True, his debut has its share of his trademark, pop culture-soaked dialogue and quirky, eccentric characters, but at 90 minutes, Reservoir Dogs is lean and mean. The characters have fewer redeeming qualities, indulging in cruelty and violence for their own sake. Innocent people are hurt and killed, and the violence is less surreal and comic and more brutal; it looks like it really hurts, with nothing about it being remotely funny.
When John Travolta accidentally shoots Phil LaMarr in the back of the car and groans, "Ah man, I just shot Marvin in the face," it's hysterical because he's such a doofus and his choice of words tries to downplay the severity of what he did.
When Michael Madsen slices off a cop's ear with a straight razor while dancing to Steeler's Wheel's "Stuck in the Middle with You," it's terrifying in its coldness and cruelty. Even though we don't see the act, it is uncomfortable to imagine, and famed horror director Wes Craven reportedly walked out of a screening of the movie in disgust.
Travolta in Pulp Fiction plays a screwup; Madsen in Reservoir Dogs plays a sociopath.
The plot: a crime boss named Joe Cabot (Lawrence Tierney) and his son "Nice Guy" Eddie (Chris Penn) assemble a team of crooks for a diamond heist. The crooks, who don't know each other, all have color-coded names: Mr. White (Harvey Keitel), Mr. Blonde (Madsen), Mr. Orange (Tim Roth), Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi), Mr. Brown (Tarantino), and Mr. Blue (crime writer Eddie Bunker).
The heist, which we never see, is a bloodbath, and the surviving robbers regroup AT a warehouse, where they suspect one of their number is a rat who tipped off the police. While they try to figure out their next move, flashbacks reveal how some of the gang got pulled into the job.
That's about it for story. There are a few double crosses, surprise revelations, and plenty of violence. Compared to the surreal touches and narrative detours in something like Pulp Fiction and Inglorious Basterds, Reservoir Dogs is a fairly straightforward potboiler featuring lowlifes doing typical lowlife stuff. It doesn't transcend its chosen genre the way Tarantino's later work would, but as an example of the form, an exercise in pure style, Reservoir Dogs is superlative, and it went a long way to establishing Tarantino as a credible filmmaker.
A few things elevate this from being a run-of-the-mill, straight-to-video crime picture. First is the dialogue. Even in a relatively more serious movie, Tarantino's character love to yap and monologue. The film's opens with a hilarious conversation at a diner where the crooks discuss the meaning of Madonna songs and the appropriateness of tipping. The dialogue is not just there to explain things, but it's funny in its own right, it reveals much about the characters, and it's entertaining just to listen to on its own.
The movie is also buoyed by a tremendous cast that knows how to deliver these lines with the expected flair and gravitas. Keitel is the closest we got to a protagonist, a career criminal with a sense of honor and duty. Buscemi is at his weaselly best, and Madsen is downright chilling as the most violent member of the group who never needs to raise his voice to be menacing.
Lastly, there's Tarantino's direction. Few filmmakers can film a Mexican standoff like him, and we get more than a few of those in Reservoir Dogs, showcasing the shifting power dynamics, allegiances, and suspicions among the thieves. His framing and camerawork give the proceeds an energy and intensity. When the violence erupts, the viewer feels like they've been punched.
The most memorable visual sequence occurs after we learn who the rat is. Tarantino shows how he comes into the role with a prepared monologue that transitions from awkward, stumbling undercover cop in his apartment trying to memorize his lines to a smooth, cocky wise guy able to impress a crime boss and his ilk. It's so smooth and revelatory, the camera tracing the progression for us, condensing weeks if not months of preparation into one quick montage.
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