Pulp Fiction
Pulp Fiction is a 1994 American independent crime film written and directed by Quentin Tarantino from a story he conceived with Roger Avary. It tells four intertwining tales of crime and violence in Los Angeles, California. The film stars John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Bruce Willis, Tim Roth, Ving Rhames, and Uma Thurman. The title refers to the pulp magazines and hardboiled crime novels popular during the mid-20th century, known for their graphic violence and punchy dialogue. Tarantino wrote Pulp Fiction in 1992 and 1993, incorporating scenes that Avary originally wrote for True Romance (1993). Its plot occurs out of chronological order. The film is also self-referential from its opening moments, beginning with a title card that gives two dictionary definitions of "pulp". Considerable screen time is devoted to monologues and casual conversations with eclectic dialogue revealing each character's perspectives on several subjects, and the film features an ironic combination of humor and strong violence. TriStar Pictures reportedly turned down the script as "too demented". Miramax co-chairman Harvey Weinstein was enthralled, however, and the film became the first that Miramax fully financed. Pulp Fiction won the Palme d'Or at the 1994 Cannes Film Festival and was a major critical and commercial success. It was nominated for seven awards at the 67th Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and won Best Original Screenplay; Travolta, Jackson, and Thurman were nominated for Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Supporting Actress respectively. As a result of the film's success, Travolta's career was reinvigorated, and the previously unknown Jackson and Thurman became household names. The film's development, marketing, distribution, and profitability had a sweeping effect on independent cinema. Pulp Fiction is widely regarded as Tarantino's magnum opus, with particular praise for its screenwriting. The self-reflexivity, unconventional structure, and extensive homage and pastiche have led critics to describe it as a touchstone of postmodern film. It is often considered a cultural watershed, influencing films and other media that adopted elements of its style. The cast was also widely praised, with Travolta, Thurman, and Jackson earning high acclaim. In 2008, Entertainment Weekly named it the best film since 1983 and it has appeared on many critics' lists of the greatest films ever made. In 2013, Pulp Fiction was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".
I think it's time for us to leave, Jules. Don't do that. Don't fuckin' blow this shit off! - What just happened here was a fuckin' miracle! - Chill. This shit happens. Wrong! Wrong. This shit doesn't "just happen." Do you want to continue this theological discussion in a car... or in a jailhouse with the cops? We should be fuckin' dead, my friend! What happened here was a miracle, and I want you to fucking acknowledge it! All right, it was a miracle. Can we go now?
Pulp Fiction
Let's go, nigger! Come on! Shit. [ Vincent ] You ever seen that show Cops? I was watching it one time, and there was this cop on, and he was talkin' about this gunfight he had in the hallway with this guy, right? He just unloaded on this guy and nothin' happened. He didn't hit nothin'. Okay? It was just him and this guy. I mean, you know, it's, it's freaky, but it happens. You wanna play blind man, go walk with the shepherd, but me, my eyes are wide fuckin' open. - What the fuck does that mean? - It means that's it for me. From here on in, you can consider my ass retired. - Jesus Christ. Goddamn it. - Don't blaspheme. - I said, don't do that! - Hey, why are you fuckin' freakin' out on us? Look, I'm tellin' Marsellus today- I'm through. - Why don't you tell him at the same time why? - Don't worry, I will. - And I bet you $10,000 he laughs his ass off. - I don't give a damn if he does. [ Sighs ] Marvin, what do you make of all this? Man, I don't even have an opinion. You gotta have an opinion. You think God came down from Heaven and stopped- - [ Gunshot ] - What the fuck's happenin'? - Aw, shit, man! - Aw, man! - Oh, man, I shot Marvin in the face. - Why the fuck'd you do that? I didn't mean it. It was an accident. - Man, I seen some crazy-ass shit in my time, but this- - Chill out, man! It was an accident. We probably went over a bump or somethin'. The car ain't hit no motherfuckin' bump. I didn't mean to shoot the son of a bitch. The gun went off. Look at this fuckin' mess! We're on a city street in broad daylight here! - I don't believe it! - Well, believe it now, motherfucker! We gotta get this car off the road. Cops notice shit like a car drenched in blood. - Just take it to a friendly place, that's all! - This is the Valley, Vincent. Marsellus ain't got no friendly places in the Valley. - Well, Jules, this ain't my fuckin' town, man! - Shit! - What you doing? - I'm calling my partner in Toluca Lake. -Where's Toluca Lake? -Over the hill here, by Burbank Studios. If Jimmie's ass ain't home, I don't know what the fuck we gonna do, 'cause I ain't got no other partners in 818. Jimmie, how you doin', man? It's Jules. Just listen up, man. Me and my homeboy are in a car, and we gotta get it off the road, pronto. I need to use your garage for a couple hours. We gotta be real fuckin' delicate with this Jimmie situation. He's one remark away from kickin' our asses out the door. - If he does, what do we do? - We ain't leavin' 'til we make a couple calls, but I don't want it to reach that pitch- Jimmie's a friend. You don't come into your friend's house and start tellin' him what's what. Just tell him not to be abusive. He kinda freaked out back there when he saw Marvin. Put yourself in his position- It's 8:00 in the morning, he just woke up. He wasn't expectin' this shit. We gotta remember here who's doin' who a favor. If that favor means I gotta take shit, he can stick that favor straight up his ass. - Fuck, nigger, what the fuck'd you just do to his towel, man? - I was dryin' my hands! - You're supposed to wash 'em first! - You watched me wash 'em. - I watched you get 'em wet. - I was washin' 'em. This shit's hard to get off. Maybe if he'd had Lava I coulda done a better job. I used the same fuckin' soap you did, and when I finished, the towel didn't look like no goddamn maxi-pad! What if he was to come in here and see his towel like this? It's shit like this that's gonna bring this situation to a head, man! Look, I ain't threatenin' you or nothin', all right? You know I respect you and all. But just don't put me in this position, all right? All right. Fine. Fine. Ask me nice like that, no problem. Just go handle your friend. Go ahead. I don't care.
