Like the deadly virus in the movie Outbreak that hatches in a tiny village then almost eats the world, Quentin Tarantino has gone from minor curiosity to malevolent force of nature in a very short time. Pulp Fiction, the young director’s 1994 breakthrough film, has become a cinematic benchmark. Its gangster chic, shameless pilfering of scenes and styles from other movies, and self-conscious references to pop culture are now the first language that many upcoming directors learn to speak.

At first glance, the low-budget art-house comedy Swingers seems to be the newest Pulp Fiction. A surprise hit that advertises itself as a celebration of “lounge,” the Rat Pack-worshipping, martinis-and-swing-music milieu that has recently become popular among rock and rollers tired of grunge, Swingers’ appropriation of the latest pop-culture fad appears to be nothing more than an exercise in cheap Tarantino-style irony. Yet the film, an occasionally sweet and witty story of lost and found love, almost succeeds by rejecting the Tarantino morality, if not the Tarantino style.