You know what they call a quarter pounder with cheese in
Paris?
Twenty-five years ago, Quentin Tarantino was a young up and
coming director who had already established himself with a bloody little film
called Reservoir Dogs. In retrospect I don’t feel it holds up quite as well as
some of his future projects; aside from being in the wake of such flicks as Man
Bites Dog (no pun intended) and City on Fire, it does feel somewhat small, but
still enjoyable enough for what was a relatively low-budget entry into
Hollywood. One that kicked off a brand new trend of the nineties, to be
repeated in such films as Clerks—namely, lots of irreverent waffling about pop
culture, and ever bloodier violence. And so, this came to a head with one film
that I feel undoubtedly holds up—Pulp Fiction.
There’s not much I can say about Pulp Fiction that hasn’t
already been said—it’s great. I can only think of a handful more flicks that
are more insanely quotable, nor more perfectly cast. The vignette style keeps
things feeling fresh and well-paced—never do I feel the two and a half hour run
time when watching it. Even the cameos have made their indelible marks on pop
culture, from Christopher Walken to Harvey Keitel. Out of the several
storylines presented in the film, my favorite is Bruce Willis’—all I can say
is, “Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead.”
So, instead, I’ll take a look at some of the things that
could’ve been—Tarantino usually goes for a very specific vison when he goes for
his casting. These days he usually gets it, his projects being glorious excuses
for Hollywood’s talent to unleash torrents of gore and f-bombs, but back then,
things weren’t so guaranteed.
First up, the first choice for John Travolta’s Vincent Vega
was Daniel Day-Lewis—in retrospect, Travolta worked out the best, since in all
honesty, Day-Lewis puts in enough dedication and seriousness to his craft that
I can’t actually see him playing the schmuck Vega is meant to be. Travolta’s
casting as said schmuck proved most apt since he squandered the career
revitalization he got from this film with 2000’s Battlefield Earth, where he
played oh so memorably a Rastafarian Klingon with a falsetto.
And who can forget the utter awesomeness, the impeccable
cool, the sheer motherfuckin’ motherfuckingness Samuel L. Jackson bought to
Jules Winnfield? Well, at one point, alternate choices considered were Lawrence Fishburne—who I can see just about matching Jackson’s cool—and, er, Eddie
Murphy. This is back in those days when Murphy was considered a cool Beverly
Hills Cop, kids.
For some of the side characters, Nicolas Cage was at one point
considered for Ringo, which would’ve made that iconic opening prologue
incredibly awkward or incredibly hilarious. Uma Thurman was originally desired to me his compatriot Honey Bunny, but I think we all prefer her as both Mia Wallace and being on the million walls adorning poster, leading ultimately to her awesome performance in Kill Bill. And for the drug dealer Lance,
Tarantino’s first choice was supposedly, er, Kurt Cobain. And given the circumstances,
that’s one very unpleasant hindsight he never ended up dealing with. Otherwise,
executives wanted Gary Oldman after True Romance, once again having him play every
unscrupulous person in the nineties.
And as to the coffee with lots of cream taking, getting shit
done-doing Winston Wolfe? One potential candidate was Danny de-friggin-Vito.
Imagine the iconic epitome of cool and professionalism replaced by the guy from
Twins, which would indeed make those scenes awesomely hilarious. Now, speaking
of those scenes, we get to that one part that’s somewhat more controversial
with time, namely Tarantino’s own role as the n-word spouting Jimmie. Tarantino
wasn’t intending originally to place himself into that scene however—that would’ve
been Steve Buscemi. I’m not sure what the effect of the nerdy-voiced Buscemi
mouthing off like that to Sam Jackson would’ve been on screen, but it would’ve been…something.
Finally, we get to Bruce Willis’ Butch—most agree that this
casting was spot on. Had Willis not made it, however, other choices were once
again Cage and Sylvester Stallone. I’m not sure Stallone could match the
combination of sardonic wiseguy-ness that Willis bought, but it would’ve been
an infinitely better boost for his career than Stop or My Mom Will Shoot would
be.
So that’s our little look back at Tarantino’s undenied classic—over
the years, he certainly put his own brand on Hollywood, and the film still
holds up all too well (with the exception of the very big Harvey Weinstein
credit in the opening, unfortunately). It’s probably still my favorite out of
his catalogue, followed by either Kill Bill Volume 2 or Inglorious Basterds,
depending on my mood, and Django Unchained. Up next, we have a look at his
latest indulging in old-timey violent schlock and brand new violent schlock,
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood…
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