing. They don't build to a grand climax like almost every other great film. The film is littered with climaxes, which is part of what makes it great and certainly distinctive. This expands the film beyond the limitations of the “mere” story into a series of loosely connected but ultimately unforgettable scenes.

Of course, the trade off, if there is one, is that some weird things happen in the film. Vincent is killed a little over two-thirds of the way through it but he returns to the unfinished parts of the narrative later on. Butch is critical to the story but, episodically, he is almost meaningless. The only iconic scene featuring Bruce Willis's character is the bizarre fight with Marsellus which ends up in the strange pawn shop with the Gimp. But that's a big one.

Honey Bunny opens the film with a filth-filled threat to murder anybody who moves. 
Click to see the first 10 minutes of the film.

Jules and Vincent laugh about Amsterdam.

Vincent checks the golden glow in the briefcase.  "We happy."

Why is there an enormous band-aid on the back of Marsellus' neck?

Vincent talks crap to Butch for no obvious reason.  "I think ya heard me just fine, punchy."

My point is, the story of Pulp Fiction is not the movie. The movie is not the story. When you break the film down episodically, the young lovers about to rob the diner, the “Royale with Cheese” dialogue, Vincent and Jules retrieving the briefcase, Jack Rabbit Slims, Mia being stabbed in the heart with adrenaline to save her life, Vincent's death leading to the Gimp sequence, Captain Koons' (Christopher Walkin) bizarre history of Butch's watch (it was literally stored up his father ass for years), then you are actually seeing what the film is - a solid string of iconic moments, each more impressive and memorable than the story as a whole.

Pulp Fiction is about style, not story. In this regard, the film distinguishes itself as an episodic masterpiece. It is most certainly the film with the most fun on my Top 25 list. Pulp Fiction is always fun to watch, no matter how many times you see it. The various aspects of the film (including many references to other movies and directors) are far more important than the story. Dialogue, music, bizarre situations expertly captured for the big screen, all deserve special attention. But let's start with the most basic aspect of the film, one that is so obvious it is easy to overlook. Pulp Fiction is mysterious.

At the forefront of its enigmatic nature are two iconic elements: the band-aid on the back of Marsellus' neck and the contents of his golden glowing suitcase. The band-aid, worn by Ving Rhames' character throughout the film, has been the subject of countless theories. Is it covering a wound, a scar, or something more sinister? Tarantino's silence on this detail only fuels our imagination, allowing us to project our own interpretations onto this small yet significant visual cue, which is what Tarantino wants. It hooks you.

Even more fascinating, the suitcase that glows with a golden light when opened is probably the film's most famous mystery.  It is also a testament to Tarantino's storytelling prowess. By never revealing its contents (we only see the glow the two times it is opened), he creates a MacGuffin that transcends its plot device status to become a symbol of the unknown and the desired. Are we looking at gold, diamonds, or something supernatural? The ambiguity is the point, inviting us use our own imagination.  All we really know about the glow is that Pumpkin calls it "beautiful" at the end of the film.

More importantly, the film is a smorgasbord of great iconic scenes, which is why it works so powerfully as a episodic movie. The film's iconic status isn't built on a single standout scene, but rather on a series of captivating episodes that collectively create its legendary status. The film is, in essence, episodically iconic, with multiple scenes that have become (or were at the time of its release) deeply ingrained in popular culture.

The Jack Rabbit Slim's scene (here and here) is a masterpiece of film-making that encapsulates much of what makes Pulp Fiction so special. As a viewer, I'm immediately drawn into the surreal, over-the-top late 50s/early 60s themed setting of the restaurant. The attention to detail in the set design, from the classic car booths to the staff dressed as pop culture stars, creates a dreamlike atmosphere that's unforgettable. This scene is where we really get to know Vincent and Mia, their witty conversation revealing layers of their personalities with a lot of dynamic chemistry between them. And it is all so cool, she's high on cocaine, he's riding heroin.

