Due props and tribute to the holy triumvirate of hyperviolent dorm-bro thrillers: Fight Club, Boondock Saints, and Reservoir Dogs. God knows I can’t quite quantify pretense, but Reservoir Dogs is, somehow, more annoying than Boondock Saints in its fuck-you-no-fuck-you-no-fuck-fuck-fuck machismo of young white men with slightly odd foreheads clipping their way to perdition. Reservoir Dogs doesn’t have characters; it has indistinguished, interchangeable mouthpieces for curt, prototypical Tarantino dialogue; moonlighting as bodybags, of course. This whole film is cannon fodder. Fuck you, man, it’s quotable!—and so is the Bible, so is "Don’t Stop Believing," and so was George W. Bush. What Reservoir Dogs conspicuously lacks, compared to Tarantino’s other films, is vision. — Justin Charity