Glorious Bastard
The moment he saw blood splatter on the windshield of the two gangsters in Pulp Fiction, QUARK HENARES didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sick. Now a celebrated director himself, he now knows the feeling was really one of love. During Quentin Tarantino’s recent visit to Manila, he got to meet and hang out with the director he’s admired for years. Several bottles of rum later and with no dead bodies in sight, he fills us in on a story he was born to write
“Hey, you know what? I’ve got enough of these in my luggage, and don’t think I really need any more.”
Then Quentin Tarantino hands me a gold box with a logo that reads, “Tanduay 50 Years.” In his motherfucking hotel room.
I may have dreamt of something like this when I was 14. But if I ever did, it was one of those fantasies that never happened and you just eventually forgot about, like getting to make out with Teri Hatcher or having an illicit affair with your hot high school teacher.
Tarantino paces back and forth as he talks, doing his signature hand motions to stress certain points. I feel like I know this guy, with all the interviews I’ve seen and read before. This is just like another one of those interviews—except it’s all happening in front of me, and apparently I’m the interviewer.
“O.k., o.k. Favorite character I’ve ever written. That’s a good question. I think, without a doubt, it would be The Bride. Then Jules. Then Mr. Blonde. Then Gogo.”
I’d always known that I wanted to be a storyteller, but it was only after watching his films that I realized what medium I wanted to work with.
As we talk, I keep in mind that he’s got a bit of a reputation: egomaniac, asshole, and conceited . . . but I find that impossible to reconcile with the person I’ve managed to hang out with the past couple of days. I just dropped him a line to tell him that I’m leaving his videoke VCD’s with the front desk, and suddenly he invites me up to his hotel room to shoot the shit and talk film an hour before he has to leave for the airport. But really—Tarantino’s doing all the entertaining. Telling me about how he got Michael Keaton to play the same character in both Jackie Brown and Out of Sight. Talk somehow segues to his plans for his next film, the wonderfully titled Inglorious Bastards (“It’s the next huge mountain I have to get over. It’s a big mountain, but after that I’m thinking maybe I can see the clearing”). Finally he talks about how much he likes it here and how he wants to come back as soon as possible.
“All this is business. But now I’ve done my job, and I’ve met a lot of great people and when I come back there won’t be work anymore. I’ll just drop by and say, ‘Hey guys!’ and hang out.”
I then realize something about—Tarantino that’s never really been touched on by the thousands of articles written about him: the guy’s a sweetheart. It’s endearing how much cinema means to him, and how I can honestly believe this guy’s going to watch every single Filipino DVD handed to him during the trip. It’s great when the person who’s indirectly changed your life actually ends up being a swell guy.
Sandwich guitarist Diego Castillo and I didn’t like each other much, back in the day. To him I was an obnoxious spoiled brat, and I thought of him as a scary neo-Nazi.
One summer day in ‘94 he came in to NU 107.5 wearing a t-shirt with Reservoir Dogs written on it.
I ask him, “What’s that? A band?”
“It’s a movie.”
“Yeah? Never heard of it.”
“Rent it. I think you’ll like it.”
And that was the longest conversation we’d had at that point.
I don’t know why, but, right after that, I headed out to our video store and rented a laser of Reservoir Dogs. To put it mildly, it blew me away. It was the first time in my young pubescent life that I’d ever seen people talk about horribly obscene stuff, or saw bystanders get randomly shot, or watched someone getting tortured (to the tune of Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck In The Middle With You”). Tarantino’s next film would change my life. I’d always known that I wanted to be a storyteller, but it was only after watching his films that I realized what medium I wanted to work in. With cinema, characters were more real, and collaborating with people to tell a story seemed more fun. Most importantly, I realized how rewarding it would be watching your intended audience react en masse while watching your work. From then on, I was on my path to become a cinephile—but it was also the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Diego started recommending films like A Clockwork Orange, Goodfellas, The Shining, Fresh, Boyz N Tha Hood, Taxi Driver, The Godfather, and Scarface. We talked non-stop about those movies, and we haven’t stopped talking to this day. Actually, we’re now about to start principal photography on the first movie we’ve written together. I dedicated my first movie to him and his then-girlfriend Myrene, because, as the credits state, “they started it all.”
