His relationship with television contains admiration and reservations. Reducing it to a rejection of all modern series hides what he actually said.
Yellowstone: a critique that begins with enthusiasm
On The Joe Rogan Experience of 10 December 2024, joined by Roger Avary, Tarantino spoke about his experience with Yellowstone. He praised the first season, Kevin Costner’s presence and the writing; he had kept watching the series and also 1883. He then questioned how long those stories stayed in his memory. His remark did not come from refusing to watch television.
The nuance changes the meaning of the discussion. Enjoying a series while watching it and thinking it leaves a smaller mark than a film are compatible judgements. They do not allow us to claim that he thought every season was bad, or that he denied television any cinematic capacity in its staging. The question he raised concerned the cumulative effect of the experience and its later recollection.
In that conversation he also singled out the first season of Homeland, though he expressed reservations about the lengthening of series. It is a personal view about length and dramatic reward, not proof that all viewers remember stories in the same way. Memory also depends on the moment in life, attention and the relationship each person builds with the characters.
Television westerns and the appeal of the episode
Speaking to Kim Morgan for Sight & Sound in 2015, Tarantino linked The Hateful Eight with television westerns such as Bonanza and The Virginian, especially when guest characters arrived. That interest helps explain his appreciation for television that builds concentrated conflicts around visitors, suspicions and temporary shifts within a familiar community.
A character who appears for one episode can introduce a threat without the audience having their whole backstory. The guest cast provides a recognisable presence, but the story must quickly establish what they want and how much can be believed of what they say. That economy favours scenes in which a conversation changes trust before a decisive action takes place.
The continuity of a series provides, in turn, a stable ground. The viewer knows certain characters and places, so a small alteration can become significant. A visitor forces a reconsideration of rules that seemed settled. Episodic television can draw variety precisely from repeating a framework and changing the conflict that runs through it.
This possibility is different from a story that delays the resolution of its main problem across many instalments. Neither form is necessarily superior. The self-contained episode can bring about a solution quickly; the long-running series can develop relationships with a richness that is hard to achieve in two hours. The critical question is what a work gains from its length and what costs it introduces by sustaining it.
The difference between continuity and culmination
A film usually asks the viewer to take its duration as a bounded whole. The scenes connect to an ending that reorganises what has been seen, even if it does not close every question. That concentration can produce a strong memory of a gesture or a decision. The ending provides a point from which to look back mentally over the journey.
A series can work differently. Living with its characters, the gradual transformation of relationships and the wait between instalments are part of its experience. Value does not always lie in driving every element towards a single culmination. Sometimes what matters is inhabiting a narrative world for an extended period and noticing changes that a shorter structure would have to condense.
Tarantino’s criticism invites us to examine when that continuity becomes mere delay. A conflict can be maintained because it is still producing discoveries, or because the story needs to preserve a reason to go on. The difference becomes clear in the consequences: if a decision transforms relationships, time adds something; if everything keeps returning to the same point, the viewer may feel that the promised progress is being delayed without an equivalent gain.
It is also worth separating visual quality from narrative form. A series can use elaborate cinematography, complex camera movement and precise sound design without organising itself as a film. Sharing tools does not erase differences in duration, production and relationship with the audience. In the same way, a film does not become more cinematic simply because it contains spectacular images.
The contrast between his affection for classic westerns and his reservations about certain current series does not need to be explained as an inconsistency. It can be understood as a preference for conflicts that reach a recognisable form before being renewed. The viewer may share that preference, or value precisely the continuity he questions. In both cases, the statements are more useful when their examples and nuances are preserved.
The final question is what kind of satisfaction we are looking for: a story that culminates, a world to return to, or a combination of both. Tarantino has expressed his preference for the cinematic experience very clearly, but he has also said that he gets drawn into series. That coexistence describes his position better than the idea of an indiscriminate rejection of contemporary television.
See the guide to Tarantino’s books, criticism and film projects.