Has another dream of the ’90s finally up and died? 25 years ago, the news of a movie written by Quentin Tarantino and directed by David Fincher would have been greeted with a flood of film-geek (and, OK, maybe also film-bro) delight, as if thousands of dorm-room posters had spontaneously sprung to life and thrown a kegger together. But with the commencement of shooting on The Adventures of Cliff Booth, which is indeed a Tarantino-penned, Fincher-directed, Brad Pitt-starring companion piece to Tarantino’s beloved Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, much of the internet reacted more like their beloved dorm posters had been mashed up into a horrible A.I.-generated, Facebook-posted fake project. Why is this project being treated (at least in some corners) like an announcement of Morbius 2: More-bius? Why are the vibes so off? Are people afraid that Cliff will somehow cross paths with an alt-universe Mank?

Some point to an incongruity between the styles of Fincher and Tarantino, to which I say: So?! If anything, Tarantino has become overly precious with his own work over the years – not in the work itself, which is often terrific (Once Upon a Time is one of his best; plenty of legendary filmmakers could not say the same about their most recent films), but in his obsession with making just ten movies (Kill Bill counts as one, but so does Death Proof, his half of Grindhouse) as a writer-director, to address his highly outdated idea of what happens to directors as they age. Tarantino came of age at a time when filmmakers did often limp into retirement past their prime, so he has it in his head that old guys don’t make great movies. This seems patently absurd living in the era of Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Michael Mann, and so on, but Tarantino is a weird guy and maybe he has weird opinions about Spielberg’s last great movie being The Terminal or something.

Anyway, the idea of Tarantino mitigating his fussiness by giving a script he liked, but wouldn’t want to make his ceremonious final film ever, to another filmmaker is actually a pretty exciting development, as is Fincher working with a strong writer. The fact that Fincher’s meticulous, clinical, immaculately composed sleekness feels at odds with Tarantino’s equally fussed-over but more rambling, loquacious, and playful style is half the point! Tarantino making a Cliff Booth sequel about the later life of the laconic stunt man would be kind of boring. Fincher making a Tarantino screenplay is inherently interesting, even if it turns out to be a disaster.

One common ground the two filmmakers share is Pitt, who has collaborated repeatedly with both of them; maybe he’s the problem. (Admittedly, his shaggy wig doesn’t necessarily inspire confidence.) This might seem counterintuitive: Pitt won an Oscar for playing Cliff Booth, and F1 represents his biggest hit in a decade. But is it possible that the golden light emanating from Pitt has faded over the years in light of abuse allegations and the kind of self-flattering star-maintenance projects that F1 represents? His previous Tarantino films came amidst work with Terrence Malick, Andrew Dominik, Steve McQueen, Robert Zemeckis, and the Coen Brothers. Bullet Train, F1, and an upcoming David Ayer movie aren’t exactly on that level. He hasn’t reached Johnny Depp levels of over-ness, but there is a strange parallel between two long-beloved actors with alcohol problems, accused of spousal abuse, who may finally be seeing their age catch up with them after years of defying the clock. Maybe that bad wig is the telltale hairpiece, serving as a grim reminder of the hubris involved with revisiting an Oscar-winning character in a Netflix movie.

And that last bit may actually be the heart of the disdain toward the Cliff Booth project. When I tweeted a sarcastic response to my feed full of movie-critic types turning up their noses at a Fincher/Tarantino project, I was repeatedly and witheringly informed that this was a Netflix movie, which doesn’t count; that Fincher has been “washed” since he started working with the streamer; and that everyone was right, actually, to dismiss it sight unseen. This strikes me as borderline delusional. Netflix does seem like a strange place for a project that would almost assuredly attract a lot of attention upon release (which was part of my original point; scoff now, but you’ll watch this movie as soon as it comes out!), and the company is inarguably bad for the movie business as a whole. But does that purity test really disqualify movies like The Irishman, Marriage Story, or Roma from worthiness? Fincher’s The Killer isn’t any Netflixier than his pre-Netflix projects, and it’s a hell of a lot better than many of them. I did not spend my two hours with that movie seething about Netflix. (Granted, I was lucky enough to see it in a theater, and will almost certainly make that happen for Cliff Booth.)

Maybe a lack of universally sky-high expectations can only help this Tarantino/Fincher movie. It certainly fits the post-’60s hangover that the movie itself might indulge, given that it takes place well into the decade following Once Upon a Time’s fabricated Hollywood ending. (How alternate will this timeline where Sharon Tate lived actually be?) And strange as the antipathy toward this project might seem, maybe that free-floating Netflix hostility is a good thing. Tarantino’s earlier film is a starry-eyed look at a shifting Hollywood, and now here comes a vulgar example of what’s become of that ’90s boomer crop of American auteurs: a mix-and-match sequel going that will go straight to streaming for most of the country because the corporation funding it sees movie theaters as an “outmoded” form of competition. Maybe this unlikely collaboration between three Hollywood titans is just giving the industry the bad vibes it deserves.

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.