I’ve read quite a few of the 31-Day Movie Memes out in the blogosphere, so I’ve seen some common answers among them as well as some unique things I would have never considered. What surprised me however, is that although Quentin Tarantino was pretty well represented for the eleventh entry in this series, “Best Music in a  Scene,” no one wrote of Pulp Fiction or “Son of a Preacher Man.” Tarantino is a master at inserting the perfect music as backdrop and enhancement to his movies. At times they’re ironic, such as when Mr. Blond is dancing around to “Stuck in the Middle with You,” and sometimes they are anachronistic, as with most (if not all) of the music in Inglorious Basterds. But his choices are always noticeable, compelling, and add a whole other level to the experience each time.

I didn’t know the Dusty Springfield song well before I saw this movie;  my relationship with it (and it’s one of deep love and appreciation) began with this film. It so perfectly sets up both the scene and the relationship between the characters in both tone and theme. Vincent is like the son of a preacher man as described, coming to Mia’s house as a sort of gentleman caller, with all the earnest attention of a suitor. Sure, we already know him to be a cold-blooded killer, but in Tarantino’s world, everything is relative. Vincent is the most guileless of the main cast (I’m not counting the French girlfriend), and his innocence makes him the closest thing we’ve got to a romantic hero.

It is Mia though, who is forebodingly shown only partially or in shadow throughout this introductory scene, of whom we’re not sure… is she a seductress? Did she, as reported, carelessly toy with another of Marsellus’ men and get him thrown out of a window? Will Vincent have to really watch himself with her to be sure to avoid the same fate? That she’s a technologically-assisted voyeur, following Vincent around with her security camera and observing him before making her appearance, seems a bit suspect. The juxtaposition of this and the coke-snorting with the light guitar and breathy lyrics is such a brilliant dichotomy.

The song always sounds to me like it’s about innocence gladly shucked with the help of a little bit of wickedness. I’ve always taken it that dear ol’ Dusty was a girl trying to be good, but that son of a preacher man relaxed her right out of her pants and gave her something to do with all of that pent-up energy. As sick and twisted as it may be (and again, it’s Tarantino, so everything is relative), Mia and Vincent are the closest thing we’ve got to young lovers in this film, and  it feels like they’re getting away with something behind their parents’ backs.

Tarantino has said that he wrote this scene with “Son of a Preacher Man” in mind, and that if he hadn’t gotten the rights to use the song in the film, he would have shucked the idea as it was and rewritten it. I can believe that. It’s too perfect; the scene and the setup wouldn’t work as well as it does without it. From the moment of the first notes in this scene through to the close-up of Vincent as he slowly blows her a kiss goodbye (marvelously played by Travolta) at the end of the act, we’re enchanted by Mia and Vincent, and ready to follow them anywhere.