Maybe The Reason Tarantino Shut KGM's Butt Down Was Because He's Been Asked The Same Question For 20 Years

Watch Tarantino say no again and again and again when asked about the relationship between film and real life violence.

"It's like asking Judd Apatow 'why do you like making comedies?'", Tarantino said yesterday when Channel 4's Krishnan Guru-Murthy asked him why he likes making violent movies.

In the clip, which has been widely tweeted, Guru-Murthy then pushes Tarantino to say why he is so sure there is no link between screen and real-life violence. 

Tarantino refuses to answer, saying: "I'm not going to bite, I'm not going to take your bait. I refuse your question." KGM pushes him further, and Tarantino responds by pointing out that he's been asked that question for twenty years, and he is tired of it.

You can see why he might be getting a bit fed up with rehashing the same questions over and over again.

When Jay Leno asked him about movie violence and gun violence, Tarantino argued it was "disrespectful" to the victims to equate the two:

CNN named Django Unchained as one of eleven violent movies released in the run-up to Christmas – "the day we celebrate Christ's birth" – and pushed Tarantino to quote Shakespeare:

When he was asked by NPR's Terry Gross whether Sandy Hook had caused Tarantino to "lose his taste" for cinematic violence, the director lost his patience again:

GROSS: You sound annoyed that I'm...

TARANTINO: Yeah, I am.

GROSS: I know you've been asked this a lot.

TARANTINO: Yeah, I'm really annoyed. I think it's disrespectful. I think it's disrespectful to their memory, actually.

GROSS: With whose memory?

TARANTINO: The memory of the people who died to talk about movies. I think it's totally disrespectful to their memory. Obviously, the issue

is gun control and mental health.

And at a press junket last year, the BBC reports:

"I just think you know there's violence in the world, tragedies happen, blame the playmakers," he said, adding: "It's a western. Give me a break."

In 2003, on Kill Bill:

The director defended the film against accusations of graphic violence, saying it was so outlandish and bloody that it was obviously set in "fantasy land".

"This is definitely not taking place on planet Earth," he said.

And way back in 1992:

"I love violence in movies," he told the 1992 Montreal World Film Festival, "and if you don't, it's like you don't like tap-dancing, or slapstick, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be shown."

…"I can't worry about [real life violence]," said Tarantino - honestly, if callously. "As an artist, violence is part of my talent. If I start thinking about society, or what one person is doing to someone else, then I have on handcuffs."

Of course, being asked the same question a lot isn't really a reason to be sympathetic with Tarantino – he certainly isn't as upset with being asked softball questions repeatedly – but when it's one as inane as "does cinematic violence cause real violence", I can see why he gets annoyed.

Incidentally, in the short- and medium-run, violent movies reduce violent crime. The reason, according to a 2009 paper in the Quarterly Journal of Economics, is that individuals with a prior propensity to violence tend to disproportionately enjoy violent movies. As a result, when a violent movie is released, they go and see it, instead of going out and doing violent things. That has the effect of reducing violent crime by 1000 assaults US-wide over the opening weekend.

So actually, Tarantino might have saved someone's life by making Django Unchained.

Quentin Tarantino. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Would the BBC's Nazi drama SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago?

This alternate history is freighted with meaning now we're facing the wurst-case scenario. 

Would SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago? Though the clever-after-the-fact Nostradamus types out there might disagree, I can’t believe that it would. When it comes to the Second World War, after all, the present has helpfully stepped in where memory is just beginning to leave off. The EU, in the process of fragmenting, is now more than ever powerless to act in the matter of rogue states, even among its own membership. In case you hadn’t noticed, Hungary, for instance, is already operating as a kind of proto-fascist state, led by Viktor Orbán, a man whom Jean-Claude Juncker, the president of the European Commission, jokingly likes to call “the dictator” – and where it goes, doubtless others will soon follow.

The series (Sundays, 9pm), adapted from Len Deighton’s novel, is set in 1941 in a Britain under Nazi occupation; Winston Churchill has been executed and the resistance is struggling to hold on to its last strongholds in the countryside. Sam Riley plays Douglas Archer, a detective at Scotland Yard, now under the control of the SS, and a character who appears in almost every scene. Riley has, for an actor, a somewhat unexpressive face, beautiful but unreadable. Here, however, his downturned mouth and impassive cheekbones are perfect: Archer, after all, operates (by which I mean, barely operates) in a world in which no one wants to give their true feelings away, whether to their landlady, their lover, or their boss, newly arrived from Himmler’s office and as Protestant as all hell (he hasn’t used the word “degenerate” yet, but he will, he will).

Archer is, of course, an ambiguous figure, neither (at present) a member of the resistance nor (we gather) a fully committed collaborator. He is – or so he tells himself – merely doing his job, biding his time until those braver or more foolhardy do something to restore the old order. Widowed, he has a small boy to bring up. Yet how long he can inhabit this dubious middle ground remains to be seen. Oskar Huth (Lars Eidinger), the new boss, is keen to finish off the resistance; the resistance, in turn, is determined to persuade Archer to join its cause.

It’s hard to find fault with the series; for the next month, I am going to look forward to Sunday nights mightily. I would, I suppose, have hoped for a slightly more charismatic actress than Kate Bosworth to play Barbara Barga, the American journalist who may or may not be involved with the British resistance. But everything else seems pretty perfect to me. London looks suitably dirty and its inhabitants’ meals suitably exiguous. Happiness is an extra egg for tea, smoking is practically a profession, and
the likes of Archer wear thick, white vests.

Swastikas adorn everything from the Palace of Westminster to Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace is half ruined, a memorial to what the Germans regard as Churchill’s folly, and the CGI is good enough for the sight of all these things to induce your heart to ache briefly. Nazi brutality is depicted here as almost quotidian – and doubtless it once was to some. Huth’s determination to have four new telephone lines installed in his office within the hour is at one end of this horrible ordinariness. At the other is the box in which Archer’s mutinous secretary Sylvia (Maeve Dermody) furiously stubs out her fag, full to the brim with yellow stars.

When I first heard about The Kettering Incident (Tuesdays, 12.20am; repeated Wednesdays, 10pm) I thought someone must have found out about that thing that happened one time I was driving north on the M1 with a more-than-usually terrible hangover. Turns out it’s a new Australian drama, which comes to us on Sky Atlantic. Anna (Elizabeth Debicki), a doctor working in London, pitches up back in Tasmania many years after her teenage friend Gillian disappeared into its Kettering forest, having seen a load of mysterious bright lights. Was Gillian abducted by aliens or was she, as some local people believe, murdered by Anna? To be honest, she could be working as a roadie for Kylie, for all I care. This ponderous, derivative show is what happens when a writer sacrifices character on the altar of plot. The more the plot thickens, the more jaw-achingly tedious it becomes.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit