Why ‘Sky Rojo’ Is The Most Tarantino-esque Show Ever Made

Last year Quentin Tarantino revealed ambitions to further extend the bum-numbing Once Upon a Time in Hollywood‘s mythology by making Bounty Law, the fictional western TV series that propels Leonardo DiCaprio’s Rick Dalton to stardom. Who knows whether this is just another flight of fancy from a man no stranger to self-promotion — anyone remember the proposed Vega brothers prequel? Netflix’s latest Spanish original, however, essentially means the wait for a pure QT small-screen affair is over. 

The avid cinephile does not have any official affiliation with Sky Rojo, a wild cat-and-mouse thriller in which three emotionally-damaged sex workers attempt to escape the clutches of the pimp they leave for dead. Even so, with its lurid neo-exploitation aesthetics, pitch black one-liners and copious amounts of gratuitous ultraviolence, his DNA is undeniably all over it. In fact, the eight-parter pretty much plays like a Tarantino Greatest Hits.

Grindhouse throwback Death Proof is perhaps the most obvious reference point. Tramadol-popping ringleader Coral (Verónica Sánchez), human-trafficked idealist Gina (Yany Prado) and feisty platinum blonde Wendy (Lali Espósito) certainly gives its three female badasses a run for their money. Take the sixth episode’s epic car chase, where sleazeball boss Romeo (Asier Etxeandia) pursues the girls across the deserted Tenerife landscape in a hijacked ambulance, only to have the tables turned following a tense Mexican standoff (another Tarantino trope).  

Kill Bill is another clear influence. See Romeo using a katana to snort cocaine before brandishing it in a sword fight that almost turns fatal. Or when we finally discover why the trio have stolen a bulldozer for their endgame masterplan: to help bury chief henchman Moisés (Miguel Ángel Silvestre) alive. And proudly emblazoned with her profession, Coral’s getaway vehicle bears more than a passing resemblance to The Bride’s Pussy Wagon. 

There’s even a blatant homage to one of Tarantino’s most iconic scenes, Mia’s overdose in Pulp Fiction, when the drug-addled Coral is dramatically revived with a shot of adrenaline to the neck. But even when the show isn’t explicitly referencing such works, the three-time Oscar-nominated director’s presence is always felt.  

Although its soundtrack boasts a few contemporary hits, it mainly sticks to the classic jukebox feel that QT has become renowned for personally curating. Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day,” ironically played as the girls’ quest for freedom begins to fall apart, is a particular highlight. Yet most key moments are punctuated by lesser-known cuts — legendary French rocker Johnny Hallyday’s take on “The House of the Rising Sun,” for example, or Spanish ‘60s beat combo Los Bravos’ “La Moto.” The approach might not be original but you’ll come away with a whole new playlist of songs to obsess over. 

And while there’s nothing as memorable as Mr. Brown’s dissection of “Like a Virgin” or Jules Winnfield’s biblical monologue, Romeo delivers several grandiose, if incredibly chauvinistic, speeches that could have been lifted from the Tarantino canon: his theory about the historical role of the penis has to be heard to be believed. We’ve not even mentioned the non-linear narrative and lightning-quick pace designed to make the entire series a “constant third act.” 

Of course, Sky Rojo‘s co-creator Álex Pina has form when it comes to borrowing from the fast-talking auteur. Still Netflix’s most-watched foreign-language release, his international breakthrough Money Heist took several cues from Reservoir Dogs: one thief is even berated for resorting to guns rather than “cutting their ear off like in the movies.” You only have to look at the promo artwork to see how much the same film also informed Pina’s mid-‘00s crime dramedy Los hombres de Paco.

To their credit, Pina and fellow showrunner Esther Martínez Lobato freely admit that QT has shaped their kinetic style of filmmaking, telling El Español they wanted to “Latinize” his hyper-stylized reliance on sex and violence. To both the show’s advantage and detriment, they largely achieve their goal.

Indeed, Sky Rojo revels in the kind of carnage that has defined much of Tarantino’s career. Gina’s baby daddy gets dissolved in a vat of acid, another innocent bypasser is gunned down in cold blood and even Wendy and Coral end up kicking seven shades of crap out of each other. And yet, as in Pulp Fiction, for all the blood that gets splattered around, the body count is relatively low. All six key players somehow (just about) make it to the frustrating finale that sows the seeds for another season of vengeful mayhem.

You could also argue the show shares Tarantino’s fondness for fetishizing its female characters, although here the focus is on more than just their feet. Obviously, a show about three women working in an extravagant brothel can’t shy away from nudity, and it never tries to justify the traumas they experience there. However, the camera sometimes lingers a little too long where it shouldn’t, especially compared to the screentime afforded to the bodies of their clients.

Of course, QT hasn’t been hailed as the most influential filmmaker of his generation for nothing. Hunters, Preacher and The Good Lord Bird are just a few of the recent TV shows to have leaned heavily on his razor-sharp, revenge-fueled style. But if imitation is the highest form of flattery, then Sky Rojo is the biggest compliment Tarantino’s ever been given.  

Jon O’Brien (@jonobrien81) is a freelance entertainment and sports writer from the North West of England. His work has appeared in the likes of Vulture, Esquire, Billboard, Paste, i-D and The Guardian. 

Watch Sky Rojo on Netflix