|Soundtrack to our twisted dreams|
That poster! That gimp scene! That watch monologue! That dance! That heroin! That soundtrack! That amoral ultra-violence! I still remember seeing it with a friend. When it ended, we turned to each other in amazement. It was the first time since Indiana Jones when I had seen, in the cinema, a film that felt completely a work of genius, a work of visual pleasure, nihilistic, pugilistic, aesthetic.
Tarantino has never made a better film - and he won't. Ethically sick, visually jam-packed, verbally slick, it is wit mainstreamed. It's perfect, and structurally so splendid, so surprising, so respectful and yet disruptive of its source genres, and thus, unbeatable. That's okay, because we will always have his original hit of heart-racing adrenaline.