The rise and fall of Quentin Tarantino

There is a great difference between need and desire, and I think that several people here in DeviantArt who struggle between professional compromises and their personal arts know this only quite well. Need comes when you have to do something that is essential for you on a basic level, when you do something to sustain yourself. Desire comes from what you want, and not necessarily from what you need.

It may seem that when such artists do something without struggling with necessities is when they may deliver their greatest works - it feels logical to think that way. But many times, it is when artists do something purely from need that they’ll do their best; when they are in a position in which they can’t just mess around and do as they want. As a result, they might deliver the greatest works of their careers. However, when the need is not there anymore, and when they are in a very privileged position in their careers, this is when some artists may overlook nuances or even good judgement.

When Steven Spielberg was a starving artist making television movies, he knew he was not in the position to mess around. But then, he had his lucky break with Jaws, which was followed up by films like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Jurassic Park, Schindler's List and the Indiana Jones trilogy. Spielberg went into a position in which he would need for nothing more. And now, the consensus is quite on the money: his best is past him, when he still had to prove himself. This is obviously not to say that Spielberg now only makes crap (through most of his worst films are after 2000). He can deliver some very good films here and there, like Lincoln, Catch Me if You Can or The Adventures of Tintin. But in the end, Spielberg is just not that name guaranteed to keep pushing transcendental successes anymore.

But, as you can judge by the title, I’m not here to talk about Spielberg. I'm here to discuss one of the most respected names in Hollywood today: Quentin Tarantino. And as a fan of his talent, I feel sad for seeing the way he's been taking, indulging himself more and more.

Quentin Tarantino is beloved by critics and audiences for every thing he does. He is often regarded as one of the leading filmmakers of our time, to be remembered for generations to come. And unlike someone like Stanley Kubrick, Tarantino is an icon from our own generation; someone who grew before our eyes, a legacy of this age. In these last decades, he gathered a fandom that loyally stands by his side.

Sure that Tarantino's haters are actually quite common to spot, but I'm inclined to believe these haters don't despise Tarantino as much as they despise this myth that has been built around him; this idea he's an absolute incontestable master who can do no wrong, ever. And this myth definitely exists, becoming evident if you dare to say you hated Inglourious Basterds, like I sort of did. People would ask you “why”, for it would never seem clear or acceptable to them that Inglourious could be disliked for any reason. For them, it would be illogical; it just makes no sense, you're obviously either stupid or a troll!

But the truth is that Tarantino has been gradually losing his touch since some time now. And while Kubrick - someone Tarantino is occasionally compared to - maintained a very high standard for all of his career, Tarantino let his unchecked ego grow into insane proportions in a considerably short amount of time... and this took a toll of his works. But since few are criticising this (because he's "perfect"), he now believes he can do anything. Because he's Quentin Tarantino.

Tarantino didn't have a conventional start in filmmaking. He was a video store clerk, and since a very young age he had a passion for cinema of all times and places. He didn't properly go to cinema school, instead making his own shorts in the 80's. He eventually became a screenwriter for television, working in shows like The Golden Girls (where he played an Elvis impersonator). And that was life for him - nothing necessarily bad, but it would be quite a stretch to declare that writer would become such a modern icon.

At the early 90's, actor Harvey Keitel was interested in a screenplay Tarantino had made. He wanted to produce it into a film, and offered Tarantino to direct it. It was his chance to prove himself, if he was to aspire for something better: he just had to do the best he could. A cast was put together with Tim Roth, Chris Penn, Steve Buscemi, Lawrence Tierney, Michael Madsen and producer Harvey Keitel, plus Tarantino himself, crime fiction author Edward Bunker, and Steven Wright as a radio jokey. This is what I call an ensemble cast in retrospect: some of these actors were not celebrities at the time, but they eventually became very recognisable names in the film industry.
Reservoir Dogs was released in 1992, on a budget of around a million dollars. And this shows in the film: the technical details were indeed lacking. The cinematography, the sound captioning… even the suits seemed like they were bought from a 99 Cents Only store. Remember the ear-cutting scene? The reason Tarantino didn't show it explicitly wasn't really for artistic effect, but because the blood pump didn't work properly... plus, the whole thing looked like shit.

