Now that Prometheus has come and gone, if we’re being honest — and really, what incentive could we possibly have to lie to you about it? — there is not a single upcoming movie that we’re more excited about than Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained. Not the final Nolanized Batman, not The Master, not even Magic Mike 2: Dallas Does Miami, which by the time you read these words will have been green-lighted, added The Rock (Hollywood’s designated franchise-thief) and Taylor Kitsch (desperate to learn something about career development from breakout foil Channing Tatum) to its ensemble, and taken the Boogie Nights–style turn we kept waiting for in the weekend’s first installment. But we digress.

Are we utterly in the tank for Tarantino? You bet we are. Are we prone to saying things like “Tarantino is the Pixar of directors, if Pixar made the kind of movies where a barefoot Uma Thurman squishes loose eyeballs between her toes”? We’ve never said that before, and maybe that analogy doesn’t track, but there it is, right on the page before you. Will Django be so rapturously received that it earns Jamie Foxx amnesty for his music career? Let’s not be fucking ridiculous, QT can only do so much for a person. He can’t even make Christoph Waltz lose his accent.

Enjoy 60 more seconds of one of this year’s Best Picture nominees. The one that wins. Whatever. If you don’t call your shot, you can’t be obnoxious about it when you’re inevitably proven correct.