Probably should have put Tarantino in there as well.
This is how I met Quentin Tarantino. Kind of.
Quentin Tarantino with two Filipino directors who have greatly influenced his work: Cirio H. Santiago and Eddie Romero.
One of our photographers at the store I co-own and run, Blow-Up Babies, calls me and tells me that Cinemanila head, Tikoy Aguiluz, has just booked the studio for a shoot with Tarantino, Cirio Santiago, and Eddie Romero. Before they could say “blueberry pie,” I rushed out the door and drove like a maniac while calling all my partners to get there before the session was done. By the time I got there, my partner JA Tadena was touching up the aforementioned portrait.
“What?”
“Wala na sila. Pati nga ako di ko naabutan eh.”
“What?”
“Oo. Pumasok lang sila, nagpapicture ng dalawang minuto at umalis.”
“What?”
“Bawal nga magpapicture yung iba eh. Umalis na sila.”
“MOTHERFUCKING SHIT FUCK GODDAMMIT HOLY CRAP FUCKING SHIT”
(A few days later, one of our photographers tells me that she could hear me screaming the aforementioned phrases from inside the studio while she was taking pictures of a two-year-old and her mommy. Whatever. The kid will eventually hear those words anyway, so it’s better if they start young.)
I call Tikoy, and he says they’re eating at Cibo. Running over there, he welcomes me into the restaurant and introduces me to Tarantino. Then, I kneel down and say . . . “Mr. Tarantino, I became a filmmaker because I saw Pulp Fiction. It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.”
He was very gracious about it—you know, “the pleasure is all mine” and all that.
I cut him off by saying, “As a tribute, I present to you my softcore porn film.”
The above statement is #8 in my list of the “stupid things I say when I meet people I admire series.” Of all the other films I’ve directed, my close friends still ask me why I decided to give my debut film Gamitan to Tarantino. Truth be told, I just couldn’t find copies of the others at the time.
We talked a bit, but that first meeting I think I was just staring at him, my mouth agape the whole time. Before Tarantino could leave, I decide it was the best time to have a picture taken with him, and I look around and the only person I can find was Raymond Red! So here—
As a high school film geek, I scoured schedules of many film festivals held either at the U.P., Mowelfund, or just someone’s basement to see if I could catch any films by Red, my favorite short film director. If you told me that one day he would take a picture of Quentin Tarantino and me, I would have never believed you.
Speaking of film geekdom, you know that you’re a fan of the filmmaker when you can remember seeing each and every one of his films for the first time.
Jackie Brown - I saw with some High School friends in the now-defunct Louie’s THX Theater at the NU 107.5 premiere of the film. (I had to beg my dad—who fortunately owns the station—to do that.)
Kill Bill Volume 1 - I saw in New York with my friends Mikey and Lia. It was a nice afternoon—we had just come from a delicious hurried pizza lunch, and all that blood and gore seemed like an apt dessert.
Kill Bill Volume 2 - This was with the barkada formerly known as “The Wednesday Group.” There was a girl dressed up as The Bride, complete with yellow tracksuit sitting in the front row. Alone, she left as the credits rolled, but I remember wanting to ask her if she had the yellow Onitsuka Tiger shoes as well.
Death Proof - Mann’s Chinese Theater, one of the only remaining theaters Grindhouse was showing at in L.A., with friends Annette and Haro.
“I can’t just watch Katya! I’m gonna watch this one first. I’m gonna have a fucking Quarkfest Marathon, ok?
That’s another great thing about Tarantino movies—they’re best enjoyed in the presence of other people. It’s actually endearing—not annoying—hearing people recite the Eziekel passage along with Jules Winnfield. It’s great watching people squirm and turn their heads as Mr. Blonde cuts Marvin Nash’s ear off. One of the fondest memories I have is seeing my friend Ramon turn to me and say, “I fucking love this!” as The Bride slams the door repeatedly on Buck’s head. Death Proof’s premiere in Manila, which, according to Tarantino is his favorite screening of the film, had a number of cool moments; number one of which was seeing Tikoy Aguiluz throw his fists in the air as if he’d just scored a home-run.
3AM. I’m coming home from Mag:Net High Street when I get a text from Ryan Eigenmann that reads: “Jaipur. Now.”
“Oh fuck,” I say.
