Thursday, December 7, 2017
Review: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
listen, listen: let me tell you a little somethin' about the early nineties, all right? it was a magical time full of possibility and wonder, okay? all of the sixties kids had grown up and were selling us nostalgia we didn't understand, a lot of rudy ray moore and pam grier who-the-fuck-knows who else. vague memories of blaxsploitation and Baby Boomer sitcoms and porn and 'Nam ultraviolence and whatever song was on the radio the day they were learning to touch themselves. best part of it all was the only nearby database was a video store... a group of fellas could go into a warehouse and make a movie that ripped off about twenty-seven French and Hong Kong productions and only other filmmakers would know about it... and maybe it didn't even fucking matter, okay? because style can go a long fucking way, my friend, and it can even fuel your career for a few decades. a Greek Tragedy centered around a jewel heist and a group of thieves pointing guns at each other ain't half of it when you make the structure your bitch, too, when you humanize these monsters with lyrical, mundane conversations about popular culture that increase the stakes around the site of the climax, instead of leading up to it. when ya got velocity, nobody else can turn the wheel -- right place, right time, right personality never meant so much. the only sad part is that it can never be done again... unless, of course, you're the guy who did it this time.