Pulp (1972)

Mike Hodges’ Italy-set dark comedy “Pulp” is the tale of a crime writer (Michael Caine) who fancies himself a gangster and a blowhard retired actor (Mickey Rooney) who was once that gangster. The plot: Novelist Mickey King gets hired to ghost write the memoirs of Rooney’s mobster, and all that pulp fiction that bubbles out of King’s pointy head becomes real with guns, bombs, and bodies. Hodges (“Flash Gordon,” a long-time guilty pleasure favorite) starts strong with a free-spirit slapstick vibe that screams anything goes, but that pitch comes with a price. Vital exposition is endlessly told, rarely shown, by Caine, and when Rooney exits, “Pulp” loses its punch. By the finale, set on a beach and truly unexplainable, nothing seems worth caring about. As that’s how King operates, maybe it’s on purpose, and I’m just not hip to the joke. Caine is marvelous, making a joke of his fantastic accent and lady-killer charisma. But I loved Rooney. I prefer him gruff, here and in “Requiem for a Heavyweight.” (He’s damn funny, too.) This tiny guy blowing fury, tearing down meat-hook-hands guys 6 foot 5? It’s great stuff. B