Tampa Bay Times from St. Petersburg, Florida • 75

ON SCREEN 1 Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction takes the audience on a magnificent, violent ride. I i By STEVE PERSALL Times Film Critic Jl 4 i that severely tests the adage of "honor among thieves." This is the litmus test for Tarantino first-timers; a crude, disturbing sequence that tops the infamous ear-slicing scene in Reservoir Dogs for repulsive fascination. Zip to the third story, The Bonnie Situation," in which Vincent and Jules accidentally kill a hostage, then must contend with the bloody mess they've made of their luxury car. Enter The Wolf (Harvey Keitel) a mob trouble-shooter with a no-nonsense method of handling such inconveniences. Tarantino the actor is hyperactive-ly henpecked as a friend who needs to get this carnival of carnage out of his driveway before his wife Bonnie gets home.

Pulp Fiction comes full circle in its epilogue, set in the same diner where we earlier met lovebird robbers Pumpkin and Honey Bunny (Tim Roth and Amanda Plumrner) Now we know Vincent and Jules were in that diner all the time. And now that we know what kind of day if been for them, their reactions when Pumpkin and Honey Bunny attempt a stick-up hold an odd measure of Christian redemption, filtered through a mobster's perspective. Pulp Fiction doesn't end as much as it segues into an unfilmed fourth episode, written in our minds because Tarantino's counter-clockwork script has given us the outline. There is so much to admire about Pulp Fiction along its creator's blood-streaked path. The cast is uniformly excellent while some actors (the magnetic Christopher Walken, Patricia Arquette and Eric Stoltz) etch memorable characters in scant of screen time yet another reason why the Oscars should consider an ensemble-acting prize.

Not to be underestimated is Tarantino's growing confidence as a director with an economical eye for action. He's bold enough to let cinematographer Andrzej Seku-la roam through this larcenous landscape, or lock onto an image he wants us to especially note; Travolta on a dance floor again or Willis' face in a long, one-take description of Butch's despair. Tarantino's obsession with American pop cultural history and the twisted laughs it inspires is everywhere; the superficial nostalgia of Jack Rabbit Slim's, a hint of Dr. Seuss, a musical soundtrack with surfing tunes that recall spaghetti western themes or songs that drop sly jokes. Or a glimpse of two board games (another Tarantino hobby) during Mia's grotesque rescue "Operation" and "Life." Above all else, there is the extraordinary way Tarantino invests these lowlife characters with faint but effective humanity- Hints of spiritual salvation spring up a miracle here, an escape vehicle named "Grace" there, and Jules' ritual of quoting scripture to his victims.

These people are predators on the clock and pretty good company off it Liking them, despite their murderous ways, doesn't compromise our own morals as innocent bystanders. Jules crystallizes this conundrum late in the film when he argues with Vincent about his distaste for pork, in another of Tarantino's brilliant multi-level wordplays. There's no way Jules would eat part of a pig, which wallows in its own waste. What about a dog, Vincent asks? Jules wouldn't eat that either, but he can handle a dog as a friend because: "Dogs have personality. Personality goes a long way." Thaf the beauty of Pulp Fiction and its mangy inhabitants: an immediate movie classic, with a bite that can mangle or tease, and dazzling personality in spades.

Nothing you've ever seen on screen fully prepares you for the audacious ferocity of Quentin Tarantino's pitch-black comedy Pulp Fiction. There were times during a preview screening when I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed, and other times when I knew what was coming and was still floored by the ingenious ways Tarantino devised to show them. Pulp Fiction is not only the most original felony flick since The Friends of Eddie Coyle, if the Big Bang of American cinema, reshaping an art form and how well subsequently view it until the next supernova explodes. One strong warning: That praise shouldn't be construed as a blanket endorsement for all moviegoers, only fans of Tarantino's humanistic violence or those with die fortitude to watch it People die in Pulp Fiction; some messy and others with ninja precision, with noble purpose or mdiscrimi-nate misfortune. Illicit drug savvy saves a life, while startling sex ends two others.

Even more brutal is the carefully crafted dialogue for these likable thugs; blazing rounds of obscene tough talk, trigger-finger philosophy and abundant use of the epithetic word Pulp Fiction is a pleasant movie experience only for viewers who peek through their fingers at the artistry behind the shocks. Tarantino revitalizes the anthology; a rarely successful film style, by incorporating three underworld tales in a remarkably brisk 150 minutes. The kicker is that he continually blends threads of one story into the action of another in a virtuoso manipulation of time and place. Lead characters in one plot leave key impressions in others. Comments and images gain resonance when seen or heard again.

One character dies, then is allowed to return for the closest thing to a happy ending Tarantino may ever create. Tarantino fashions his own sense of elliptical logic and dares us not to follow his tantalizing lead. A prologue introduces us to the main misfits in Pulp Fiction, a pair of profane, jovial hired killers named Vincent Vega (John Travolta, as charismatic as ever) and Jules Winnfield (Samuel Jackson, the best of Tarantino's all-star cast). The filmmaker's knack for writing hilarious, revealing small talk first displayed in Reservoir Dogs and his script for True Romance sparkles from the start Vincent and Jules act no different than a couple of plumbers at work, but we detect the danger. The first story, "Vincent Vega and Marsellus Wallace's Wife," traces the heroin-addicted hit man's latest assignment taking his boss' wife Mia (Uma Thurman) to a glorious, gaudy retro nightclub called Jack Rabbit Slim's.

We've seen this set-up before; an inopportune romance is the usual payoff, but Tarantino refuses to do the expected. Thanks to Vincenf stoned sloppi-ness, the date degenerates into a horrific life-or-dealii situation for Mia, remedied by one of the most cringingly funny film scenes ever. Before we catch our breath, Tarantino submerses us into the darkest section of his film, The Good Watch," in which boxer Butch CooUdge (Bruce Willis' best role ever) double-crosses Marsellus (Ving Rhames) by winning a fight he was supposed to throw and collecting a bundle on bookie bets. Butch goes on the lam, but literally runs into Marsellus on the street A chase ensues, leading both men into a terrifying, out-of-the-blue crisis Miramax BRUCE'S BEST: Bruce Willis plays boxer Butch Coolidge in the best role of his career. MOVIE REVIEW Pulp Fiction Grade: A Director: Quentin Tarantino Cast John Travolta, Bruce Willis, Samuel L.

Jackson, Uma Thurman, Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Eric Stoltz, Christopher Walken, Amanda Plumrner Screenplay: Quentin Tarantino Rating: violence, profanity, sexual situations Running time: 150 min. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1994 TIMES 7.