Theater ofrnCrueltyrnby David R. SlavittrnTrue RomancernProduced by Samuel Hadida,rnSteve Perry, and Bill UngerrnDirected by Tony ScottrnScreenplay by Quentin TarantinornReleased by Warner BrothersrnHard TargetrnProduced by James Jacks, Sean Daniel,rnChuck Pfarrer, and ‘Terence ChangrnDirected by John WoornScreenplay by Mr. PfarrerrnReleased by Universal PicturesrnBecause of my enthusiasm for thernverve of Quentin Tarantino’s ReservoirrnDogs, I would have wanted to catchrnTrue Romance, for which he wrote thernscreenplay, even without the interestinglyrndiverse reviews. My appetite wasrnonly further whetted by the extraordinaryrnrange of the reviewers’ comments,rnfrom the enthusiasm of Janet Maslin inrnthe New York Times to the all but frenziedrnderision of David Dcnbv in NewrnYork magazine. “The unspeakable ‘TruernRomance,” he wrote, “might have beenrnconcei’ed during a feverish night at MissrnHeidi’s. Overstimulated but glazed, thernpicture reeks of whorishness and self-disgust;rnit treats the audience as if it werernhalf dead, as if it needed to be broughtrntwitching to life with one shock after another.”rnThis is extraordinarily exercised.rnand an interesting suggestion to makernabout a nrovie of which devoutly middle-rnof-the-road critics like those of thern’Times and Time mostly approved. Myrncuriosity was aroused.rnAs often happens, most of the reviewersrnmissed what I take to be the pointrnof the film, although Maslin and othersrnat least had the sense to notice it wasrnfunny and stylish. What Denby justrncouldn’t get his mind around was thernnotion of a violent movie that is also,rnfundamentally, a comedy—with all thernconventions of comedy, including thernpeculiarly happy ending. The world,rnTarantino suggests, is a cruel and dangerousrnplace, but there are some peoplernwho are such improbable vessels of luckrnas to be able to defy all reasonable expectationsrnof disaster and float like happyrnbubbles on the surface of a turbulentrnand polluted current of general nastiness.rnThis is the cheerier flip side of therndark assumption of Reservoir Dogs—thatrnno matter how carefully one may plan arncrime (or, indeed, any human enterprise),rnfate can take over, defy all the effortsrnof reason and, in the most brusquernand farfetched way, assert its own kind ofrnlofty justice.rnWhat fate can destroy, fate can alsornprotect and reward. The two deplorablernspecimens of sub-humanity in TruernRomance are such thoroughly stupidrnlosers as to approximate the holy idiotsrnof the Russian tradition and are, howeverrnunprepossessing and debased, relativesrnof Prince Myshkin. Clarence Worleyrn(Christian Slater) works in arncomic-book store in Detroit and gets hisrnodd ideas about life and art from thernmerchandise in the bins. AlabamarnWhitman (Patricia Arquette) is our narratrix,rnwhose even dimmer notions ofrnreality are those of the romance magazinesrnthat she likes and to which thernfilm’s title refers. Essentially, we have anrnelaborate version of Mr. Magoo, in whichrntwo intellectually blind people stumblernabout, improbably spared by sheer luckrnfrom dangers of which they are not evenrnaware but which, in any sane world,rnought to destroy them.rnThe film makes this strange dissonancernclear from the outset. We beginrnin a Detroit so dismal and garish as tornnrake an Antonioni shudder. In L’Eclissernthose barren industrial cityseapes were mrna relatively forgiving black and white;rnhere the colors of the pollution are an insupportablyrngaudy cyberpunk. And it isrnover these views of car hulks and wastelandrnthat we hear Alabama explain howrnit was here that she “found her truernlove.”rnThere is, in I lollywood, the venerablernconvention of the cute-meet, the inventiornfor a vast number of frothy comedies.rnTo give one simple example: thernmadame and the psychiatrist are next torneach other in line in the complaint departmentrnof the department store whererneach has come to protest the delivery ofrnthe other’s altogether inappropriaterncouch. And in the line, they get to talking,rnrealize how much they have in common,rnand—we’re on to Act II. In TruernRomance, we get Clarence, Sad Sack ofrnthe Western world, who is celebrating hisrnbirthday by going to a kung-fu triple feature.rnThe bimbo spills popcorn on him,rnthen sits down, and they get to talking.rnAfter the movie, they go for a piece ofrnpie, talk a little more, and wind up backrnat his apartment. The twist is that she’srna set-up, a hooker who has been boughtrnand paid for by the proprietor of therncomic-book store as a birthday presentrnfor his sad-sack employee. And the twistrnon the twist is that she confesses all ofrnthis to him because she is such a simpletonrnthat she is in love with him and isrn”basically a monogamous person.” Andrnof course he loves her too!rnWhat can happen to people who liverntheir lives in total incomprehension ofrntheir surroundings? It is hopeless, orrnought to be, but Tarantino’s comedyrndemonstrates that they are a couple ofrnTyphoid Marys—they carry an awfulrntaint, and anyone with whom they haverndealings is likely to be destroyed, butrnthey are too stupid to be destroyed themselves.rnIn a quixotic wav—that is, bothrnromantic and asinine—Clarence decidesrnto pay a visit to Drexl (Gary Oldman),rnAlabama’s pimp, so that he can “get herrnthings.” Alabama is not sure that this isrnso smart a plan, but she gives Clarencernthe address, and off he goes to certainrndestruction, except of course that it turnsrnout to be Drexl’s destruction. Andrnwhat’s more, Clarence grabs the wrongrnsuitcase, so that he doesn’t have Alabama’srnpitiable possessions but insteadrnwalks away with a fortune in cocaine!rnNow he’s got some seriously bad peoplernafter him, and all Clarence has is hisrndim-witted determination and the encouragementrnand advice of a kind ofrnguardian angel, who, of course, looks andrnsounds like Elvis Presley.rnThis is all clever enough, but whatrnmakes it truly ingenious is that thernFEBRUARY 1994/49rnrnrn