The eagerly awaited release of Quentin Tarantino’s putrid and puerile martial arts epic “Kill Bill Vol. 1” gives me the opportunity to tell the world, “I told you so.”

Nine years ago, the rest of the critical community (and most of the known universe) hailed “Pulp Fiction” as a work of genius, but I refused to march along with the parade of praise. Despite its multiple Oscar nominations (including Best Picture) and intermittent flashes of brilliance, “P.F.” struck me as indulgent, gimmicky, artificial and empty. The tricky, confusing plot, clever writing, and profusion of vivid characters only served to obscure the fact that the project involved far more sizzle than substance.

“Kill Bill Vol. 1,” Tarantino’s first effort since 1997’s paper-thin thriller “Jackie Brown,” offers all of the deficiencies of “Pulp Fiction” but none of its virtues — revealing its creator as one of the most over-rated directors in cinema history. There is no plot (dizzying or otherwise), no characters, no diverting dialogue about the Bible, Big Macs, or anything else. If ever a major motion picture richly deserved the adjective “primitive,” this would be it.

Uma Thurman portrays an unnamed, mysterious, visibly pregnant bride who is viciously attacked on her wedding day. Who is the groom? We never know. Why the assault? The movie offers not the slightest hint. How could her multiple assailants (Michael Madsen, Lucy Liu, Vivica Fox, Daryl Hannah, the disembodied voice of David Carradine, and others) fail to finish her off, when they are supposed to be expert and highly trained assassins? Tarantino makes not the slightest attempt to explain.

Instead, the jumbled time sequence (another pathetic echo of “Pulp Fiction”) takes us four years into the future with the nameless, unidentified Thurman lying in a vegetative coma as a hospital “Jane Doe.” A vicious medical attendant (identified as a Christian by the ostentatious cross he wears) takes money from visitors who buy the right to rape the comatose victim. In the midst of one such assault, a mosquito bite magically brings Thurman back to consciousness, leading to brutal, bloody revenge against the males who took advantage of her.

She then makes a list of her would-be killers, and tracks them down, one by one. Vivica Fox receives an unwelcome and unexpected visit in the suburban home in which she’s tried to create a normal middle class life. Lucy Liu, on the other hand, plays a “Chinese-Japanese-American” whose cold blooded killing abilities have made her the boss of bosses in the Tokyo underworld. Before getting the chance to take on Liu in a personal duel, Thurman must first dispatch her 88 henchmen. This preposterous set piece with one, lone swordswoman painstakingly slaughtering more than seven dozen highly trained killers, occupies a full third of this feeble flicker’s running time. Given the ridiculous premise behind this battle royal, the skillful choreography and clever camera work (including some stylish balletic moves performed by silhouettes in front of a moody blue background) remain wretchedly wasted effort. The only original aspect of the enterprise involves the graphic nature of the violence: the severed heads, sliced off limbs, sadistic punishments, willful mutilations and amputations, and spurting arteries with a fine spray of blood will provoke most of the controversy regarding the film, distracting attention from its nihilistic essence.

The story line behind the action remains so shallow, that Tarantino resorts to shameless, pointless padding in order to extend his effort to feature length. How else could one possibly justify a long, dull, desperately dumb digression in which Uma Thurman journeys to Okinawa in order to persuade an elderly sushi chef to produce for her a world class sword?

To mask the nothingness at the heart of “Kill Bill Vol. 1,” Tarantino provides a series of irrelevant distractions, including a showy intermezzo of animation to dramatize the unspeakable ugly and violent back story for Lucy Liu’s characters. Defenders of the movie will cite the self-conscious invocation of hyper-violent Japanese anime’ comic books, just as they will note the movie’s fleeting tributes to samurai classics and spaghetti westerns. The artsy references may provide busy work for film critics and graduate students, but ordinary moviegoers will feel insulted and ripped off. The inconclusive finale makes clear that “Kill Bill Vol. 1” amounts to nothing more than a flashy, utterly unsatisfying trailer and teaser for “Kill Bill Vol. 2.” Discerning viewers may reach a new and fervent determination to “Kill Quentin” ? or to ask the multiplex for their money back.

Rated “R,” though the extent of the gory, sadistic violence, gutter language and unspeakable obscene sex references makes you wonder what more a movie must offer to receive the rating of “NC-17”?

ONE AND A HALF STARS for the sure-to-be overrated “Kill Bill Vol. 1.”

Michael Medved hosts a nationally syndicated daily radio show focusing on the intersection of politics and pop culture.  He's the author of eight non-fiction books, was co-host for 12 years on "Sneak Previews" on PBS, and is the former Chief Film Critic for the New York Post.