The heart of this sequence is the twist contest. When Vincent and Mia take to the dance floor to Chuck Berry's "You Never Can Tell," it's an electrifying moment. The unexpectedness of it, the dance move energy of John Travolta (Vincent) and Uma Thurman (Mia), and the perfect musical accompaniment create a scene that I find myself looking forward to seeing each time I watch this film. It's a joyous, cinematic moment that never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Then there's the "Ezekiel 25:17" business. The two scenes featuring its recitation by Jules, which sort of bookend the film due to its non-linear structure, is Pulp Fiction distilled to its essence. Samuel L. Jackson's delivery of Tarantion's grandly embellished biblical passage is nothing short of mesmerizing. The intensity of his performance, the rhythm of his speech, and the sheer power of his presence make these monologues among the film's most memorable moments. Jules channels Martin Luther King, Jr. as a murderer. How twisted it that?

What I find particularly brilliant about the first scene with Jules and Vincent is how it epitomizes Tarantino's unique style. The juxtaposition of casual conversation about Europe and MacDonald's and foot massages with intense violence and philosophical musings creates a tonal whiplash that's thrilling to experience. The visual of Jules and Vincent in their suits, pointing their guns, is one of the most recognizable images from the film even today. It is simultaneously cool and brutal.

The "Ezekiel 25:17" scenes are crucial to Jules' character arc. When we revisit the verse near the end of the film, it takes on new meaning, demonstrating the brilliance of the film's non-linear structure. Jules undergoes a profound transformation between the two scenes. He is definitely the most changed character in the film. His initial persona as a quotation-spouting hitman evolves dramatically after he interprets his and Vincent's survival of a point-blank shooting as divine intervention. This event catalyzes a spiritual awakening in Jules, leading him to question his actions and ultimately decide to leave his life of crime behind.

Reflecting this, Jules says the verse slightly differently in both instances. In the first utterance, he is going to kill Brett and his associates. He concludes Tarantino's expanded verse with “And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.” But later in the diner scene he ends the speech with “And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.” In the second instance Jules does not choose violence (though there are far more guns involved). “I'm trying real hard to be the Shepard,” he says. He knows the Lord (the second version), not just His name (the first version). He let's Pumpkin go, taking all his money. But the briefcase is safe and Jules is a changed man.

The iconic dance scene.  John Travolta is actually a skilled dancer as he proved in earlier films like Saturday Night Fever and Grease.

Quite the variation on the twist. The composition of this shot is outstanding.

Unfortunately, the dance scene ends up with Mia snorting heroin.  The film ratchets up the tension big time.  Notice the careful placement of the games Operation and Life in this shot of Lance's living room.  So appropriate and playful.

Uma Thurman gives a fantastic performance of literally receiving an adrenaline shot to the heart. The syringe is indicative of the film's twisted humor.

Another obvious iconic scene is where Vincent saves Mia's life after her accidental heroin overdose. This is a perfect example of Tarantino's ability to create heart-pounding tension (literally) while maintaining the film's darkly comic undertones. It starts with the shock of finding Mia unconscious and quickly escalates into a frantic race against time. The panic in Travolta's performance as Vincent is solid, even relatable, adding to the scene's emotive intensity.

What makes this scene particularly memorable for me is its raw, visceral energy. The frantic pace, amplified by Tarantino's expert cinematography choices, puts us right in the middle of the chaos. I can still vividly recall the first time I watched Vincent plunge that adrenaline shot into Mia's chest - it's a moment I will never forget among all the countless films I've seen. Uma Thurman's performance as she jolts back to life with a sizable syringe standing out of her chest is both shocking and darkly humorous, encapsulating the film's ability to find comedy in the grimmest situations. This is one part of the film that has no musical accompaniment. Silence is the perfect choice for the tension of the moment throughout Pulp Fiction.

