It’s silent, no noise is made even a sound of our breathing, since we are into the thrill of a masterminded movie Reservoir Dogs; watch it once and it becomes our new favorite movie. In the days of 1993, and just before Pulp Fiction made Quentin Tarantino a household name, to us Reservoir Dogs was the kind of personal discovery that quickly spirals into fixation during those teen years where you cling to what you like as a means of defining yourself, and we spent our last two years of high school being as obnoxious about it as possible.
For a cult movie that ushered in a new era of independent film, there was a lot of Reservoir Dogs-branded merchandise you could buy, even shortly after its release. I snapped up just about all of it, beginning with multiple posters I wedged into my perpetually just-redecorated teenage bedroom—including a domestic and a French version, and two enormous, subway-sized character posters of Michael Madsen’s Mr. Blonde and Harvey Keitel’s Mr. White. From one of those dozen novelty companies cluttering the back pages of Spin, I ordered cheap, bootleg Reservoir Dogs keychains and stickers for my car, so everyone on the streets would know I’d seen a movie. I also ordered several Reservoir Dogs shirts, to alert those I passed in my high school hallway.
The list is going on with one of the nerdiest thing I’ve ever done, I and my pals each picked our favorite Reservoir Dogs cast, then apply the character’s name and their quote on cheap white shirt using felt iron and proudly wear them around in the public, often on a designated day—typically on pep rally Fridays, when the athletes wore their jerseys. Our group just happened to be a group of squabbling fictional thieves who yelled at each other in a warehouse. Their macho posturing was a source of vicarious strength for boys still play-acting at being men, no different than worshipping some NFL quarterback.
But watching Reservoir Dogs full movie many times over and over again, at least once per week, is not ebough. For many months, I had sustained an intense mania with Reservoir Dogs soundtrack, an album that, as would soon become the norm for Tarantino, is faithfully replicated the feeling of watching the film, right down to the included dialogue excerpts. Tarantino’s choice of music has always been as deliberate as any of the work he borrows from any other artist. You can find hiss flaunting record in Dead Proof in the scene of Sydney Tamiia Portier paused to give everyone a quick lecture on Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. None of Tarantino’s films lean so heavily on the adopted cool of those crate-digger’s finds than Reservoir Dogs film, a movie whose most iconic moments are indelibly intertwined with songs—to the point that Tarantino even programs it like a radio show.
In “K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies Weekend”, Wright’s hollowed-out voice is the opposite of the unctuous drive-time DJ, down to his sarcastic mispronunciation of “Big Daddy Don Bodine’s truck, The Bo-hui-muth,” and it has the same ironic detachment as Tarantino’s use of “bubblegum-pop favorite” ’70s hits throughout, something the director noted in the film’s original press kit create “a terrific counterpoint to the action.
” Nowhere is that counterpoint more effective than in Reservoir Dogs full movie’ most infamous scene, which is also its most musical one”