The upside of Quentin Tarantino taking a breather from directing new films is clear: he returns to two passions that define his career beyond the cinema world, especially writing books. While speculation swirled about whether his tenth feature might close this directing chapter or whether an eight-episode TV project would take shape, Tarantino offered readers two texts that illuminate his thinking outside the screenplay.
The first, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Reservoir Books), appeared in mid-2021. It isn’t a straightforward novelization of the film that stands as his most recent cinematic work. Instead, it functions as a companion piece that sketches the film’s events and then extends the conversation beyond the screen. The book thus serves as a companion rather than a simple retelling, inviting readers to think with the film rather than about it alone.
The second book, Film Meditations (Reservoir Books), shares the same affection for late 1960s through the 1970s American cinema but offers a more personal take. Tarantino devotes chapters to era-defining films that cemented New Hollywood, including Bullet, Dirty Harry, The Escape, Sisters, Deliverance, Taxi Driver, Hardcore, and a number of lesser-known titles that felt like secret entries into a vibrant moment in cinema. The text tracks a shift in his own sensibilities, moving beyond his established loves for martial arts cinema, European westerns, blaxploitation, and double bills, toward a broader, more reflective engagement with film history.
The book visually anchors a production detail: a note about the Tiffany Theater, a venue tucked away on the Sunset Strip rather than Hollywood Boulevard. It sits beside the era’s hippie bars and music clubs. In the foreword, Tarantino recalls nights when films such as Oliver, Airport, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and even Thunderball were not shown at Tiffany’s. He also remembers the theater hosting Woodstock-era performances and contemporary rock films, underscoring that the room itself amplified the intensity of those midnight screenings. This sense of place grounds Tarantino’s arguments about how venues shape a film’s reception and its lasting memory.
double program
Tarantino’s education as a filmmaker surfaces through a blend of direct memories and an ongoing dialogue with cinema history. The narrative begins with early experiences, tracing back to a first feature memory at age seven. He recounts titles that left a lasting impression, from the raw energy of MASH and Sergio Leone’s Dollars Trilogy to the crisp clarity of Dirty Harry and Bullitt. He also reflects on films that resonated during childhood, including Isadora and Klute, which carried a different kind of pull. The tone is informal and energetic, balancing reverence with critique, a hallmark of Tarantino’s voice in these pages. A notable moment features a sharper, humorous critique of the influence of certain directors and films, offered in Tarantino’s memory as a vivid reckoning with cinema’s formative forces. The works La residencia and A Man Called Horse appear as vivid memories, contributing to a layered, personal canon that transcends one era or style.
There is no soft pedaling here. Tarantino writes with conviction and clarity, offering essays that illuminate rather than obscure. He does not pretend to be a formal film critic, yet his reflections read as intimate histories that chronicle how cinema shaped a creator’s worldview. The analysis of Dirty Harry stands out for its precise placement of the film within the evolution of thriller cinema, noting its preoccupation with a relentless hunt long before later classics joined the conversation.
Cassavetes and Peckinpah
The New Hollywood section lands with a direct, robust voice. It honors Sam Peckinpah, John Cassavetes, Bob Rafelson, Hal Ashby, and William Friedkin, arguing that their works paved the way for the rise of filmmakers such as Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese, Spielberg, and De Palma. Tarantino invites readers to imagine how audiences in North American cities perceived the era, acknowledging that gritty storytelling could feel tougher and more immediate than a conventional Western. He highlights that fans could appreciate the ferocity of The Wild Bunch alongside the more genteel, musical moments in A Clockwork Orange, illustrating cinema’s broad spectrum of emotional and visual experiences.
What makes Film Meditations compelling is that it isn’t merely a catalog of likes and dislikes. It functions as a historical chronicle and a sociological reflection on the contexts that produced these films. Tarantino’s book emphasizes the social climates, urban settings, and cultural shifts of the time, offering readers a nuanced understanding of why certain works resonated when they did and how they continue to influence contemporary cinema. The emphasis on New Hollywood’s era of discovery helps connect personal taste with a larger cinematic arc and invites audiences to see Tarantino not just as a filmmaker but as a storyteller who places film within a broader historical conversation.