Quentin Tarantino names the best sequence he’s ever made: “I could not be happier”
To make an understatement, Quentin Tarantino has made many memorable scenes in his career. The director is known for constructing mesmerising dialogue and balletic action. There’s the story of the gold watch in Pulp Fiction, the standoff in Reservoir Dogs, and the dinner scene in Django Unchained. For most of his fans, it would be hard to narrow it all down to a single favourite, but the director himself has done just that.
Of all Tarantino’s greatest scenes, he believes that there is one that stands head and shoulders above the others. Interestingly enough, it isn’t one that is full of violence, and it barely features any dialogue. Instead, it’s built around a quiet ratcheting up of tension and dread that keeps your heart in your throat for more than ten minutes.
“I actually think that the Spahn Ranch sequence with Brad is one of my favourite sequences I’ve ever done,” Tarantino said. “I could not be happier with the effect that it has on an audience where you get that, kind of, dead quiet.”
The scene takes place about an hour and a half into his 2019 film Once Upon a Time In Hollywood, a retelling of the Manson murders through the eyes of an ageing movie star (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his best friend and stuntman (Brad Pitt). In the sequence, Cliff (Pitt) drives a hitchhiker named Pussycat (Margaret Qualley) back to where she’s living with Manson and his “Family” of young runaways and misfits. From the start, there is something ominous about the place. For one thing, Cliff has been to the ranch before when it was being used as a film set. Now, it looks abandoned except for the stray dogs and dreamy young women who mill around barefoot.
Inside the dilapidated house is a group of young women played by a who’s who of Hollywood stars, including Sydney Sweeney and Dakota Fanning. When Cliff asks to see George Spahn, the owner of the ranch who he used to work with, the women tell him he can’t go inside because George is napping. The confrontation is eerie. The women seem sweet and giggly at first, but the moment Cliff tries to get past the front door, they turn menacing.
The dialogue in the scene is sparse. It isn’t full of the colourful turns of phrase and monologing that Tarantino is known for. It’s marked by the sound of barking dogs and whistling wind. The director’s usual brand of terror involves gory violence and noisy soundtracks, but in this scene, the fear is all in the creaking of floorboards, the blank stares of the women, and the unlit house.
It is a gripping sequence that keeps you on the edge of your seat waiting for a jump scare, but instead of providing that catharsis, Tarantino leaves the audience with a sense of dreaded anticipation about what is to come. It’s a turning point in the film when the joyous sense of freedom and fun of the ‘60s takes a sharp turn to the sinister, and you’re reminded that the story will conclude with one of the most grisly and senseless murders of the century. Although it is a stylistic deviation for Tarantino, it is undeniably one of his greatest achievements.
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