FilmMattic

No, You're Gonna Tell Me Something Today, Tough Guy.        It's no secret. I'm a gluttonous sucker for gangsters. "Hans, *booby,* I'm your white knight." Kobayashi scoffs down Nathan's hot dogs. I scoff down bouts between criminal hotshots. It may be a subconscious byproduct of my Sicilian roots (the birthplace of "the Five Families"). Or, it may reflect my cinematic upbringing, by which, I mean, an adolescence regularly accompanied with countless trips to the theatre (the elitist spelling, I know), where my prepubescent eyes dovetailed into the real sensible kids stuff; you know, The Untouchables, Goodfellas, True Romance, Reservoir Dogs, Carlito's Way, Casino, Pulp Fiction, Heat, Donnie Brasco, Snatch. Perhaps, this tumultuous mobster childhood (criminality is in the eye of the beholder) explains my most recent dissertation: the one where I shamelessly professed my love for all that is De Niro and Pacino . Man, I love them gangsters. Al...

Pulp Fiction       I've referenced Quentin Tarantino so many times before that I feel like he's already been awarded his own Great Alphabet of films. His extraordinary breadth of influence—or more explicitly, those who have inspired him—permeates most of my broadest cinematic affections. I guess this is why, perhaps perfectly fitting, that I'm moving from a discussion of a Sergio Leone film (whom Tarantino adores for his staggering stylization) to, in my opinion, Tarantino's best film.