Will we ever stop paying for Pulp Fiction? More than anybody, Quentin Tarantino's been responsible for the decline of American independent cinema, not only inspiring pallid clones of his already derivative works but funding them. The most recent of these is the repellent, tedious, and inexcusable Curdled, which Tarantino produced and acolyte Reb Braddock directed and co-wrote. Originally a short, the film has been curdled into feature length, making it as excessive and disgusting as the ponds of coagulated blood that are its leitmotiv.

Gabriella (Angela Jones, who played the morbidly curious cabdriver in Pulp) is a perky and twisted Colombian immigrant with a fascination for serial killers. At the top of her list is Miami's "Blue Blood" killer (William Baldwin, no Hannibal Lecter he), a suave psycho who picks up wealthy socialites and after tiresome preliminaries beheads them. Gabriella takes a job with a maid service specializing in cleaning crime sites to get closer to her obsession, and with numbing predictability, gets closer than she expects. Despite a salsa, solo dance of death that has sick, erotic possibilities and a concluding scene that gives new meaning to the phrase "talking head," Curdled is just more recycled Pulp. At the Kendall Square.