But it was a passion project from all those involved: with a budget like that, it was obvious people weren't in it for the money. It was packed with catchy dialogues, striking moments and an absolutely unforgettable soundtrack. It relied on a creative out-of-order progression of events, without ever being discombobulated. It genuinely felt like the work of someone who deeply loves cinema, without feeling contrived or generic. Every moment was rewarding, and nearly every line in it was quotable. Reservoir Dogs was a lean and mean crime-comedy: critics were jolted, audiences were amazed (well, the few who saw it at the time), and it set the tone for crime films for the rest of the decade.

Now, as it has been tirelessly pointed out by now, Reservoir Dogs had its share of similarities with the 1987 Honk Kong crime film City On Fire. People usually talk about the Mexican stand-off, but it's not just that: there are many analogous moments between the two films. Jewellery robbery, an undercover cop, friendships and betrayals... even a man going akimbo at the windshield of a police vehicle. At one moment, guys with sunglasses walk towards the camera! Tarantino denied every accusation tossed his way, even declaring that the real template for Reservoir was Kubrick's The Killing. But even if the Asian film was indeed an inspiration, Tarantino's debut still managed to be something of its own.

Afterwards, Tarantino collaborated in some other films. He's credited for the story of Natural Born Killers by Oliver Stone, who took a screenplay by Tarantino and heavily modified it, giving the story a meaning it didn't originally have. Tarantino also wrote the script for True Romance by Tony Scott, who on the other hand, tried to replicate the vibe of Reservoir Dogs as closely as possible. Nevertheless, Tarantino still needed to prove he was the real deal, and not a trend fated to obscurity. Once again, he had to make the best movie possible.

Pulp Fiction came from this need. It would be the place where the concepts from Reservoir would be expanded and put to the test. It was released by Miramax in 1994 with a budget of around 8 million dollars, and it was meant to be Tarantino’s true introduction to the mainstream: Reservoir had been very well received, but it was under the radar, appreciated by selected audiences, and it didn't make a spectacular amount at the box office.

Pulp Fiction is precisely what its title says it is: a pulp fiction. A story without gravitas or substantial meaning, but that surely was very entertaining to watch. It's not perfect, however: at 154 minutes, the movie is fairly paced, but it can drag a bit at a couple of moments, and this marked the birth of Tarantino's indulgence. But at very least, the movie is competent during its run.

it was the first of the many collaborations between Tarantino and actor Samuel L. Jackson, while it also revived the then moribund career of John Travolta (only for it to plunge again with Battlefield Earth). It was a fun series of urban stories clashing with each other, having this nearly Lynchian air of absurdity in which the craziest things could happen naturally, such as wandering into a sadomasochist's den, facing a hitman while toasting Pop-Tarts, or being shot at several times without getting hit by a single bullet.

In my opinion, Pulp Fiction is not Tarantino's greatest film... but it unquestionably represents the moment when he truly arrived, winning the Palme D’or and making 213 million dollars at the box office.

It is true that both Reservoir and Fiction were not without a backlash, as they received their share of criticism for being too simple-minded for the tastes of some. Any reasonable artist would just ignore such critics and continue doing what was being done right. But apparently, Tarantino must have listened to them, maybe having this idea that when everybody says the same thing, the contrarians must be the ones making sense. My theory here is that he didn't want to be an one-trick-pony, so to speak; he didn't want to keep releasing Reservoir Dogs. He must have thought something like "it's time to change". And change he did: he has never made a movie quite as good as his first two again.

In 1997, Tarantino released his first - and last - adaptation with Jackie Brown, based on Elmore Leonard's novel Rum Punch. It was meant to be a loving tribute to 70's blaxploitation films. But it was both critically and commercially disappointing in relation to Pulp Fiction, making merely 75 million dollars. While some will be ready to say Jackie is actually Tarantino's finest film (such as me when I was younger), it wasn't a Tarantino film in the way we know his movies: it was distinctly less violent than how he usually operates, and the dialogues were much more for the sake of explaining the plot than for our amusement. It was once again 154-minutes-long, but this time, we felt those minutes. After that, Tarantino abstained himself from filmmaking for six years.

In 2003, Tarantino released Kill Bill, Vol. 1. After a long absence, Tarantino wanted to be relevant again, to introduce himself to a new century. And once again, this was a need: he had to prove he was still a heavy-weight, so there was no room for fooling around.

