From: sbb@panix.com (The Phantom)
Subject: Review: RESERVOIR DOGS
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 1992 04:18:39 GMT
Organization: PANIX Public Access Unix, NYC
Keywords: review, reservoir dogs, phantom

                            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 OK; 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
Xref: sparky rec.arts.movies:32263 rec.games.trivia:3422 bit.listserv.cinema-l:7978 rec.arts.tv:21405