Fight Club Rule #14:

14. How to name an action hero:

Snake Plissken: A badass among badasses.
John McClane: A badass among average Joes.
Aaron Cross: We didn't try, but we hope you enjoy it anyway.
Jack Reacher: Action hero or gay porn star? You decide.

Bad Mother Fucker.

PULP FICTION (1994)

Image from screencream.com.

Last Minute M. strikes again! I still have a few hours of daylight, shut it. Either way, it's May, which means it's Pulp Fiction time! I will admit, this review was (and still is) a little daunting for me to write. Pulp Fiction is one of my all time favorite movies, but when it comes to actually talking about the movie, it's hard to articulate exactly what makes it such a fucking classic. Still, for the sake of QT Blogathon, I grit my teeth and powered through. As they say: Fuck pride.

The Plot: Where do begin? Pulp Fiction is a bit of a doozy in that it doesn't actually have a cookie-cutter plot or narrative. Instead, we've got a couple different stories on our plate. We have Bruce Willis, the aging boxer who doesn't go down when he should and has to keep the mob off his tail. We have Jules and Vincent, the two mobsters who get in trouble when a job goes south and they're forced to clean up the mess. And we have Vincent and Mia, the mob boss' wife, who go out on a completely platonic date. But even laying each subplot out like that just doesn't do the movie justice. It's a twisted and jumbled ensemble film, and it works. Completely. In a way that would never work again. Tarantino, thank you for breaking the mold once more.

The Music: This one is filled with some really great tracks. As in all Tarantino movies, the music isn't something that hides in the shadows and comes out to play whenever there's an Oscar moment in the works. Rather, the music has a life of its own and keeps up with the pace of the movie. There are not a lot of film soundtracks I could listen to repetitively and never get tired of, but this is one of them. From Al Green's Let's Stay Together to Dusty Springfield's Son Of A Preacher Man, it's a soundtrack that rides right along with the excellence of the movie. And, of course, Misirlou will forever be known as the Pulp Fiction theme song. Not to mention, it's hard to listen to Flowers On The Wall by the Statler Brothers without doing Bruce Willis' "kangaroo" face.

The Characters/The Actors: I couldn't do different sections to describe the characters and actors this time around for one simple reason: the actors completely vanish in this movie. Pulp Fiction is just one of those movies I can't watch and namedrop, which is a compliment coming from someone who sounds like she's reciting fucking IMDB when she watches a movie. Still, the writing is so fucking good that major names like Samuel L. Jackson, Bruce Willis, and John Travolta disappear into the badassitry that is their characters.

Is this what you call an uncomfortable silence?

One person I have to give a shout out to, however, is Uma Thurman's portrayal of Misses Mia Wallace. Uma Thurman, as she has proved in recent years, can be a bit of a hit and miss actress. Anyone see My Super Ex-Girlfriend? Me neither. Nonetheless, say what you will, but under Tarantino's direction, Uma is phenomenal. She's his muse and his masterpiece. She fits perfectly into the skin of the eccentric mob wife, Mia Wallace, and recites Tarantino's lines with ease and character. What can we say? The lady's got spunk.

Lastly, there are a handful of minor characters that need mention. Amanda Plummer is a fucking wild woman as "Honey Bunny". Eric Stoltz is awesome, as always, will someone please tell me why he fell off the face of cinema? Peter Greene is an underrated creepy bastard. Winston "The Wolf" will never be replicated. Maria de Medeiros is adorable and French (and has lesbian sex with Uma Thurman. My life is complete). One after the other, all badass characters. 

The Conversation: What does Marcellus Wallace look like? I had to think long and hard about this one. Because it's really, really impossible to pick one gem of dialogue out of a movie filled with brilliance. However, I've got to hand it to Jules. Samuel L. Jackson has always been the guy who turns Tarantino's dialogue into poetry, and he doesn't fall short here. The entire scene is brilliant--from the infamous Royale With Cheese conversation to a heated debate about foot massages. And once the two mobsters do finally push their way into the room, it's on. Jules is one intimidating motherfucker, and the last person you want to invite over for breakfast. I dare anyone to try to look that frightening eating a burger. And then not only is his interrogation brilliant, but we get the monologue. The bible verse. In any other movie, with any other actor, this would be a copout moment. I mean, c'mon. Bible verse. We've seen it done a thousand and one times, right (I'm looking at you, Boondock Saints)? But somehow, it just works. Don't ask me how. If I knew the recipe for Tarantino script writing, I would not be writing this blog in Barnes & Noble and enjoying free wifi.

