After the one-two punch of Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994), it seemed that Quentin Tarantino could do no wrong. He had become as big of a movie star as the actors that appeared in his films and a darling of the independent film movement. Robert Rodriguez also made his directorial debut in 1992 with El Mariachi, a film that wowed critics and audiences worldwide. The two had become immediate friends at the Toronto Film Festival during the tours of their debut films. While Tarantino was writing Pulp Fiction and Rodriguez was writing Desperado (1995), Tarantino told Rodriguez about a script he had written a few years earlier based on a treatment by special effects artist Robert Kurtzman. Kurtzman wrote the treatment in hopes of creating a film to showcase the work of the make-up effects company he created with Greg Nicotero and Howard Berger: KNB Effects Group. Rodriguez was blown away by what he read and immediately expressed interest in making it. The script was filled with the style and dialogue that Tarantino was becoming known for. It also had an unexpected twist halfway through—a Mexican strip bar populated by vampires.

I was lucky enough to go into my first viewing of From Dusk Till Dawn having no idea what it was about. I had not seen the trailer or even heard its tagline: “Vampires. No Interviews.” The movie starts out very much in the vein of other Tarantino scripted films of the time. I had seen Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction and the lead characters of Seth and Richie Gecko, played by George Clooney and Tarantino himself, fit right into the world that had become so enticing and familiar from those films. The pre-credit scene that begins with a Texas Ranger, played by veteran actor Michael Parks, is vintage Tarantino. In its setup, it is similar to the opening of Natural Born Killers or Pulp Fiction, taking place in a common business and beginning with its focus on characters that are ultimately peripheral to the main plot. But even with all the hallmarks of early Tarantino, From Dusk Till Dawn is without a doubt a Robert Rodriguez movie. This is most apparent in the visual style of the film. The dusty settings, camera work, staging, and editing are clearly the work of the stylish action director. The film is ultimately the product of a brilliant collaboration between two different but highly compatible voices.

One of the most brilliant aspects of the film is its ability to be several different kinds of movies that seamlessly merge together. It begins as a cross-country crime spree movie with touches of Bonnie and Clyde (1967), Badlands (1973), and Natural Born Killers (1994). The film takes so much of its time setting up the characters that when they finally encounter the unbelievable truth, their actions are totally believable for the situation. We learn early on that Seth is measured and rational while still being deadly. Richie, on the other hand, is a psychopath and a complete loose cannon. The sibling connection is the only thing that keeps them from killing each other. In some ways, Seth is more of a father figure to Richie than anything, often scolding him for his actions and reminding him to put in his “bit” to prevent him from grinding his teeth. Seth’s generally calm demeanor makes him appear less dangerous than his unstable brother, but we are often reminded that his temper can turn on a dime when pushed over the line—a line that seems to be constantly in motion. There is no telling when he will turn on someone.

This deadly duo soon encounters Jacob Fuller (Harvey Keitel) and his two children: daughter Kate (Juliette Lewis) and adopted son Scott (Ernest Liu). Jacob has spent his lifetime as a pastor but lost his faith after the death of his wife. His children, raised on his preaching, still hold to the beliefs they grew up with and struggle to understand how he could abandon what he had been so devoted to. Movies often turn people of faith into caricatures, but not From Dusk Till Dawn. There is a great sense of empathy for Jacob’s struggle, largely due to Keitel’s portrayal. It is a crisis of belief handled with sensitivity, subtlety, and realism. As a person raised in a Christian home who spent more than ten years working in churches as a career, I personally connect with Jacob on a deep level. It moves me greatly that a person with some similar struggles to mine is portrayed so respectfully and authentically.

Seth and Richie hold the Fuller family hostage to help them cross the border into Mexico. There, they will rendezvous with a gangster who will give them passage to the mythical city of El Rey. Seth promises that he will let them all go safely if they get them across the border without incident and stay the night with them at the rendezvous point. Seeing no other choice, Jacob agrees. The border crossing scene is a testament to Tarantino’s script and Rodriguez’s ability to create tension while, at the same time, subtly shifting our allegiance to the Gecko brothers. They do this through forcing the Fullers to cooperate with the Geckos in deceiving the border agents as they search Jacob’s RV. The sequence functions in a similar way to the clean-up scene in Psycho (1960) where we go through a suspenseful and disturbing ordeal with a character and come out completely on their side. As they cross the border, we find ourselves now rooting not only for the Fullers, but the Gecko brothers.

Starting with the arrival at The Titty Twister, From Dusk Till Dawn becomes a very different kind of film. Right away, Rodriguez’s style, complete with pyrotechnics and Latin-infused hard rock musical choices, becomes completely apparent. The sequence is pure spectacle—practically an assault on the senses. The editing becomes quicker, the camera angles more extreme, and Cheech Marin, as a kind of carnival barker, delivers one of the most famous and raunchy monologues of the 90’s. We also get a glimpse of Seth’s impulsive side. When Marin’s character, Chet Pussy, grabs his arm, Gecko throws him to the ground and beats him, with Richie giving him a (more expected considering what we know of him) kick while he is down. 