Kill Bill, Vol. 1 was a fun, gory, demented film that left audiences thrilled. It represented a departure from everything else he had made, feeling much more free-willing and flamboyant. It was perfectly shot and choreographed; a good old fashioned revenge flick like those Hollywood stopped making. And in a time when action films are dominated by firearms, it was refreshing to see Uma Thurman donning a katana for some seriously violent action sequences, as she rips and tears her way through hapless Yakuza punks. Packing some of the finest fighting scenes of the decade, Vol. 1 showed that Tarantino was back in town.

Kill Bill, Vol. 2 came the following year, surrounded with much hype and fanfare. Apparently, both movies were actually meant to be one, but it turned out too long, and Tarantino really didn't want to cut too much things off, instead choosing to make two movies.

Now, Vol. 2 had some great moments, such as the training sequences with Pai Mei and the confront in the trailer. But things started derailing in its third act: in the last 30 or 40 minutes, we are greeted with tedious dialogues and anti-climactic outcomes. Before the much-anticipated confrontation between The Bride and Bill (which the films were supposedly building up for), there's this scene when she meets a Mexican pimp who knows of Bill's whereabouts, which could have been cut out all together. It felt to me like nothing more than a justification for having even more of Michael Parks into the films, mentioning a classic noir movie, and showing a mutilated prostitute.

And dear God... the final "confrontation" is nothing but a massive dialogue between the two: Bill was literally making sandwiches during it. I'm sorry, but was that supposed to be engrossing? I wasn't expecting them to clash katanas in a narrow bridge atop an active volcano, but that just wasn't gripping. I understand there were some interesting ideas in what they were saying, such as the comparison between the Bride and Superman, or the fact there can be consequences for dating a "murdering bastard" like Bill. But those ideas would have been best presented through the films in small exchanges, instead of being packed in a single scene.

Things went terribly awry with the seriously overrated not-war film Inglourious Basterds. It was branded as ambitious and ground-breaking, but in reality, it was a dull, horribly-paced movie with faint moments of brilliance. It's a mix of over-the-top characters and "serious" situations that don't quite jelly; a promise of being irreverent that forgets to be engrossing, all of this in a movie that is unreasonably 157-minutes-long. For each dialogue that is interesting and fun, there's another one that is tedious. And more egregiously, there are barely scenes with the titular Inglourious Besterds raising hell on the Nazis, which was supposed to be the film's main thing. Don't believe the trailers: they're misleading as hell.

The film does have its merits, obviously. Christopher Waltz was absolutely amazing as the SS colonel Hans Landa. Waltz's character was quirky but also fearful; relentless and gentle; cold and precise while also seeming to enjoy himself for exercising his intellect. Landa was a very complex figure, and Waltz hit the nail on the head in bringing him to life. He made every scene he was in interesting... but it's a petty he wasn't in every scene. Brad Pitt was also great in this film: not since 12 Monkeys and Fight Club I had so much appreciation for him. And yet, his character was another one Tarantino kept considerably concealed, almost as if saying "this film has many other great characters too!" There was also the spectacular climax that disregards history in such a shameless fashion that it nearly saves the film. But you're better off by just watching it on YouTube.

The cinematography by Robert Richardson was beautiful, and so were the sets and costumes. But as for the rest, the film almost came across as a raunchy The English Patient: beautiful looking, with striking moments, but overall uninteresting. And what was Mike Myers even doing in that film? When I saw his name in the opening credits, I sincerely had this idea he was there to add some of his thing to the mix, to be this Austin Powers-like character helping the Basterds. But actually, he is in the most pointless scene in the entire film. Yeah, baby! Talk more about your books! Give it to me, baby! That whole scene looked like a boring dialogue from Mass Effect. In fact, now that I think of it, it seems the whole point of the scene was that Tarantino was making Myers a favour by putting him in his movie.

At first, I embraced the movie due to its hype, when I was in my early 20's: I was leaded to believe I had loved it because everybody else did. But then I slowly started realising that, for all its good moments, I actually didn't like it as a whole. And then the moment came when I realised... I was conned. I was conned by every critic who enthusiastically pushed me this film. Maybe, I went into this movie with the wrong mindset, as the promos painted it as The Dirty Dozen, but it was more of a dialogue-propelled film. But you know what? I would have gladly taken all those dialogues, all of them... if they weren't so boring.

