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| Katherine Waterston and Joaquin Phoenix are dynamite in Inherent Vice (Warner Bros.) |
It’s
a good thing that Paul Thomas Anderson has grown more divisive with age. Few
argue the intimate sweep of Boogie Nights
or the epic scope of There Will Be Blood
– but in a room of cinephiles, you’re bound to find more than a couple that
tear down the meticulous control of The
Master, or the confusing stoner noir that is Inherent Vice.
Inherent Vice
is a splashy detective movie that effortlessly careens through genre and style.
Adapted from the “unfilmmable” Thomas Pynchon book of the same name, its DNA
pours onto the screen; Mr. Anderson’s choices here feel rooted in his past
work, yes, but there’s a strong sense of (good) Robert Altman here, and classic
1970s noir in general. Early rumblings that this might be Anderson’s Big Lebowski are quite wrong, even if
Josh Brolin works as a uniquely suitable John Goodman stand-in – Inherent Vice emerges as something
darker and stranger, its beachy West Coast setting evoking Polanski’s Chinatown with surprising potency. And
for the way that its narrative is so delicately and compulsively constructed and
yet so peripheral, its great contemporary partner may be a fellow 2014 flick –
from a fellow Anderson, at that – in Wes’ The
Grand Budapest Hotel.
But,
enough about this film’s resemblances and cinematic relationships: whatever one
thinks of this admittedly bizarre mix of sexy, romantic, funny, mysterious, and
political, this is an inimitable P.T. Anderson movie, one that could be pulled off by exactly no one else. Its situational comedy ranges into Police Squad territory – and Anderson
will attest to that – but you wouldn’t think so by its opening scene. Inherent Vice opens on P.I. Larry “Doc”
Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), dazed (and high) in his beachside shack, as his
ex-girlfriend (it’s been a year) Shasta Fay (Katherine Waterston) appears in a
low-cut, bright-orange dress. “I need your help, Doc,” she tells him with
appropriate seductiveness. The scene is long, laying out an intricate initial
conflict that’s difficult to grasp – a common theme here, so get used to it or
prepare to have your head explode – whilst introducing our two principal
characters. What’s so extraordinary about this opener – and about Inherent Vice in general – is the levity
underscoring it throughout, a textured communication of displaced love and of
memorable history that softly infuses Waterston’s sultry readings and Phoenix’s
puppy-dog glances. Voiceover tells us that this isn’t the Shasta of a year ago –
the Shasta that typically donned a bikini and flip-flops, as Doc knew her – but
a woman lured into the “straight” realm, the one encroaching upon Doc’s way of
living and of his country’s liberated (or radical, depending on who you ask)
turn.
This
is Anderson’s magical touch, setting up his newest film with feeling first and
story second. Inherent Vice is
clouded in a marijuana-tinted haze, sufficiently conveying the general
confusion and bewilderment characterizing Doc as he navigates an
ever-complicating, high-stakes mystery that started with a simple request from
his ex. It’s senseless to detail exactly what that journey is, or the general
plot structure the film abides by. So, the bare bones of it: Shasta has been
sleeping around with a politically-connected and monetarily-flush real estate
developer whose life is in danger, and who eventually goes missing. Doc’s
beloved leftist groups are revealed to be as culpable as the U.S. government, a
drug cartel and a pedophile dentist/drug dealer (played with rigorous lunacy by
Martin Short). The list of those involved grows and grows, with Vice’s world expanding and its ideas building
in complexity and in density. It gets exceedingly difficult to follow – but
just pay attention, because if you’re confused, chances are Doc is confused, a
fact Anderson approaches with droll humor and forceful deliberateness.
Doc
tours the world of Inherent Vice,
making notes (an example being “something Spanish,” when he’s relayed an
important phrase to remember for his case but is much too intoxicated to
actually retain it) and friends along the way. It’s a construct that allows for
a great many cameos, and so there’s a constant, gleeful anticipation rooted in
the viewing experience – a sort of “who’s going to pop up next?” idea that’s
less a gimmick than a chance to see a new crevasse of 1970s Los Angeles,
Pynchon/Anderson style, with a great actor playing its representative. Among
others, you get the great Michael K. Williams (Omar on The Wire) as a Black Panther struggling to maintain prominence in a
shifting political climate, Owen Wilson as a government agent swiveling between
left-wing activist groups and organizations as opposite as the Ku Klux Klan
(literally), and Martin Donovan (Weeds)
as a slimy member of the elite class that puts Doc’s case to bed with his (and
his friends’) interests intact. That each of these actors – and there are many
more, including Jena Malone, Reese Witherspoon and Benicio del Toro – not only
make an impression but integrate so beautifully into Anderson’s world is a
testament to all involved here.
