From: sbb@panix.com (The Phantom)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.movies.reviews
Subject: REVIEW: RESERVOIR DOGS
Summary: r.a.m.r. #01599
Keywords: author=Phantom
Date: 15 Nov 92 16:28:33 GMT
Reply-To: sbb@panix.com (The Phantom)
Followup-To: rec.arts.movies
Organization: PANIX Public Access Unix, NYC


                            RESERVOIR DOGS
                       A review by The Phantom
                           (sbb@panix.com)

     It has been a superb year for films that are both low-budget but
very high-quality -- terms that for most Hollywood executives mix about
as well as oil and water.  Want high quality?  Then buy Ridley Scott all
the fog and period costumes he can use, hook it together with an epic
tale of conquest and discovery, spend spend spend spend spend -- and
wind up with the biggest international dud since HUDSON HAWK.  And who's
to blame?  Not Scott, who did the best he could do under the
circumstances.  Not Sigourney Weaver (she's never to blame).  Best blame
Michael Mann and Daniel Day-Lewis who together stole your thunder by
sneaking THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS out a month earlier -- and by making
it as entertaining as 1492: CONQUEST OF PARADISE was pretentious and
dull.

     Meanwhile, small independent filmmakers and distributors have
managed to save the year with such well-made and exciting films as BOB
ROBERTS, MISTRESS, LAWS OF GRAVITY, ONE FALSE MOVE, RAMPAGE, and now,
RESERVOIR DOGS.  The money spent on all of these films *together* likely
does not equal what was spent on 1492; fortunately (or unfortunately,
depending on which side of the ledger sheet you spend your time on),
money doesn't buy quality in Hollywood -- though since it buys spectacle
and advertising, it usually suffices.

     Beyond quality, there is another way in which most of these films
differ from the standard Hollywood fare: they are not utterly
predictable.  Even the best of the big Hollywood films this summer and
fall were at best about three steps behind the audience even before the
theater lights dimmed; one reason people so frequently feel let down by
Hollywood's supposed blockbusters is that the films themselves are
rarely creatures of great subtlety.  And when they are, we become so
familiar with them through the endless previews, advertising, and
reviews by critics somewhat less circumspect than the Phantom in their
reviewing style that little that develops on the screen comes as much of
a surprise to us.  Sometimes this is okay; after all, hearing "airplane"
and "terrorist" is pretty much all you need to know about PASSENGER 57.
But what of those previews for DRACULA?  While the tag line "Love Never
Dies" is intriguing, the preview that precedes it makes it plain that
the filmmakers don't think that intrigue is enough to draw people to the
film.  So instead of mystery we get quick-cut editing featuring fangs
galore, creepy demons descending from ceilings, close-ups of Winona
Ryder, and a pretty fair plot summary -- in short, a little something
for everyone, thrown together with no particular flair but on the
assumption that oblique references to the most famous character in
horror history, coupled with a mention of the cast and the director
would not be enough to draw crowds sufficient in size to pay for all the
blood, heaving breasts, and green fog.  Would that all films were good
enough to support BATMAN or TOYS-like advertising campaigns.  (A big
Halloween-season sigh for days gone by when horror films like HENRY:
PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER were allowed to creep up on us unnoticed,
the better to be scared witless by them as we and our fellow
unsuspecting audience members settled in for two hours of unpredictable,
white-knuckled fun.)

     But let's not sigh too loudly, for the subject of this review --
the outstanding new independent film RESERVOIR DOGS -- is very much in
the "so what is it about, again?" vein.  It's the kind of film that is
exceedingly hard to ruin by excessive description (even Vincent Canby
had trouble giving away the entire plot in his rather overly-descriptive
review); in fact, RESERVOIR DOGS is a lot like HENRY in the sense that
nothing you can say about it can in any way lessen the impact it will
have on someone who hasn't yet seen it.  (Actually, that's not true
strictly speaking, since there are a few key scenes which depend quite a
bit on their shock value for their effectiveness; but in general, just
knowing the film's plot or being familiar with director Tarantino's
style isn't enough to significantly lessen the film's impact.)

     In fact, the plot both barely exists and is incredibly complicated
-- take your pick.  On the surface, the film is about a group of bad
guys, the robbery they plan, and what happens afterward.  But that's
like saying that GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS is about a bunch of guys selling
real estate -- it's true enough, as far as it goes, but it doesn't even
get close to what makes the film so fascinating.  RESERVOIR DOGS plays
like a Sam Peckinpah film with dialogue by David Mamet, and the whole
production has a wonderful -- and quite intentional -- retrograde
seventies feel to it.  It is as stripped down and spare as Scorsese's
GOODFELLAS, but first-time director Quentin Tarantino is quite obviously
not hoping to be taken for a Scorsese clone -- his distinctive style is
very much his own, and his character-driven film recalls the best of the
straight-ahead, no-frills films of the late sixties and seventies.

