first thing's first. perhaps jimmy didn't have the sign, but america does. so the first thing i say is go head white boy. you don't want dead niggers in your garage, neither do i. it's a good argument for reigning in police brutality, but you'll never hear that angle from siskel and ebert. flap and claptrap on the nets about racism in pulp fiction demonstrate a couple things. number one, most of you clowns are clueless. secondly, that there are some deep seated emotional and cultural ties to blackness that americans of all stripes negotiate with extraordinary difficulty in public debate and cultural exposition. my boy tarantino evidences little of that weakness and recognizes it so well that i cannot detect the slightest measure of exploitation. the arguments pretty much center around the usage of the word 'nigger' in the film, pronounced correctly by black characters jules and marcellas in the casual 'nigga' format, pronounced correctly by white character vincent on a few occasions also in the casual 'nigga', and pronouced ever so correctly by white character jimmy in the classic uptight 'nigger' style - now gaining popularity on a college campus near you. it has been quite some time since i heard nigga in a film. not since house party and house party 2 have i recalled it being used, though mr. pink talked about niggas now that i think about it. oh yeah, so did some great actor in an unforgettable trailer inquisition - yet another qt creation. so what do we have here?
what we have is a writer who knows how to handle dialog and violence in an ungratuitous fashion which is potent, unmistakable and provokes audiences to look at themselves. plus we get to laugh. not much more you can expexct from a movie, neh?