Strut.

The Iconic Moment: And then Tarantino does something brilliant. He puts the King Of Swagger on the dance floor. Think about it: what put John Travolta on the map? Busting moves in the likes of Grease and Saturday Night Fever. What put him back on the map? Boogying it up with Uma Thurman on the dance floor. It's the perfect transition from their dinner conversation, their bantering back-and-forth, the tension between the two. They keep time with each other, moving close, pulling away, but most importantly, never taking their eyes off each other. It's not only an extension of their conversation, it elevates the conversation. And, no. They don't have to bump and grind against each other to get a good sexual tension going, thank you very much. I'll take Uma's scuba diver any day of the week.

Fun Fact: I saw Be Cool just to watch Travolta and Thurman dance again.

Image from barlowbrewing.com.

The Mexican Standoff: Of course, our iconic Mexican Standoff. Between Jules, Vincent, "Honeybunny", and "Ringo". Really, this standoff is just another excuse for Jules to be the badass he is. And I am 100% okay with that.


The Suitcase: Fuck you, fucking briefcase of mystery. What the shit is in the briefcase???

And that's all I've got for Pulp Fiction. Because it's damn hard to do a movie like that justice. Next up: From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)! Even though I'm fully aware that it's a Tarantino-Rodriguez joint flick. With that said, I've already reviewed From Dusk Till Dawn, so I might have to go against the grain of my own blogathon. I'm thinking of taking a stab at Four Rooms (1995), since it has a Tarantino segment. Either way, if anyone has Pulp Fiction posts they want to throw at me, email me at mhufstader (at) gm.slc.edu and I'll put them all up sometime tomorrow!

Oh, yeah. And did I mention this happened?

This Is Me At My Most Masochistic.

I hate it. 

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. 

I wonder what would be the appropriate time to preorder my opening night ticket?

NEWSFLASH!

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a...

What the fuck is a tumblr? I don't know, but The Smoking Pen has one! For all those in need of an extra fix of badassitry, head over to the-smoking-pen.tumblr.com. Enjoy the eye candy, the adrenaline gland candy, the nose candy. Just...you know. Don't snort what you find in other people's coat pockets.

A Bad Guy Who Just Needs Finger Paint.

THE EXPENDABLES (2010)

Although I hesitated to review the movie, it's clear that this should have been one of the badass-est movies of the year. Instead? Well. I believe the title speaks for itself. The best part of this movie was the vague and mysterious promotional poster, a skull exploding with various threatening weapons and a list of enough big action movie CLASSICS. Enough to make every 13 year old boy (and 20 year old dyke) wet themselves with pure testosterone joy. Unfortunately, the mystery in the poster wasn't simply a ploy to drag audiences to the movie--it was the movie. Big names, big guns, and very, very little else. I'd give you a plot, except there was none. Something about mercenaries, an evil American capitalist, and a small town shitty Spanish country. The end.

Normally, I would not have a problem with this. I'm a James Bond fan. It's how my brain works. However. I do request a little something something. A little plot. A little character development. A little attention to dialogue. A little bone for my dog. The Expendables promised much and delivered zip. It felt more like a family reunion for all the aging action movie heros than a movie. Granted, to be fair. The big names were fun. Very fun. Schwarzenegger's appearance had me clapping, even his last "vote for me!" line was deliciously contrived. Bruce Willis also warmed the hollow place in my chest where my heart should be. But both had very little purpose to the actual film, clearly tossed in there as a last second cameo. Mickey Rourke, on the other hand, filled his small role with life and breathed some energy into the sterile script. He played a tattooist with a heart, boarding on born-again romantic, but dashed with a war torn cynicism. He was able to both straddle the line between rough and tumble and sensitive--a man with muscle and tears.

