The title is the clue - it is fictional pulp

Rating: 2/10 (27 March 2010)

I have read many of the negative reviews of this film here, and I must say that, on the surface of the matter, I agree with a good deal of what is being said.
However, I propose that most of these like-minded reviewers have missed the point. They unwittingly give the film (and its self-loving, narcissistic director) too much credit by taking it seriously enough to attempt enough of an analysis to draw out its transparent weaknesses.
The title itself is a giveaway as to the significance of this film. Pulp Fiction does not have a purpose beyond appealing to base drives and hormonal imbalances masquerading as emotional responses to meaningless, juvenile drivel that is endowed with flashes of various disturbing imagery. It is really nothing more than a sick slice of hollow experimentation in what too often passes for praiseworthy film-making nowadays. The distinct lack of a coherent plot, the disjointedly interwoven and half-baked story lines, the absence of characterisation and dramatic depth (or plausibility), the pointless and empty dialogue, the banal pop culture references, and the graphic, overblown, absurd depiction of grotesque acts of rape, sordid violence, drug abuse and superfluous profanity, among other things one could point out – all of which is tauntingly presented as "a bit of fun" – only serve to reinforce Tarantino's depraved worldview, hunger for attention, and bloodlust for indulging in cynical exercises in arson that unfortunately pass for artistic merit, in the nihilistic vein of the so-called postmodern "style". So much for cinematic realism. Are we supposed to be shocked or impressed by any of this? Do we honestly expect anything better? Tarantino celebrates human excesses, but there is virtually no humanity in most of his work. I would not go so far as to state that his films are unwatchable (I quite enjoyed Jackie Brown), but they are certainly not improving with the passage of time. The present state of life in America, and all over the world, poses a demand for conscious filmmakers and artists to fill the cultural void – to represent conditions as they are experienced. Quentin is incapable of filling that void. He is part of the void.
Anyone looking for substance, inspiration, or even just a decent "art house" flick, will likely be disappointed by Pulp Fiction. The best thing about this piece of work is by far the soundtrack. The trouble with ratings is that most fans of this film are now, or were teenagers when it was released (including myself), and cannot bring themselves to shake off the hype that came out with it. I will admit I was one of them too, at the tender age of 14. Thankfully, I rapidly grew out of the phase and developed a sense of perspective. I understand that there is a place for films such as this in our society, but it is definitely not anywhere near the top. I place it towards the bottom of the heap. Too many others of my generation have failed to take this step, largely due to their lack of exposure to genuinely great works of art, coupled with confused political misconceptions. As a consequence, they generally don't have much of an eye or a taste for quality, because in a sense, they barely seem to believe in the validity or redeemability of the human condition. A pitiable state of affairs, really – but one whose examination might make for a far more interesting film, if anyone with talent and insight dared to make it. I'm looking at you, Kiarostami.