Where music is used, the soundtrack is one of the film's greatest strengths. Tarantino is masterful with his musical selections throughout all his films, but especially here. Some standout tracks include Dick Dale and the Dale-tones performing “Misirlou,” a superb choice for the opening credits, "Jungle Boogie" by Kool & the Gang, which perfectly captures the film's funky, offbeat energy; Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," seems like an odd choice for Marsellus telling Butch to throw the fight but it sure works; and The Statler Brothers' "Flowers on the Wall," provides an ironic counterpoint to Butch's tense watch retrieval scene.

Chuck Berry's "You Never Can Tell" for the twist scene is forever linked with the film, demonstrating the power of well-chosen music to enhance storytelling and create these iconic cinematic moments. Dusty Springfield's “Son of the Preacher Man” and Urge Overkill's (great name for a band!) “Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon” are likewise inexorably linked with Uma Thurman's splendid portrayal as Mia.

Tarantino masterfully blends surf rock, soul, funk, and pop from the 1960s and 70s, creating a unique auditory experience that perfectly complements the film's neo-noir aesthetic. This diverse mix of genres reflects the film's own blend of different storytelling styles and tones, from crime thriller to dark comedy.

Though music, mystery and iconic scenes are the film's essence or bedrock, the genius of Pulp Fiction lies in its ability to balance these mysteries and scenes with compelling sequences filled with unforgettable characters. It's a film that trusts its audience, inviting us to engage actively with each episode, to discuss and debate it's both it's stylized moments and its mundane human happenings long after the credits roll.

The entire film should be taken as a playful distraction. The film is a multitude of moments that are only mildly influenced by anything outside of the moment itself. Again, Pulp Fiction thrives at these times where the immediate experience takes precedence over any overarching purpose or consequence. The film is about immediacy. Tarantino actually celebrates these "distractions," where each scene, conversation, or bizarre encounter has its own significance, regardless of how it connects to the broader plot.

This playful nature, where the moment matters more than the bigger picture, is part of what makes the film so rewatchable. You can enjoy each scene for what it is—whether it's Jules and Vincent casually discussing fast food, Butch and Fabienne innocently chatting about having a “potbelly,” or Mia and Vincent dancing—without worrying too much about where it all fits together. It's more about the ride than the destination. Like I said, this movie is pure fun.

Pulp Fiction's playful nature is another one of its most defining characteristics, and it manifests in several ways, from the nonlinear storytelling to the subversion of genre conventions and expectations. The film feels like a cinematic playground where Tarantino lets loose, combining seemingly random elements into a cohesive whole that prioritizes the momentary experience over strict narrative logic.

As should be obvious by now, the film’s nonlinear structure is a key part of its playfulness. Rather than following a traditional, chronological narrative, Tarantino fractures time, jumping back and forth across events. This isn’t done to confuse the viewer but to enhance the pleasure of discovery. The audience is encouraged to focus on individual scenes rather than worrying about where everything fits. The moments matter more than the larger narrative arc, and by the time all the pieces fall into place, the film feels like a collection of rich, immersive vignettes.

Christopher Walkin is great in the Gold Watch scene.

Butch and Esmeralda in her cab.  Notice the intentional inclusion of fake black and white background traffic.  A marvelous Tarantino touch both bizarre and a homage to an old-school film tradition.

Butch blows away Vincent coming out of the bathroom.

Which seems bad ass at the time, until the film takes its most bizarre turn and Marsellus and Butch end up bloodied and captured by two strange pawn shop owners.

"

"Bring out the Gimp" is iconic.  But he turns out to be all style and no substance.

Fabienne and Butch escape on Zed's chopper.  This is the last moment in the film chronologically but there are another 42 minutes remaining after this.

Tarantino constantly toys with audience expectations throughout the film. Moments that seem to build toward a traditional action or dramatic climax often veer off into unexpected directions. For example, Butch’s confrontation with Marsellus ends up in a random pawn shop (an unfortunate choice as things turn out) which quickly spirals into a bizarre sequence involving Maynard, Zed and the Gimp. What could have been a standard gangster shootout becomes an absurd, darkly comic scene with a tone that feels both disturbing and humorous. The entire film is filled with moments like this—building tension and then undercutting it in unpredictable, often comic ways.

