In a new series ahead of this year’s Cannes film festival, our writers choose their favourite Palme d’Or winner. Today: Peter Bradshaw on Quentin Tarantino’s 1994 classic
I — say — God — DAMN!
The intravenous jab of callous madness, black comedy and strange unwholesome euphoria in Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction hits me as hard now as when I first saw it 20 years ago. I sometimes think this is what it must have been like for record-buyers when Elvis Presley’s Heartbreak Hotel was released. It all first broke out at the Grand Théâtre Lumière at the Cannes film festival in 1994: Pulp Fiction was in competition, up against world cinema’s heavy-hitters: Nikita Mikhalkov’s Burnt By the Sun, Nanni Moretti’s Caro Diario, Edward Yang’s Confucian Confusion, and perhaps most prominently Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colours Red — widely tipped for the Palme D’Or. The jury president that year was Clint Eastwood; his panel-members included Catherine Deneuve and Kazuo Ishiguro. I sometimes wonder if there wasn’t an omen in the fact that Lalo Schifrin was on the jury too: the composer of the Mission Impossible theme tune.
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