Intelligent, engaging, bold and invigorating; a great debut

Rating: Null/10 (11 May 2008)

For me, there's too much emphasis placed on Tarantino's technique of cinematic self-reference and personal homage. Although it has become something of a defining characteristic of his work - even more-so since the release Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003) - it is simply one single layer of a rich tapestry of elements that make his films so effective. When Reservoir Dogs (1992) was first released, the referential aspect was almost completely ignored. Instead, critics applauded Tarantino for his strong characters, clever dialog, use of violence and music; and the effortless use of structure and narrative, which helped to turn a seemingly pedestrian crime-thriller into an exciting and enigmatic exercise in cinematic tension building. Over the years, audience have noted the references to films such as City on Fire (1987), The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974) and The Killing (1956) (though Tarantino claims to be more influenced by the original novel, as opposed to the Kubrick film) and dismissed these references as simple theft. This is foolish though, and flies in the face of the very cannibalistic nature of film, and the idea that every single story, character and theme analysed in 20th century art can be traced back to a secondary source related centuries before.
If you've seen enough films, then you can easily draw surface similarities from almost anything made subsequent to 1970. In fact, in a world in which comic book adaptations and "foreign language" remakes dominate the box-office; Tarantino's approach is truly defiant. If he were a musician, he'd most probably be a hip-hop producer - someone like RZA or Danger Mouse - taking ideas and samples from a variety of different works and blending it all together to produce something new and exciting. So the themes may be well worn, but the presentation and technique is electrifying. Think of that opening scene in particular; a seriously minded discussion of the textual-interpretations of Madonna's Like a Virgin and a debate on the ethics of tipping that not only sets the scene - quite literally - for the use of dialog to follow, but establishes the single characters and their personalities perfectly. We take it for granted now, but try to think of any other American crime film made prior to 1991 that manages to successfully appropriate a scene of pop-cultural discourse into the opening sequences of a tense and violent thriller. Then, look at how it moves seamlessly into the credit sequence; a moment of decade defining cool that some have seen as a nod to A Clockwork Orange (1971), though it really serves a far more functional means of further introducing this broad ensemble of characters, so as not to over-complicate the actual viewing of the film once we get into the telling of the story.
There's then a flash-forward, introducing the idea of a fractured narrative. Again, we take it for granted, but think about it; any other heist film and the scene of the heist would dominate. Here, we don't even get to see it. As a result, the botched robbery and the violence that is described to us takes on a more enigmatic purpose, creating something of a Rashomon (1950) like conundrum in which we're forced to take these varying characters at their word, and - much like the protagonists of the film itself - draw our own conclusions and allegiances. By not showing the heist, Tarantino adds to the tension, not only between the characters on screen, but between the characters and the audience. It's a radical move on the part of the filmmaker; as jaw-dropping as making a film about the D-Day invasions without ever showing the soldiers hit Normandy. The film is also remarkable for the atmosphere that Tarantino creates - both in the way in which he stretches out shots and scenes beyond the point that most other filmmakers would, and of course, in his careful use of framing, minimal production design and the use of hand-held cinematography - all to establish a sense of urgency and unease that escalates as the plot goes backwards and forwards on itself. It's a definite pressure cooker-like environment being developed throughout, as each scene builds and builds and then cuts back in on itself; giving us more of the back-story and further reinforcing the bitter ironies of both the characters and that ending.
It is also helped by the fine performances, with every member of the cast defining these characters, not simply as archetypes or conventional components of the narrative, but somewhat believable human beings. This quality is pushed further by the use of the fragmented narrative, as Tarantino presents the story almost like a jigsaw puzzle, with information held back from us until the right juncture in the narrative, at which point we can finally put all of the pieces into place and then stand back to appreciate the view. Without question, Reservoir Dogs is a tense, coolly ironic thriller that not only subverts the usual codes and conventions you would expect to find in a heist thriller, but does so in such a way as to remain light, effortless and greatly entertaining. Today it is synonymous with changing the landscape of mid-90's cinema; creating a brief resurgence of intelligent, character driven films that were quirky, self-aware and filed with that spirit of independence. However, before the hype and the greater success of Pulp Fiction (1994), it was simply a great film; one that presented a clever story, cinematic characters and an unconventional approach to on screen violence that reminded people that you could have more from cinema than a bland reproduction of a story.