Tarantino pulls from an eclectic mix of genres.  He deconstructs them, playing with their tropes and blending them into something wholly unique. For example, the climactic sword fight in the pawn shop feels like it’s from a different genre entirely, but Tarantino weaves it seamlessly into a crime narrative, making these genre shifts part of the film’s playful charm.

Pulp Fiction also plays with the idea of significance. The film teases the audience with moments that seem loaded with meaning—the glowing briefcase, the band-aid on Marsellus’s neck—but never offers explanations. This deliberate ambiguity invites speculation but ultimately reminds the viewer not to get too caught up in unraveling some meaning. The film revels in its ambiguity and mystery, but rather than needing resolution, they exist to heighten the playful atmosphere. Tarantino seems to suggest that it’s not the answers that matter, but the enjoyment of the questions themselves.

Even the film’s violence is playfully edgy. While brutal at times, it's often portrayed with a dark, absurd humor that distances it from the grim reality of other crime films. For instance, when Vincent accidentally shoots Marvin in the car, it’s a horrific moment, but it’s played for laughs, with the characters scrambling to clean up the mess in a series of increasingly ridiculous scenes. This detached approach to violence, where serious moments are punctuated with humor, adds to the film’s overall sense of play.

Another example of the film's multifaceted playful nature involves something I alluded to at the beginning of this review – Vincent and bathrooms.  Pulp Fiction has all sorts of small mysteries and oddities to ponder, as I have shown. Most of them only become apparent on repeat viewings and there are far more rabbit holes than I mention here. The movie the chocked full of them which is another reason the script is so brilliant. One that struck me hard this time was the connection between bad things that happen throughout the film and Vincent going to the bathroom. Actually, being a heroin user, it makes perfect sense that he would have to go to the bathroom a lot. Constipation seems to be a side-effect. Tarantino knew that.

There are four instances where Vincent is in a bathroom. He is in the bathroom (talking to himself) when Mia finds his heroin and mistakes it for cocaine, almost killing herself. He is initially in the bathroom when the diner is robbed. He is in the bathroom with Jules after Marvin is killed, wiping blood on a nice towel, for which Jules chastises him – “I used the same soap you did and when I dried my hands, the towel didn't look like a fu#king maxie pad!” Finally, of course, he is on the toilet (reading a pulp fiction novel) when Butch finds the gun with which kills him while coming out of the bathroom. There's no real point to any of this. The connection is more frivolous than symbolic. Like most of the film, it is just another interesting tidbit of occurrences and coincidences that add to the playful (fun) nature of the movie.

Tarantino rightly won an Oscar for this screenplay (as did co-writer Roger Avary, see links below). His ability to write characters who speak in a natural, often meandering way while still delivering deeper thematic content distinguishes this script. In Pulp Fiction, this is exemplified in scenes like Jules and Vincent's conversation about "foot massages" or "Royale with Cheese" (Amsterdam is on the metric system so a “Quarter-Pounder” makes no sense there). These moments, on the surface, seem like banter, but they become a platform for exploring larger ideas about cultural differences, morality, or violence. Tarantino’s gift lies in making his characters relatable even in the most criminal or violent contexts, giving the audience a strange sense of camaraderie with them.

The way his lines became cultural catchphrases in the 1990s—“Zed’s dead, baby,” “Bring out the Gimp,” or “I’m gonna get medieval on your ass”—shows how Tarantino taps into a zeitgeist that people love to repeat. These phrases, much like today’s memes, captured the absurdity and dark humor of the situations in the film, making them memorable beyond the story itself.