Much
like in his Boogie Nights, Anderson
posits with Inherent Vice a person of
the gently-fading old world coming to terms with the new. He teases, often
through his absurdist lens, disconcerting political shifts, as the “evils of
Communism” imbue institutional discourse or the rugged charms of empty spaces
are replaced by thick, square, gleaming office buildings. There’s overt humor
in the communication, as when Doc visits a “new” kind of mental institution engaging
in spectacular indoctrination, but it’s melancholic at its core: when he
returns to the vacant lot where he once spent a dizzyingly romantic evening
with Shasta, it’s been built-up and developed, and Anderson doesn’t shy away
from conveying that reality’s deep sadness. Also playing into this idea is “Bigfoot,”
played by Brolin in one of his most indelible screen performances. Bigfoot is a
police officer with temper issues and a tendency to abuse power – he regularly
beats down Doc’s front door for the “civil violation” of smoking marijuana – but
is, too, out of place and out of time. He shares a punishing understanding with
Doc; even as Bigfoot represents the “new” way of doing things, he’s just as
distant from the changing world around him. There’s that general uneasiness in Inherent Vice, always approached with a
richly satirical touch.
But
again, these are just teases. Inherent
Vice emerges as something much more hopeful and rooted in the eternal than
its political focuses would suggest. There’s a romantic framing to this story,
and for long, gorgeous sequences, Anderson’s work transforms into a
sexually-charged, unabashedly-intimate chronicling of love, connection and
feeling. Shasta works as a sort of PTA-ian femme fatale, while shaggy Doc
boasts an irrefutable sex appeal of his own – notably, Shasta is afforded
levels of dimensionality and prickliness that are rare (especially for the
woman) in cinematic romances like this. Toward the film’s conclusion, Waterston
delivers a stunning, elongated monologue in a single take, laying nude beside
Doc and expressing the pain of being treated like an object in the “straight”
world. It’s so emotive and truthful, at once an aggressive contrast to the film’s
sensibilities and yet perfectly in-line with its commitment to making you feel
and connect. It’s what Anderson can do like no other: he has such a deep
investment in the way people relate to each other by way of relating to the world,
and he colorfully surrounds those delicate dialogues with provocative indicators
of change and near-perfunctory doses of humor. By centering his story of uneasy
change on timeless, painful, longing romance, he achieves a depth of feeling
unprecedented for a story so rooted in the absurd.
Anderson’s
stamp is unmistakable here – and not just because it features another
transformative, crackling performance from Joaquin Phoenix. Cinematically,
he does what he always does: let it breathe. The foggy, hazy backdrop – and
really, this is a film worth watching as intended in 35mm – communicates so
much thematically, but also provides Vice
with that essential sense of place and time. His camera is critical, but also
secondary, allowing seamless framing, marvelous production design and
fully-integrated performances to sell the vision. He cuts so sparingly, and
lights with such realism, that there’s a conveyance of fluidity, naturalism and
– most importantly – confidence that radiates. Anderson has spoken about
letting Daniel Day Lewis do his own thing in Blood, and The Master
practically works as a study in powerhouse acting – again, he trusts his
actors, from Waterston’s startlingly complex turn to Phoenix’s dazed albeit mournful
take on a Pynchon leading man.
Inherent Vice
is so good and so singular because it doesn’t take the go-for-broke comedic
approach, nor does it fully embrace the bleakness of classic noir. It’s a
strange, fascinating, thoughtful, and funny creation – but all within the realm
of what we know this director is capable of, and how he prefers to make his
films. In other words, you can feel the expansive place-and-time
characteristics of Altman’s Nashville
or the era-conscious politicking of Chinatown
– but Inherent Vice is far from them.
It’s an emotional melting pot, totally reliant on viewers to experience its
range and depth of sensory expressions. Through its focus on the basics –
namely, composition and character – getting lost in the ridiculous plot
machinations of this film is an absolute pleasure. And ultimately, it’s the fusion
of Anderson’s confidence and eccentricity that renders Inherent Vice another brilliant, masterful addition to his filmography.
Grade: A
Andrew's thoughts, not quite so positive, can be accessed here.
Screened at MoMA: The Contenders 2014
Screened at MoMA: The Contenders 2014