The latest film, Jay Kelly, concludes with a montage featuring scenes from movies starring the eponymous character, a world-renowned Hollywood actor. Since this character is portrayed by the equally famous George Clooney, director Noah Baumbach ingeniously uses clips from Clooney’s film and television career to represent Kelly. This clever tactic often highlights some of Clooney’s less immediately recognizable roles. Notably absent is O Brother, Where Art Thou?, likely because its iconic status might overshadow the fictional character. Instead, Baumbach focuses on Clooney’s less celebrated films, such as The Peacemaker.

Interestingly, there’s an early Clooney role that doesn’t seem to appear in Jay Kelly (unless I missed it, and I’m quite familiar with this particular film): Seth Gecko, the tough criminal Clooney portrayed in From Dusk Till Dawn. This crime-horror hybrid was crafted by the dynamic duo of screenwriter Quentin Tarantino and director Robert Rodriguez. Released 30 years ago, it marked Clooney’s first movie role following his success on ER, effectively launching his movie star career after years of relatively unnoticed work.

From Dusk Till Dawn is a type of low-budget genre film. The movie’s major twist, which wasn’t heavily advertised, transforms it into a precursor of sorts to Tarantino’s and Rodriguez’s later collaboration, Grindhouse. It starts as a gritty crime drama in classic Tarantino style, with bank robbers Seth (Clooney) and Richie (played by Tarantino) on the run and taking hostages, including a preacher named Jacob (Harvey Keitel) and his children Kate (Juliette Lewis) and Scott (Ernest Liu). The plot takes a sharp turn when they find themselves in a Mexican biker bar that doubles as a vampire den, morphing the film into a chaotic monster mash typical of Rodriguez.

Interestingly, prior to From Dusk Till Dawn, Rodriguez had not created a monster mash, nor had Tarantino directed a straightforward crime-on-the-run story, though his scripts for True Romance and Natural Born Killers touched on similar themes. This film magnifies the directors’ distinct styles into something more indulgent. Tarantino, known for casting himself in minor roles, here takes on a co-lead role and writes a scene where Salma Hayek pours liquor into his mouth using her feet—a nod to the frequent jokes about his foot fetish. Meanwhile, Rodriguez indulges in his penchant for violent bar showdowns, elevating them to more extreme, bloody levels, complete with a montage of characters arming themselves to a guitar soundtrack.

So, where does this leave Clooney, who in 1996 hadn’t yet established a big-screen persona? It leaves him offering what might be called a youthful performance. Known for his signature head-bob, a habit reportedly curbed by Steven Soderbergh in later years, Clooney’s portrayal here is outside what would become his typical range. This could explain its absence in Jay Kelly; in this film, Clooney’s character only appears suave by comparison to Tarantino’s character. Seth Gecko is rough around the edges—surly, violent, and perhaps a bit dim-witted, seeming clever mainly because he stands next to Tarantino’s Richie.

Even with this unformed sense of who Clooney is best at playing, it’s a kick to hear him recite second-tier but still fun Tarantino dialogue: “If you try to run, I’ve got six little friends and they can all run faster than you.” Or, responding to the question of whether the bar-dwellers were psychos: “Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them; I don’t give a fuck how crazy they are!” Or his insistent affirmation of faith: “And if there is a hell, and those sons of b*tches are from it, then there has got to be a heaven, Jacob, there’s gotta be!” Or, something more concise: “All right ramblers, let’s get rambling!” (Maybe that counts as first-tier, given that Tarantino self-swiped it from Reservoir Dogs. Here it’s turned into a running motif that also includes “All right, vampire killers… let’s kill some fuckin’ vampires.”) In fact, after such a flood of prestige Clooney roles over the past 30 years as he’s refined his sensibility, it’s downright delightful to see him ham his way through a bunch of pulpy tough-talk in a problematic exploitation movie. Yes, it’s a little weird that this is Clooney’s Tarantino movie, sort of like how it’s a bit weird in retrospect that Tom Cruise crossed Martin Scorsese off his list so long with The Color of Money. But like Color of Money, From Dusk Till Dawn is a rewatchable blast.

And, in its only other similarity with that Scorsese picture, the best performance in the film comes from an older guy: Harvey Keitel, who legitimately does some of his best work as Jacob. The preacher questioning his faith is a stock part, but Keitel plays it with such straight-down-the-middle, plainspoken honesty (and, it must be said, Tarantino writes his dialogue with such care) that Jacob and his family feel as real as Seth and Richie Gecko are movied-up caricatures.

That’s the real divide in From Dusk Till Dawn, and the movie more often lands on the Gecko side of that line. But when the dust settles and the blood runs dry, it feels almost like its character-driven material and monster-movie silliness have fought each other to something resembling a draw. That’s the point I think a lot of critics back in ’96 missed when they lamented how a compelling crime drama morphed into a dumb gorefest. Tarantino himself was in the process of finishing his association with movies like this back in 1996; in a year and change he would release the slower, more contemplative, more character-driven crime picture Jackie Brown, the kind of movie that makes it hard to look at the first half of From Dusk Till Dawn as vintage Tarantino.

From there, he would go both toward exploitation movies (with his Kill Bill and Grindhouse super-mash-ups) and away from them (by imbuing their cartoonishness with surprising depth of feeling and characterization). When Tarantino brings up Death Proof as his designated “worst” movie, by which he clearly means least substantial, you get the feeling he’s picturing it more like From Dusk Till Dawn — something he truly couldn’t make again if he tried.  

Jesse Hassenger (@rockmarooned) is a writer living in Brooklyn. He’s a regular contributor to The A.V. Club, Polygon, and The Week, among others. He podcasts at www.sportsalcohol.com, too.

Stream From Dusk Till Dawn on Paramount+