"Bring out the Gimp" is one of the most bizarre yet iconic lines in Pulp Fiction. It drops in the middle of an already surreal scene, and the way it is delivered makes it both chilling and absurdly humorous. The line sticks because it’s so unexpected and unfamiliar. It feels like a rediculous punchline that heightens the scene's already uncomfortable atmosphere. It's the kind of moment Tarantino excels at—taking something grotesque or dangerous and wrapping it in a layer of strange, offbeat humor.

Oddly enough, it turns out that the Gimp is a "red herring." Other than abruptly appear out of the basement, he/it does absolutely nothing in the film and yet he/it is somehow part of its iconic nature. With the dramatic build-up, it seems like he’s going to play a significant role in the unfolding of the scene, but in reality, he/it doesn’t do anything impactful. His presence adds to the tension and grotesque atmosphere, but he/it ultimately contributes nothing to the outcome—Butch knocks him out quickly and he/it is then almost forgotten in the chaos.

This is classic Tarantino: the Gimp’s appearance builds suspense, making the audience anticipate something significant, only for that tension to be deflated in a strange, almost anticlimactic way. The absurdity of the role—or lack of one—enhances the surreal humor of the scene. It also highlights Tarantino’s style of toying with expectations. The Gimp's iconic nature comes from his bizarre look, his mysterious backstory (which, appropriately enough, is never explained), and how memorable the entire pawn shop sequence is. Again, this is an example of a character being episodically powerful but pointless to the overall story.

Jules sees the missed shots as divine intervention. This changes his life.

Vincent accidentally shoots Marvin in the head, creating an explosively bloody mess in broad daylight.  Perhaps the film's most shocking iconic moment.

Winston Wolf arrives to "fix things."  Here he inspects the inside of the car.

Vincent and Jules on clean-up duty.

Jimmie (Tarantino) and Wolf on their part of clean-up duty, hosing all the blood and brains off Jules and Vincent.

I think the fact that Vincent accidentally blows Marvin's brains all over the interior of their car is absurdist comedy at its best. It is completely unexpected and bloodily shocking. Yet, the whole thing is absurdly comic in the rather mundane way it is presented. "Oh man, I think I just shot Marvin in the face" is bland and funny but it isn't that memorable. The scene itself, however, is unforgettable.

Tarantino uses shock and absurdity to generate comedy in unexpected moments. The humor comes not only from the witty dialogue but from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation as well. It’s as if the gravity of what just happened is completely undercut by the casual, almost indifferent reactions of Vincent and Jules. The line "I shot Marvin in the face" captures that nonchalance, but it’s the scene itself—the sudden, over-the-top violence in such an enclosed space—that leaves an indelible mark. Brains and blood are everywhere.

The absurdity reaches its peak when what should be a horrifying moment is played out with deadpan responses and a focus on the ordinary logistics of cleaning up the mess. The situation escalates into dark comedy because it's not treated with the expected gravitas, making it almost surreal. It's a prime example of how Tarantino blurs the lines between tension, horror, and humor, allowing for moments that are simultaneously shocking and funny. It’s this unique blend that keeps the scene unforgettable long after the dialogue fades.

Harvey Keitel's performance as Winston Wolf in that sequence is brilliant. He brings a calm, collected demeanor to the chaos, which contrasts sharply with the absurd mess Vincent and Jules have created. Keitel’s performance brings a methodical procedure to the chaos, as if he's dealing with a minor inconvenience rather than a dead body splattered all over the backseat. He treats the situation like it's just another day at the office, while the audience is still reeling from the unexpected burst of violence. His cool, controlled demeanor, while wearing a tuxedo no less, stands out as a highlight in the film's use of dark humor.

In the end, somewhat like the Gimp, Marvin does not matter at all. Marvin is a character who, despite being central to two of the film’s most shocking and memorable scenes, is ultimately inconsequential to the larger narrative. His death happens randomly and has no direct bearing on the plot beyond serving as a catalyst for the comic yet macabre cleanup sequence.

