John Travolta should know better by now. After his 1994 appearance in Quentin Tarantino's legendary Pulp Fiction, the actor was given an Oscar nomination and more importantly a shot at a new beginning, but, to put it simply, he squandered it. Things started off promisingly of course, with his roles in Get Shorty, Face Off and Primary Colors showcasing the swaggering charisma that attracted us to Travolta in the first place. But similar to his pre-Pulp Fiction days the actor's legendary ego seemed to get the better of him by the beginning of the 2000s. First there was Battlefield Earth - a repugnant, unholy pet project if there ever was one - which was followed by the almost equally silly Swordfish, an insipid adaptation of the The Punisher and a pair of idiotic farces (Wild Hogs and Old Dogs) by the director of Van Wilder: Party Liaison. It's easy to understand what drew Travolta to many of these projects. Pulp Fiction put him back into superstar territory, the place where actors can command insane money per film (he made $20 million for at least nine of his films since 1997). Making this type of coin would turn anyone goofy, and perhaps mar their ability to pursue artistically resonant work. Yet, it has never been clear whether Travolta wasn't simply an odd duck to begin with: this is a man who will probably continue to self destruct professionally, and this time even QT might not be able to save him.