In his book Cinema Speculation, part autobiography, part film theory, Quentin Tarantino describes his childhood through the 1970s movies that made him grow up, mostly New Hollywood. And at his reading in Berlin’s Admiralspalast on Wednesday (April 12), presented by ROLLING STONE, his disciples naturally want to hear how he raves about these anti-heroes of cinema, how he praises outlaw director colleagues, how he overestimates them Sorts cinema sizes. And they get to hear all of that, too. But they would much rather hear something else: how this 60-year-old son of a single, penniless Californian nurse became one of the best filmmakers of his generation, at least the best filmteller of his generation could become. His vita includes some classics, all of which have a paradoxical effect: they unite an unmistakable film language and yet they are all homages. For example, there is no second film like “Pulp Fiction” (1994), which seems ironic because this, his second film, is above all a homage to all the works that the young Quentin once saw in the cinema.
So, people want to know: How does one become a Quentin Tarantino? And they will also get that from him this evening, and it is precisely these reports that make up the even more interesting part of the evening.
Podcast: “Cinema Speculation” – the films of his life:
The story that Tarantino tells the audience – as well as the always highly reliable devoted presenter Steven Gätjen (“let’s give a big applause to the living legend, the master himself”) – is a very beautiful rising star story. It has been known for years that Tarantino once acquired his immense film knowledge as a “Clerks”-like video store smartass. The even nicer point is that when he was only seven he took the opportunity to go to the cinema a lot, mainly because going to the cinema was cheap. Tarantino talks about football games that he couldn’t see at the stadium because they were too expensive. Sports events were not included. But cinema: always worked. And his mother often took him to the cinema. She sort of trained him, just like his many foster fathers who went with him, because Mama Connie went on a lot of dates. Incidentally, today he has a falling out with her and he doesn’t want to give her a cent of his fortune – which is remarkable, given that he owes some of his fame to her.
So Tarantino became who he is because he was good with his money. And because he often let his mother invite him over. The decisive factor, says Tarantino that evening, was her generosity in the film selection: Although she sometimes dragged the little one into a Disney film (Curiously, Tarantino also includes the “Planet of the Apes” in it, possibly a slip of the tongue by this ultra-fast talker ), but basically he was mostly allowed to watch adult films (a similar experience is shared by Tarantino’s friend Bret Easton Ellis, more on that in the upcoming issue of ROLLING STONE, 5/23). As a boy in the midst of many adults in the cinema hall, he was given the chance to see how parents act out themselves, reacting emotionally to what is happening on a screen, forgetting that a child is sitting next to them and watching them – so he saw how Adults behave when they don’t need to behave like guardians.
It is a wonderful from-rags-to-riches story that Tarantino tells, everything better than being a “Nepo Baby” in Hollywood, enriched by the experience of mostly Black surrogate fathers – and extremely masculine acting role models – to know to have. The most important was Floyd Ray Wilson, a penniless stray to whom he owes the screenplay idea for Django Unchained and whom, if he could turn back time, he would have liked to greet from the Oscar stage, where Tarantino had Oscar for “Django Unchained” (read the “Cinema Speculation” review here). He also reads this passage, the last section of his book, that evening and skilfully alternates between his language and Wilson’s slang idiom.
As expected, Tarantino’s cinema analyzes are euphoric, but also snappy. Of course he gets support. Steven Gätjen is known for his rather affected way of conducting conversations. But Gätjen asks the right questions, particularly in relation to Tarantino’s role models and contemporary colleagues, and he also outlines ambitious “What if…?” situations. These are also the moments when Tarantino delivers. He explains why Steve McQueen sees himself more as a movie star than as an actor, and memorizes an analysis by Walter Hill. He pauses for a long moment to give Gätjen the correct answer to the question of who he would have liked to talk to in the 1970s and gives remarkable information about the courage of Sam Peckinpah and the even greater courage of Ken Russell, a director, about the he doesn’t write all that much in Cinema Speculation (he doesn’t seem to be all that into Brits in the book anyway, John Boorman excepted). Tarantino makes the funniest comment about James Cameron, who regrets not having made many films – “now he wouldn’t always take 15 years to complete it, if that hadn’t been an issue, but he spent all his time fucking deep diving”.
Because that is Quentin Tarantino’s convincing sounding assessment: he himself does not regret not having implemented all of his ideas for the screen (he remains committed to only wanting to shoot one more work and also confirms the upcoming film title that evening: “The Movie Critic”). No, he was rather grateful that he had a career at all: “I can’t fucking complain about my life, I can’t can’t can’t!”. That is the joy of a man, or even more: of a child who once dreamed, who started with nothing but the hope of being able to start something professionally with a passion that very early on drove out all other interests.