This lack of consequence reinforces Tarantino's playful approach to storytelling in Pulp Fiction. Characters like Marvin come and go, sometimes meeting absurd fates without the film needing to pause and reflect on them. It’s all part of the film not taking itself too seriously—Marvin's sudden, meaningless death is both shocking and funny, but it doesn’t possess any emotional weight for the viewer or the other characters.

Looking back across the 30 years since this film was released we discover ourselves in a world changed in so many ways. As a fan of film and also as someone who values both racial equality and freedom of expression, the use of the N-word in the film presents a complex issue that merits thoughtful consideration. I'm not sure Tarantino could write the film the same way today, even though the screenplay is widely considered one of the most innovative ever. This is not a positive outcome, in my opinion.

First and foremost, I want to emphasize that I abhor racial prejudice. Discrimination and hatred based on race have no place in our society. The morality police require me to say this but I also sincerely mean it. At the same time, I'm deeply concerned about restrictions on speech, even when that speech makes us uncomfortable or potentially offends.

In Pulp Fiction, the use of the N-word is measured and casual among both white and black characters. It occurs around 16 times in the film, primarily uttered by Jules and Marsellus, which is cool by today's standards. But, perhaps shockingly to some, Jimmie (Tarantino) says it four times, Lance the drug dealer uses it once, as does Zed in his “Eenie-meany-miney-moe” bit of choosing Marsellus after the Gimp is brought out. In a new film, white actors saying the N-word today would be buried in effusive ridicule, if it were ever shown at all.

What strikes me about its usage in Pulp Fiction is how natural and fluid it feels within the context of these characters and their world. No character is offended by its use and, more importantly, no character uses the word with offensive intent. Marsellus even refers to Vincent as “my [N-word]” when he calls him over to meet (at 23:52). The word does not call attention to itself in the film, except a few times when it is rather funny, to be honest. Which is something to consider. In spite of what could be seen today as its egregious usage in the film, to my knowledge, no one claims that Pulp Fiction is a racist film. It's not.

What I appreciate about Tarantino's approach to the word is that he has no hang-ups about language (of any kind) as long as it genuinely reflects the characters. This commitment to authenticity, even when it means using controversial word choices, seems sensible to me as an artistic endeavor. It's about portraying these specific characters in this specific world truthfully, without moralistic censorship.

Nevertheless, this approach has become questionable today. The idea that art should sanitize itself to avoid certain privileged offenses (whatever the morality police deem most objectionable), even when doing so compromises its authenticity, feels like a step backward to me. The film uses derogatory language casually in various forms, not just with this word. In the gold watch story scene, for example, Captain Koons refers to the Vietnamese as “gooks,” a common derogative phrase that I guess I'm allowed to type. This suggests that audiences can distinguish between the use of offensive language for artistic purposes and its use to promote hatred.

Jimmie hilariously asks Jules if he saw a sign that read “Dead [N-word] storage” in front of his house (referring to Jules and Vincent invading his home out of the clear blue yonder first thing in the morning with the full-throttle Marvin mess). He uses this exact phrase three times. If I were to quote that humorous line (unsanitized) as I would quote, and have quoted, any other word used in the film, I would be chastised for it by many, perhaps most, readers. This reaction strikes me with annoyance. I would not be using the word to express prejudice or to offend, I would be specifically referencing content of the film as I would any other content in the film. The idea that we can't quote a work of art accurately without ridiculously tip-toeing on the eggshells of social sanctions feels like an overreach to me.

Pulp Fiction uses language in all sorts of ways as a tool to create a vivid, believable underworld, and its impact and artistry are undeniable. We should be able to appreciate and discuss this film, including all its language, without fear of being labeled racist or insensitive. It's possible to abhor racial injustice while also defending the right of artists to use controversial language in service of authenticity. I'm not suggesting the word should be used routinely or flippantly in conversation today. Certainly, it should not be used hatefully.  But what I am saying is that its usage in Pulp Fiction was more enlightened in 1994 than where we are today.