Once inside it is as though we have entered a new movie with a much-expanded cast, including Rodriguez regulars Danny Trejo as the bartender and Salma Hayek as Santanico Pandemonium, the bar’s beautiful and mysterious star attraction. Clientele include Fred Williamson as Frost and make-up legend Tom Savini as Sex Machine. Savini’s protégé Greg Nicotero also appears briefly as a biker who gets his beer stolen by Sex Machine with a small whip that he carries. 

Even after entering the bar, it takes quite some time before the horror of the film begins. We are allowed to settle into the atmosphere and laugh at its excesses. During Santanico’s dance, the wound that Richie received from being shot in the hand in the opening scene is reopened during a fight. As the blood begins to flow, the python wielding dancer turns into a snake-like creature herself. This is only the beginning as every Titty Twister worker, including the dancers, bouncers, bartender, and band turn into rat and bat-like vampires, starting a bloodbath unparalleled in any vampire film seen up to that time and maybe even since. This twist caught me completely by surprise on my first viewing. I will never forget the shocked glee I felt when two of my favorite worlds—Tarantino’s fresh take on gangsters and all-out horror movie carnage—collided. There are Evil Dead 2 levels of splatstick in this sequence, mixed with some of the best creature and gore effects that the KNB Effects Group has ever produced.

After the vampires inside the building meet their demise, the film shifts gears yet again and becomes a siege movie. Throughout the film, Scott Fuller wears a Precinct 13 t-shirt, a reference to one of the clear influences on this film: John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13 (1976), a truly classic example of the siege movie. As legions of vampires in bat form amass outside, the group goes about preparing for a takeover. The group discusses what they know about vampires and everything they know comes from movies they have seen. Sex Machine comments that he has seen “Peter Cushing do that all the time” when they discuss making crosses out of various items. 

Another clear influence on the film, and an example of a horror siege film, is Dawn of the Dead (1978) and its many imitators. Like the zombies in those films, the vampires here can turn humans into the undead merely by biting them and the sheer number of monsters poses the greatest danger. More directly, the character of Sex Machine is, in many ways, a variation on the biker character Savini played in Dawn. During the previous battle against the vampires, he is bitten on the arm, but puts on his leather jacket to cover up that fact. There always seems to be that one guy who is bitten by a zombie, but hides it, endangering the entire group. And, of course, he turns into a vampire and attacks, turning Vietnam War veteran Frost into one of the undead and letting the vampire hordes inside in the process. This is Tarantino doing what he does best—twisting what, by then, had become clichés and tropes of various genre and exploitation films, making them fresh once again.

Even in the midst of the outlandish set-pieces of this section of the film, there are moments of great emotional gravity; two in particular involving Jacob. First, he is confronted with his crisis of faith. Seth reminds him that as a faithless preacher, he is useless to them. As a man of God, he can turn two sticks into a cross that drives the vampires back. Or bless tap-water and turn it into a weapon. Gecko asks him directly, “so which are you? Are you a faithless preacher? Or are you a mean motherfucking servant of God?” Jacob comes to a reckoning with himself in that moment, and though he is unable to bring himself to echo Gecko’s profanity, answers, “I’m a mean mmmm mmmm servant of God.” We see in his eyes that he truly believes it. Soon after, Jacob is bitten while battling. As they prepare to fight, Jacob forces his children to promise to kill him when he turns, reminding them that it won’t really be him they kill, but a demon. “I’ll be a lapdog of Satan,” he tells them. Though the line itself is funny, it is delivered with earnestness and followed by deeply felt grief as both Jacob and his kids realize the weight of the fact that he will be gone within the hour.

During the closing battle, KNB showcases their wizardry even further. Vampires die in every conceivable way finally being eradicated by the light of the sun reflecting off a disco ball. As originally scripted, Jacob was to quote the famous Ezekiel 25:17 speech, but it had already been repurposed by Tarantino for an iconic reading by Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. Even without this flourish, the film barrels toward its climax with plenty of grindhouse-inspired exhilaration, ending as it began: with a pyrotechnic blast as two characters exit an exploding building. 

1996 was quite a year for horror. It began with this metanarrative twist on the vampire genre and ended with Scream’s very meta take on slashers. From Dusk Till Dawn announced what we now know very well—that Tarantino can write effectively in all kinds of genres. It proved that Rodriguez was more than up to the task of special effects heavy films, bigger budgets, and large casts and crews while maintaining his unique voice. It opened the door for future collaborations between Tarantino and Rodriguez including Sin City (2005), Troublemaker Studios, and Grindhouse (2007). It helped George Clooney make the leap from television star to big screen leading man. Perhaps most important of all, it opened horror up to fresh ideas from a new generation of filmmakers. Much like Tarantino did both literally and figuratively with Pulp Fiction, From Dusk Till Dawn gave a struggling genre a much-needed shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.