     The action in RESERVOIR DOGS unfolds largely against the backdrop
of a single set (a warehouse used as a rendezvous point), though much of
the film's exposition is handled through flashback.  Tarantino jumps us
backward through time, then forward again to the present moment,
sometimes jumping to a parallel story line before returning to the
warehouse.  The result is one of startling effectiveness, as we are
moved -- ever so slowly, ever so subtly -- to the robbers' point of
view, always finding ourselves back in the warehouse after recalling
bits of (our) past, all the while growing impatient at the waiting and
fearful of what the future may bring.

     Even putting aside the compelling performances; the well-drawn and
quirky characters; the no-nonsense -- yet slightly tongue-in-cheek --
tone of the film; even putting aside all of that, this effect is above
all why RESERVOIR DOGS is so interesting -- and so compelling.  For
Tarantino allows us to feel something that is rarely felt in modern
American film: it's a feeling of uncertainty, of doubt, even of dread.
Throughout much of RESERVOIR DOGS, we just don't know what's going to
happen next; and even hearing a full description of the plot hardly
lessens the feeling, since so much of the film is presented to us out of
strict chronological order.  All we know is that nice things are
unlikely to occur, and that if we had to guess, it would be that events
in this single-minded gift to our mainstream-starved intelligences might
not end with a nice, tidy Hollywood bow on top.  But to be honest, we
just don't know.

     As a lover of horror and all things unknown, it may be that the
Phantom appreciates this more than most; after all, the memorable (but
outlandishly audience-insulting) BASIC INSTINCT was filled with what
passes for mystery and uncertainty in Hollywood these days, and just
look at how many copies are available for your rental pleasure at your
local Blockbusters.  Verhoeven knows what sells, if nothing else, and
he's blatantly uninterested in attempting anything beyond the
paint-by-numbers thrillers for which he's so justly famous.  But was
there anything about BASIC INSTINCT that wasn't telegraphed in
excruciating detail -- detail that would do Western Union proud --
before even the opening credits had rolled?  Perhaps only whether or not
the beautiful, rich, naked bisexual woman who does/does not kill people
with an ice pick actually did/did not kill people with an ice pick --
not exactly a question to keep us watching the film on anything other
than a purely voyeuristic level.

     While voyeurism plays a large part in our experience viewing
RESERVOIR DOGS, there is -- thankfully -- much more to Tarantino's
screenplay than blood and gunplay, and whether or not the bad guys are
going to get caught.  In fact, you'll very quickly find that these
rather prosaic considerations get left behind as you get caught up in
the characters themselves, each brought to unique and individual life by
a marriage of first-rate characterization and first-rate acting.  (And
the Phantom's Harvey Keitel rule is very much in effect here: as always,
it never ever hurts to have Harvey Keitel in a film.)

     The performances are uniformly impressive; RESERVOIR DOGS could
hardly be the outstanding ensemble film it is if they were not.  Keitel
and Steve Buscemi -- playing a man with well-considered and firmly held
opinions about Madonna and her music -- nearly steal the show from Tim
Roth, who plays the character with whom the audience is most likely to
identify.  To say more about what roles these characters play -- or even
to reveal their names -- would add little to this review, but would
definitely detract from the film's effect.

     RESERVOIR DOGS is best seen as Tarantino presents it to his
audience: cold and without any preconceived ideas.  It is a violent film
in which a strictly male-only world is portrayed; the characters
themselves are not wholly rounded, three-dimensional or self-conscious;
and no feelings are spared.  It is not a politically correct film (the
Phantom directs your attention to the rapidly -- and deservedly --
fading 1492 for politically correct narrative), and no one's feelings
are spared as we eavesdrop on this motley crew of characters as
realistic as they are compelling.  Tarantino doesn't pander even for a
moment; as a result, his film is as wholly successful as any you are
likely to see this year.

     Nearly everything about this film is little short of amazing;
although it is not a horror film per se, it is more likely to evoke that
which the best horror films evoke than any recent horror film or
thriller.  That alone should get phans desperate for good horror cinema
to the box office with $7.50 proffered eagerly in outstretched hands.
If they look around, they'll see people who came for the cinematography
(by relative unknown Andrzej Sekula); for the music; for the acting; for
the dialogue.  The Phantom rarely recommends a film as strongly as he
does this one; not since HENRY has he been as excited about a new
release in his favorite genre -- even if it isn't really in his favorite
genre.  Neither horror nor exploitation, RESERVOIR DOGS is just good in
every way; and needless to say, it's well worth seeing.

: The Phantom
: sbb@panix.com
: cmcl2!panix!sbb
Newsgroups: rec.arts.movies.reviews