It is QUENTessential movie. The one that ties everything in the universe of film together.

Rating: 10/10 (13 July 2003)

Okay, maybe that summary is overstating it a bit. Still, I love this film more than any other piece of art (be it motion picture, photograph, drawing, sculpture, written word or performance) in the world. Pulp Fiction has kidnapped my senses completely for two and a half at a time, nearly a hundred times.
There's no reason to explain for there have been far too many explanations already. But there's Vincent Vega aimlessly stepping through nostalgia personified in the 50's themed diner, Jack Rabbit Slim's. Then you've got a tight shot of Jules Winnfield's expression of wrath as he turns around to say "-And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and FURRRRIOUSSS anger...". Mia Wallace's dirty bare foot. A drop of liquid from a thin needle, three feet above Mia's chest. "Bacon tastes goood. Porkchops taste gooood." "What does it feel like to kill a man with your bare hands? It is a topic I'm very interested in." "Blueberry pie to match the pancakes."

I romanticize it too damn much, I know it. But it all just clicks for me. It all makes so much sense. Everytime I watch it I feel supreme satisfaction, knowing I just got a perfect helping of the marriage of image and storytelling.
I don't know if I should even try to justify, defend or promote the film because I feel that it is beyond all of that. I just hope that my quick, little blurb here successfully displays the deep emotional connection I have to Pulp Fiction. That alone has GOT to say something to someone who has their doubts about it. If it knocked me out, as it did, give it a chance and it might give you a good punch too.