8 is a magical number. No, it’s not my favourite number by any chance of a jitter but it sure is furiously sane for Quentin Tarantino and his rustic yet brilliant and audacious script writing. 8 is just not a number from his classroom, it ushers his school of filmmaking in a way nobody else can.

As people, as individuals, we have stopped talking to each other. We have stopped having conversations in life, we don’t introspect our inner devils and we remain submerged in a world of sin without admitting that we are grossly guilty. Tarantino’s films are about conversations of life. His characters are evil and disdainful, yet so human, besieged of war, hatred, passion and what they call, ‘a diabolical bitch’. Son of a Gun, it is so ‘Tarantino’ when I say it this way.

Be it the smell of vengeance, the unceremonious hatred for the Nazis, the evil ideologies of slavery, the whims and ways of a mercurial gangster in a gang of equally super crazy, mad inhabitants or the way each of his characters infuse excruciating expressions that define the myriad ethos that our lives remain stitched in. – Tarantino is undoubtedly the Master of ‘Neo Noir’ and his ever dispensable characters.

Tarantino and few of his actors bond like ‘holy mother fuckers’ who last for a lifetime. Samuel Jackson is born to act with Tarantino and then die one day, Michael Madsen is an icon in his style of filmmaking, Christoph Waltz gave us his most inspiring and menacing performances with Tarantino and Leonardo DiCaprio was a fine revelation in Tarantino’s supremely crafted piece of work since ‘Pulp Fiction’. Not to forgot, Uma Thurman in her marauding avatar of a revenge machine in the ‘Kill Bill’ saga.

Invariably, the million dollar question is not ‘What’s next’. It’s the ‘How’ that keeps me hooked and stoned to Quentin Tarantino.