When we hear Brad Pitt at the end telling B.J. Novak "I think this might be my masterpiece", we know that is Tarantino speaking through the character, right before his name appears at the screen in the credits. A better exemplification of critically lauded indulgence can hardily be imagined. No other director could pull that out and get away with it. Because the rules of critical judgement are different when it comes to Tarantino: he gets a pass. This is "the myth" around him I was talking about earlier: this bias, this "Tarantino is always great" notion everyone was sold to. It's curious because one of the complains I hear constantly about the Star Wars Prequels is that they were filled with boring moments and pointless dialogues.... but don't dare saying that of Inglourious Basterds, even if it's true. And at very least, no Star Wars movie was as long as Basterds was. Talk about double standards.

It was the last collaboration between Tarantino and his long time editor Sally Menke, who had been working with the director since his debut feature film. She tragically died in 2010 while hiking due to what was presumed to be a heat-related issue. Legend has it that Tarantino and Menke had something of a combative relation, a love-and-hate affair, as the two would constantly clash over how long some scenes should be.

Now with editor Fred Raskin - who, I presume, would be less combative - Tarantino made Django Unchained, which is his longest, most expensive, and yet most profitable movie this far in his career, clocking at nearly three hours. It was meant to be a tribute to the long-forgotten Django franchise, while being promoted as the film that would finally give Afro-Americans their black western hero (if you don't count Blazing Saddles, that is). But it's strange that for a film supposedly with such intent, at its core, it's the old story of a white man - and a German at that - coming to rescue black people... and for a reason one would be justified to call insipid ("once upon a time, there were a mountain and a dragon"). During most of the film, Django doesn't even feel like the main character, but rather like an unusually fast-learning apprentice for our actual main character. Django only stands by himself in the final act.

His next western will be The Hateful Eight, which is being announced as his 8th film, meaning that either he considers the Kill Bill movies to be one, or he's dead serious in disowning Death Proof. Am I hopeful? From what I've seen from Tarantino lately, I'm honestly expecting it to be more of the same. Even so because so far, the divulged plot for this film is that a group gets stuck in a log cabin during a snowstorm. That's it. They're not in an adventure together; they're not in for some bank job. Just a clear context for Tarantino to make more dialogues. And I'll gladly take them, if they aren't like what I saw in Vol. 2, Inglourious and Unchained. But we'll see what's what yet: maybe I'll have my doubts shoved up my rear end, and this film will be everything I wish it to be, maybe more.

The point is... I'm not excited about Tarantino anymore. He could announce right now that he's making an anime like those gory OVA's of the 80's, with the voices of Jackie Chan as the reluctant hero secluded into the Taklamakan Desert, Mark Hamill as the American professor with a pith helmet who convinces said reluctant hero to be the hero, and Kristen Schaal as the villain with a maniacal laugh and a 50's hairstyle, in a red Gucci dress and smoking from a cigarette holder, living in her evil corporation's headquarters at a hollowed volcano in Polynesia. And I would still be sceptical at best; maybe they would just talk it out, with Mark making sandwiches for all.

Through the years, Tarantino's name actually generated an adjective: Tarantinesque. It is employed to anything that combines pop culture references, an offbeat sense of humour, punchy dialogues, a slightly kitsch aura and graphic violence into a seamless whole. And sadly, by that definition, Tarantino's latest movies are not Tarantinesque. It almost feels like they are the works of a filmmaker trying to be Tarantinesque, but failing at so. If these movies had been written and directed by anyone else while still being the same, they would be much less appreciated, and people would be less forgiving about their issues. I bet people would even mention that whoever the director was, he would be trying to mimic Tarantino... but poorly.

Jesus, I have even seen people putting down Reservoir and Fiction in favour of his later "masterpieces"; those two movies just built the bases for the fully accomplish artist that Tarantino would later become. Few mention he is losing his touch, his thing, his very mannerisms that made him Tarantino (and Tarantinesque) in the first place. And whoever does so gets shushed abruptly. Ironically, now we are the contrarians.

Sometimes I think Tarantino believes the year is still 1972, and that he's one of those New Hollywood guys. What happens now is that he doesn't have the pressure of having to prove himself anymore: I'm sure if he was at a complicated spot of his career, he would stop fooling around, and deliver a film like Fiction again. Not gonna happen, I know.