My Classic Summer: Reservoir Dogs

Reservoir Dogs has factored into my life similarly to how Fargo, the previous entry in My Classic Summer, has.  It's one of those movies that has serious pop culture cache, that my friends assume I had to have seen, being "the movie guy," that has gotten me lots of appalled looks, proclamations of dismay, and accusations of idiocy (most of which were certainly deserved).

It's odd that it took me so long to finally watch Quentin Tarantino's claustrophobic who-dun-what tale.  I'm a big fan of the director, and I've seen most of his other work, though I did only see Pulp Fiction about two years ago.  Tarantino is an auteur of the most badass order.  His films are bloody, brilliant, puzzling, and satisfying.  He's a story-teller, and his stories are usually fairly simple story-wise, but the way he plots the events makes them fascinating tales that demand multiple viewings.

Reservoir Dogs, structure-wise, falls somewhere between my two favorite Tarantino films, Inglourious Basterds and Pulp Fiction.  It employs chapters (something most of his movies do) that focus on individual characters' roles in the larger story of the film, giving his impressive cast time to shine, a la Basterds.  But while Basterds unfolded in chronological order, Reservoir Dogs takes a looser approach, filling in the blanks as it goes along, with the largest chunk being unfolded through the lens of Mr. Orange (a great Tim Roth).  It's an effective device, especially since the story isn't all that compelling.  A heist goes wrong, and the men involved suspect there was a snitch, but who?

If it isn't Tarantino's most ambitious narrative, it hardly matters, because he is a master of dialogue.  The writer-director has a knack for making dialogue that is so realistic, so relatable, so natural, that it sometimes doesn't feel written.  In some ways, Tarantino's dialogue is the antithesis of Woody Allen's hyper-intellectual fare, but it's just as smart.  He defines his characters through small talk, whether it's about a Royale with cheese or, in the case of Reservoir Dogs, whether or not one should tip a waitress. (As a waiter, that opening scene pissed me off, and was perfectly written and acted.  Steve Buscemi is climbing my list of favorite actors.)

Of course, one of the things Tarantino is most famous for is his use of music, and Reservoir Dogs has one of the finest examples of asynchronous sounds I've ever seen, something I have deep love for since taking a class on Stanley Kubrick a couple years back.  It's simultaneously chilling and thrilling to watch Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) torture a bound and gagged cop to the impossibly catchy "Stuck in the Middle With You."  It's jarring when Mr. Blonde leaves the building and the music ceases, as the song is so inappropriate to the scene that it's easy to forget it's diegetic.   That blur comes up at other points in the film, too, reinforcing how commonplace these sort of violent escapades are for the characters, however badly this particular heist might have gone.

The film ends suddenly, but well.  I was half-expecting some backstory for Mr. Brown (Tarantino) and Mr. Blue (Edward Bunker), but not so.  Instead, the blood flows freely, and finally, ambiguously.  The whole thing feels a little looser and messier than Tarantino's more polished recent work, but it mostly works in the film's favor.  Reservoir Dogs is a great film in its own right, and perhaps even more so when considered in the context of Tarantino's impressive career.

Below: the great torture scene. (Don't mind the ads that kick in afterwards.)