As some gloomy gus a few millennia back observed, “The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”
As to whether or not “this sort of thing will stand the test of time,” it already has.
Shakespeare’s plays are pastiche. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is in large part Boccaccio’s Decameron, retold.
Things will hold up if they’re done well, and bring their own life to the work. If they’re poor imitations, then they’ll go straight to the dustheap.
Tarantino’s films, in particular, stand up well because they don’t rely on the viewer catching the references in order to succeed as stories. The dialogue is satisfying and entertaining, and the stories move along quite well on their own merits. If the hyper-referential subtext of his films are hugely entertaining to filmgeeks, it’s put across in such a way that people who just want a good popcorn flick don’t feel for a second that they’re being left out of something.
Same with, say, James Joyce’s Ulysses. Someone who’s familiar with the Odyssey gets an extra level of enjoyment out of the book – but it can still be enjoyed without catching all the references, because it is peopled with fascinating characters and events.
Personally, as a consumer, this is the sort of stuff that gives me the most pleasure – because it engages your intellect and gives you the illusion of a more intimate relationship with the creator/author. It pulls you in and makes you pay more attention to little details.
When does it veer into plagiarism? When there’s a point-by-point correspondence between one work and another, and the later work is pure imitation, with no creative element to it.
Maybe I’m a bit biased (or downright defensive) about this question. I’ve been working on a book for a few years that takes this sort of thing to an extreme:
The events in the book are mostly original, (in as much as anything is ever “original,”) the characters are partly based on people that I have known and things that have happened to them. On the other hand, there are five glosses over the happenings in the books – five sort of archetypal frameworks. The idea is that anyone who’s intimate with any one of the frameworks will see that the book is obviously “based on” a certain mythology (ancient or modern) and feel that they have the “key” to its interpretation.
The thing is, it’s hard to do properly. You don’t want the references to be clumsy or obvious, or get in the way of your narrative. (Hell, I want them to be damned-near invisible-- every time I catch one stianding out at all, I go back and try to “subtle it up,” and there are never any direct references.) I really like the idea of five widely disparate deconstructions being made, all with convincing arguments for their validity-- “It’s all about this ancient Greek myth!” “Nah, you’re nuts. The subtext is strictly Jazz Age.” “Jazz Age? It’s all Victorian intrigue.” “What?! It’s about Alchemy!” “Cha, right. Chinese mysticism, more like.” – While most people shake their heads and say the other folks are reading way to much into it-- “Dude, it’s just a bunch of stuff that happened. You know, here and now. What the hell are you talking about?”
I guess what I’m saying is, I think that if the allusions are there because someone worked hard to make them fit in,and the whole thing works as a whole,then that’s all to the good. If they’re there simply because they saved the writer some time and mental energy, then that’s a bad thing.