Here, as in ''Pulp Fiction'' and ''Memento,'' events are fractured and overlapped, so that even the most random catastrophe -- like, say, a hit-and-run accident that leaves a trio of innocents dead in the road -- acquires the dark aura of inevitability.
Alejandro González Iñárritu's Amores Perros was the first film in the wake of Pulp Fiction to wallow in criminal behaviour and monkey with linearity that still managed to stake its own cinematic claim (not the least of which, inaugurating the Mexican New Wave) far removed from the squatters in Tarantinoland, and if I found its fatalism terribly endearing, I realize now that I also derived a lot of pleasure from its trip-hop vibe, which served a function as the film's levity.
This technique has been used effectively in many contemporary films (Memento, Pulp Fiction) but here the cuts are so jarring, and some of the clips so brief, that the viewer ends up focussing on the pieces rather than the picture for the movie’s first 30-minutes.
By the end of the film, it feels less like a burning artistic choice (as the tricks in "Pulp Fiction" and "Memento" were) and more like an easy way for him to cover up the fact that the basic story (written by Guillermo Arriaga, who also wrote "Amores Perros") would doubtlessly come off as absurdly melodramatic if it were told straight.
Iñárritu's first feature was made under the sign of Quentin Tarantino — its giddy pop vibe and interlocking three stories were of a piece with "Pulp Fiction" — but there's something more grown-up about "21 Grams," perhaps because here the strongest stylistic influence comes courtesy of Steven Soderbergh.
His debut feature, the breathless Amores Perros, had a three-act Pulp Fiction-like structure that amplified the drama, rather than distanced it.