While we are at this level of consideration, I should point out that for all these decades after its release, Pulp Fiction has often been seen as a “philosophical” film, a label that I believe is inapplicable. At its core, Pulp Fiction is a triumph of style, a kaleidoscope of vibrant characters, snappy dialogue, and non-linear storytelling that captivates audiences through its sheer audacity and cinematic flair. It is many things, but it is not a philosophical film.

Many characters exhibit what might be interpreted as “philosophical” behavior. Marsellus embodies a utilitarian approach to power and business. Mia, in contrast, represents a form of existential hedonism. Butch exhibits pragmatism. Winston is a classic stoic. But none of these characters actually embodies a philosophical mindset or gives the viewer anything to ponder with any depth. Jules and Vincent, on the other hand, possess and discuss philosophical and theological perspectives as part of who they are as characters.

If Pulp Fiction is truly philosophical, it is not at the level of film as a whole. As I have pointed out, the totality of the film does not mean anything. Rather, all the genuine philosophy rests at the character level, specifically with Jules and Vincent. Unlike the rest of the ensemble, whose actions and motivations primarily serve the style of the film, Jules and Vincent engage in explicit philosophical chit-chat and represent contrasting worldviews that drive their character arcs. Not just with each other. Jules gets philosophical with Pumpkin near the end of the diner robbery. Vincent engages in minor philosophical discourses with Lance while buying heroin and with Mia at Jack Rabbit Slims. It is a natural expression of who these characters are.

The tension between Jules' newfound spirituality and Vincent's steadfast skepticism creates a philosophical dialectic that runs through their shared scenes and resides at the heart of the film through them. Their discussions about miracles, divine intervention, and the nature of everything from faith to fast food to foot massages stand out as the most explicitly philosophical content in the film. While other characters may make choices or statements that could be interpreted philosophically, Jules and Vincent make their philosophical and theological views central to who they are and how they evolve (or don't) over the course of the film.

Be that as it may, the iconic status of Pulp Fiction stems from its engaging, non-linear script, its unforgettable characters and dialogue, its distinct visual style, its outstanding soundtrack and its distinctive impact on cinema and popular culture. It's a film that not only defined the mid-1990's but continues to influence and captivate audiences today, securing its place as one of the all-time great movies.

Only Vincent and Pumpkin actually look into the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.  Jules seems to take for granted what it contains.  So, he knows its contents and actually uses the case to de-escalate the situtaion at the end of the film.

With its mysterious heart, episodic structure and playful presentation, the film reflects the randomness and absurdity of life itself. It’s a film where significance is found in the moment, not in the overall narrative. Tarantino captures those moments and elevates them, turning the mundane into the profound and the off-putting into the hilarious. The intense criminality is met with bold frivolity. Pulp Fiction is a fun film that unveils the chaotic beauty of life, where meaning is elusive, but the experience of any given moment can be unforgettable.

Pulp Fiction premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on May 21, 1994 where it won the coveted Palme d'Or and created a towering wave of cultural buzz. It opened in the United States on October 14, 1994. Movies have not been the same since.

 

(Written with assistance from Claude and ChatGPT.)

 

There's no shortage of content online about this movie.  A great overview of the impact Pulp Fiction had when it was first released is worth watching here. 

This video gives a great overview of how the film revolutionized cinema as we knew it. 

Watch two very good "making of" overviews here and here.

Watch a cool and quick analysis of the film.

An in-depth analysis of the dialogue in the opening scene with Jules and Vincent at Brett's apartment.  

Tarantino was credited as writer and director of Pulp Fiction.  But when he won the Oscar for the screenplay, Roger Avary won one too - because he wrote a good chunk of the film with Tarantino.  This is the story of that shitty little detail. 

A deep analysis of Butch in the film (this is the main contribution by Avary to the script).

See why the script is so incredible here.

These two guys really know how to talk about this movie.

Here are the funniest moments in the film according to this video.

20 Things You Somehow Missed in Pulp Fiction.

Analyzing Evil as addressed in this film.

50 Facts You Didn't Know About the movie.