Pulp Fiction
Mmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This some serious gourmet shit. Me and Vincent would've been satisfied... with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice. Right? [ Chuckles ] And he springs this serious gourmet shit on us. - What flavor is this? - Knock it off, Julie. - What? - I don't need you to tell me how fuckin' good my coffee is. I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause when I drink it, I wanna taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It ain't the coffee in my kitchen. It's the dead nigger in my garage. - Jimmie, don't even worry- - Don't tell me about anything. I wanna ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you notice the sign on the front of my house that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? - You know I ain't seen no- - Did you notice the sign on the front of my house... that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? No. I didn't. - You know why you didn't see that sign? - [ Sighs ] Why? 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business, that's why! - We're not gonna store the motherfucker- - Don't you fuckin' realize... that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm gonna get divorced? No marriage counselor. No trial separation. I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced. Okay? And I don't wanna get fuckin' divorced! Man, you know, fuck, I wanna help you, but I don't wanna lose my wife doin' it. Jimmie, Jimmie, she ain't gonna leave you. Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me, Jules! Okay? Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me. There's nothin' you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget I love my wife. Is there?
Pulp Fiction
Now, look, you know, she comes home from work in about an hour and a half. The graveyard shift at the hospital. You gotta make some phone calls? You gotta call some people? Well, then, do it, and then get the fuck out of my house before she gets here. That's Kool and the Gang. We don't wanna fuck your shit up. All I wanna do is call my people and get 'em to bring us in. You're fucking my shit up right now! You're gonna fuck my shit up big time if Bonnie comes home. Do me that favor, all right? The phone is in my bedroom. I suggest you get going. Well, say she comes home. What do you think she'll do?
Pulp Fiction
Oh, no fuckin' shit she'll freak. That ain't no kinda answer. I mean, you know, I don't. How much? A lot or a little? You got to appreciate what an explosive element... this Bonnie situation is. She comes home from a hard day's work, finds a bunch of gangsters in her kitchen... doing a bunch of gangster shit, there ain't no tellin' what she's liable to do. [ All Gasping ] Yeah, I grasp that, Jules. All I'm doing is contemplating the ifs. I don't wanna hear about no motherfuckin' ifs! All I want to hear from your ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Chill them niggers out and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly." You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Chill them niggers out and wait for the Wolf, who should be coming directly. You sendin' the Wolf? Oh, you feel better, motherfucker? Shit, yeah, negro! That's all you had to say! - [ Piano ] - [ Man ] She the hysterical type? - When is she due? - [ Partygoers Chattering ] Mm-hmm. Give me the principals' names again. [ Man ] Place your bets.
Pulp Fiction
You're... Jimmie, right? This is your house? - It sure is. - I'm Winston Wolf. I solve problems. - Good. We got one. - So I heard. May I come in? Uh, yeah. Please do. You must be Jules. Which would make you... Vincent. Let's get down to brass tacks, gentlemen. If I was informed correctly, the clock is ticking. Is that right, Jimmie? Uh, one hundred percent. - Your wife Bonnie comes home at 9:30 in the a.m., correct? - Uh-huh. I was led to believe if she comes home and finds us here, she wouldn't appreciate it much. - She wouldn't at that. - That gives us 40 minutes to get the fuck outta Dodge, which, if you do what I say, when I say it, should be plenty. Now, you got a corpse in a car, minus a head, in a garage. Take me to it.
Pulp Fiction
About the car, is there anything I need to know? Does it stall? Does it smoke? Does it make a lot of noise? ls there gas in it? - Aside from how it looks, the car's cool. - Positive? Don't get me on the road and I find out the brake lights don't work. - As far as I know, the motherfucker's tip-top. - Good enough. Let's go back to the kitchen.
Pulp Fiction
Okay, first thing. You two. Take the body, stick it in the trunk. This looks to be a pretty domesticated house. - That would lead me to believe you got cleansers and shit. - Yeah. Under the sink. Good. What I need you two fellas to do is take those cleaning products... and clean the inside of the car- I'm talkin' fast, fast, fast. Go in the back seat, scoop up all those little pieces of brain and skull. Get it out of there. Wipe down the upholstery. It don't need to be spick-and-span. You don't need to eat off it. Just give it a good once-over. What you need to take care of are the really messy parts. The pools of blood that have collected, you gotta soak that shit up. We need to raid your linen closet. I need blankets, I need comforters, quilts, bedspreads. The thicker the better, the darker the better. No whites. Can't use 'em. We'll need to camouflage the front seat and back seat and floorboards... with quilts and blankets, so if a cop starts stickin' his big snout in the car, the subterfuge won't last, but at a glance the car will appear to be normal. Jimmie, lead the way. Boys, get to work. "Please" would be nice.
Pulp Fiction