Now for the Expendables themselves. Stallone has to take the marbles out of his mouth and give Angelina Jolie her lips back. Jason Statham I love to death, thanks to every Guy Ritchie film ever made, and while he can do little wrong in my eyes, his character didn't have much of an arc and his romance troubles seemed a bit...dare I say it...expendable. Jet Li nearly saved the movie--his character was entertaining, witty, and simply fun to be around. Not to mention, bad fucking ass. Thank you short people. Lundren reminded me of Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker. Crews was every token black man in every action movie combined into one. Austin and Couture were...wait...who were they? That's right: completely forgettable. Granted, Couture had the potential to be a cool character, if he only had more than 3 lines.

"What do you find when you look up 'plotless' in the dictionary?" "What's a dictionary?"

Credit where credit is due. Everyone knows that each and every one of these actors has the potential to be larger than life badass. They wouldn't be in this movie if that wasn't so. However, the script was clearly an unfortunate afterthought. The film circles around the tightly knit group of mercenaries called The Expendables. Which would be a kickass premise in itself, if they only KEPT THE EXPENDABLES TOGETHER. C'mon, Stallone. Really. You have a cast of about a dozen extremely cool cats. And yet they're only all together in...maybe a couple scenes? They're constantly split up into groups of 2s or 3s, giving the group a disconnected feeling. The A Team isn't called "The Hannibal and Face Movie". It's about the A Team--the four main characters are almost always together, even if they've pulled each other aside for a one-on-one conversation. It kept the feeling of brotherhood running thick through the film. Here, however, I couldn't care less for half the characters. And I got the feeling the rest of the crew couldn't care much either. I understand that in their badassitry, they'd forgotten how to have emotions. But really. Don't leave all the crying to Rourke. Let's give some familial feelings to the rest of the gang.

Lucky ball.

End rant. The plot. RIGHT. The mercenaries who aren't at all tight knit end up getting buttfucked by their man Gunner who betrays them and joins the bad guy instead (who would've thought, what with them being such a friendly group at all. Maybe Gunner just wanted more hugs!). The bad guy is an American businessman James Munroe, played by a relatively creepy Eric Roberts. Munroe is manipulating General Garza, the dictator of anonymous typical South American country, into doing what he wants when he wants it and raping anonymous typical South American country for every dollar it's worth. The Expendables take the job to assassinate said hopeless Garza (who's really a friendly dictator, if only he didn't have the Americans on his back). While taking the job, Stallone (let's call it like it is, there were no characters here, just actors) runs into the beautiful Giselle Itié. She happens to be the dictator's daughter, Sandra, even though she's rebelling against Daddy so she can be the female Ché. And she paints pictures we suppose somehow symbolically represent her anonymous South American country. We also want to see her take off her clothes (which, spoiler alert, we don't. But more about that later). Munroe doesn't like the daughter. The daughter's a problem. The daughter PAINTS. This is the last straw for Munroe. He really flips out when he sees her paintings. Why? My theory is he never got enough finger painting in as a child and this is really the last straw. In any case, he takes revenge on Sandra's paintings, and the Expendables come in to save the girl, kill the bad American, and blow some random shit up.

Sandra. Let's give her a moment. What the fuck was up with her? I would have been fine with her character if the movie had just picked a role for her and ran with it. She appears in the beginning as nothing more than your typical movie sexpot. She's hot, she's clearly a shoe-in for Stallone's love interest, the stage has been set. But as the movie progresses, she turns into something else entirely. She takes a few hits for the Expendables, shines on in her rebellion, and even takes a good waterboarding. Alright. I'm on board. Waterboarding is cool. If she can take that, she must be kickass. Right? Well, no. She's actually a helpless femme fatale who can't really do anything else for the rest of the movie except get herself constantly held ransom. Alright. So what happened to the chick who was able to withstand a waterboarding two seconds ago? Finally, at the end, she parts ways with them as those she's "one of the guys". No sex, no nakedness, not even a kiss on the lips from Stallone. You know what--fine. I don't care about a soppy love interest. I respect Guy Ritchie for the fact that he knows well enough to leave actually romance OUT of a good bromance action movie. However, Stallone just can't make up his mind about what he wants to do with Sandra. Does he want to fuck her, or does he want her to fuck everyone else up? Is she going to be badass or is she going to be the token set of breasts? I'm fine with either, really, I am. Just make up your mind, because after I got no nipples and no chick-with-firearms, I'm left unsatisfied on both fronts.

To conclude: Not enough sex, not enough bromance, and not enough badassitry for what had so, so, SO much potential. Someone fix this.