As such, it’s a bit like being trapped inside a garish funhouse: for the first 15 or 20 minutes it is amusing, but after 90 minutes, it is overwhelming to spot the distorted mirror of Brian De Palma over there, and the slip ‘n slide to Guy Ritchie archetypes over here; there’s the balloon-door entrance shaped in the very image of Quentin Tarantino’s own Pulp Fiction, and a plot twist finale that owes equally to Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer.
In ‘98, Guy Ritchie landed on the scene with Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, the English equivalent to a Quentin Tarantino picture that washed up on the tail end of a pop wave following the massive success of Pulp Fiction (’94).
Seriously though, a hitman named Vince wears the iconic Pulp Fiction suit and there’s a shot of him and his partner from inside a trunk and Robbie wears a Mia Wallace wig in one scene and there’s a burst of third-act torture porn and is it 2018 yet?
In addition to Robbie's revenge-minded diner waitress Annie (who goes by "Bunny" when she's stripping at a nearby club), Stein offers two talkative hit men (Dexter Fletcher and Max Irons' Vince and Alfred, respectively) whose chemistry and banter will not push Pulp Fiction's Vincent and Jules from any fan's mind.
With lines like that, it’s not as if the lurid and highly stylized and neon-noir “Terminal” isn’t announcing itself as a derivative B-movie borrowing elements from pop culture touchstones ranging from old-timey gangster films of the 1940s and 1950s to “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” to “Pulp Fiction” to “Sin City” to “Blade Runner” to certain films by Brian De Palma and Guy Ritchie.
From the non-chronological storytelling of Pulp Fiction to the overbearing wisecracks of Ritchie’s films, Terminal is a limp throwback to its predecessors, relying on a vaguely-defined cool factor to carry the audience through its entwined, largely disparate plots.