Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2025)

 

10. One Battle After Another

 

The hardcore movie lover crowd have had nothing but bad things to say about David Zaslav, the much loathed president of Warner Bros. Discovery, and none of it was exactly unearned. However, I'll give the ignorant asshole this much: Probably out of a desire for some award season glamour, he did sign off on big budgets on not the most commercial projects from beloved filmmakers. At the end of the day, all the studio bullshit and behind-the-scenes drama doesn't matter. It's the movies that last. And Paul Thomas Anderson's next movie was always likely to last. He is a highly lauded auteur. When news broke that he would be making a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio, much mystery surrounded it. There were some reports that it was an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's novel, “Vineland.” When the title was finally revealed as “One Battle After Another,” it was finally understood to be more inspired by the book than directly adapting it. After much scrutiny from the folks who treat movies like it's sport betting, “one Battle After Another” was ultimately deemed a box office flop. But who cares, because the movie is there forever now and a lot of people sure seem to love it. 

“Ghetto” Pat was once a member of French 75, a group of underground revolutionaries who pulled stunts like freeing detainees from a prison camp or blowing up cop cars. Pat was the explosive guy and Perfidia, his partner and lover, was a woman of action. They were doggedly pursued by Colonel Lockjaw who, despite his racist beliefs, was sexually obsessed with Perfidia. Pat and Perfidia would attempt to settle down, raising the child she gave birth to together, but she eventually went back on the run. Sixteen years later, Pat – now living under the name Bob Fergusen – is a burn-out who seems widely disliked by Willa, his mixed race daughter. She heads out to a concert with some friends. They don't know that Lockjaw is attempting to join a secret order of white supremacists. That Willa is his daughter, from a forced sexual encounter with Perfidia. That his membership in the Christmas Adventurers Club is threatened by him having a mixed race daughter, that he's leading a police raid into the city to find the girl. Soon, Pat is attempting to locate where the girl has been taken and find her before Lockjaw does. 

I wasn't a big fan of Anderson's previous Pynchon adaptation, “Inherent Vice,” finding it to be too shaggy and stoned-out in its humor to appeal to me. Comes with the territory with that, I know. Whatever you think about Pynchon, I think you can agree that the author has an ear for cool sounding code names. I haven't read “Vineland” and can't attest to how much of “One Battle After Another” is taken from it. However, the various code names and underground jargon in the film – Rocket Man, Junglepussy, Mae West, Lady Champagne – have that Pynchon-esque quality of being both absurd and... Kind of cool. The same is true of the film's preoccupation with the secret codes the French 75 members used to contact each other, which include a shout-out to the Hooterville trilogy. “One Battle After Another” is a movie with nuns firing machine guns, nun-chucks, skateboards, a dojo, bombs. This shit is, you could say, rad. It's all kind of silly and funny but it's also cool as fuck. 

But do you know what's definitely not cool as fuck? In “One Battle After Another,” the police and the government they work for are depicted as openly racist institutions. The authority figures are obsessed with punishing anyone darker skinned than them, every official action they make merely a flimsy justification to enforce their racist ideology. Ya know, like in real life. Immigrants are depicted as persecuted innocents, simply trying to live, a scapegoat totally outmatched by an infinitely powerful system. And violence against the government who enforces these rules is shown as never less than justified. I'm not smart enough to know if this actually means anything but a 130 million dollar studio movie starring A-listers preaching an openly pro-direct action message like that is surprising, at the very least. 

Like I said, the racist organizations in “One Battle After Another” don't pretend to have any deeper motivation for their relentless persecution of non-white people than preserving their own racial purity. And this is, it almost goes without saying, bullshit. When we meet Lockjaw, he's already lusting after Perfidia. Everything he ultimately does in the second half is motivated by his desire to cover up the fact that he has a mixed race child. In other words, this guy clearly doesn't actually believe the things he's saying. At least not so much that it overwhelms the horniness he feels for a black woman. It's also notable that the white supremacist cabal Lockjaw tries to join is called the Christmas Adventurers Club and says shit like “All hail Saint Nicholas!” This group is depicted as powerful. They have tentacles in all sectors of the government and are able to organize armed responses in minutes. They are a force to be reckoned with... But they are still fucking goofy losers. The film is simply reflecting reality here, as the grotesque absurdities of the Trump era have made it very clear how the most monstrously evil people often tend to also be clownish buffoons.

Lockjaw's uncontrollable lust for a woman of color does not seem to be an especially unusual status for an otherwise highly racist man. I suppose there is something in human nature, where we inevitably eroticize that which we have deemed forbidden. Lockjaw presents himself as a proud macho warrior man, wearing a tight shirt that shows off his guns. When he's around Perfidia, however, he seems to become sexually submissive. In the bedroom is the only place where the racist is willing to give up power. This is not the only example in the film. After Willa is born, Perfidia grows tired of motherhood, of being nothing but a parent now, and leaves. The parallels between the power imbalances and attempts to correct them in the characters' personal lives are impossible to untangle from their struggles for political power too. Maybe that's all it has ever been about. I don't know what that means exactly but it's an interesting observation. 
 

“One Battle After Another” presents Pat/Bob and Colonel Lockjaw as opposites, in many ways. One is a revolutionary, one is a cop and military officer, on opposite sides of the system as two people can be. They also have some things in common. Not only that they both have feelings for the same woman. Pat's relationship with his daughter is stressed. Willa has a nonbinary friend and her dad awkwardly struggles to understand the pronoun situation there. Later, while on the phone with another member of French 75, he expresses exasperation at terms like “safe space.” He is, in other words, an old man who is being left behind by a quickly changing world. As “woke” as an anti-government revolutionary is, he's still out of his depth among today's youth. Statements like these are not too dissimilar with the dismissive comments you'd expect a piece of shit like Lockjaw to say either. It's an interesting parallel, in how these enemies are united in their mutual old white guy-ness. 

One suspects that this is a very self-aware move on Paul Thomas Anderson's behalf. Pat is the story's protagonist. His perspective is the one the audience is aligned with. While you never can say for certain, one assumes that Anderson put a bit of himself into this guy. He's an old white guy too. That the film's hero is repeatedly mocked and humiliated for his own out-of-touch qualities shows that the director has no illusions about this behavior being admirable. Similarly, the younger characters in “One Battle After Another” have an energy and spirit beyond their elders. They are always racing around on skateboards, always energized to speak truth to power and to stand up for what is right. As the title indicates, and the ending further proves, the fight goes on. It never ends. Their parents fucked it up, they couldn't fix things, but maybe the kids will be alright. As bad as things are, maybe there's hope for the future after all. 

Ultimately though, it is intriguing that Pat is both the film's hero and a figure of mockery. Leonardo DiCaprio, once again, happily embraces a schlubby, dad-like image here that defies his years as a sex symbol. He spends almost the entire film in a bathrobe, with scraggly facial hair. He's perpetually stoned out of his mind and frequently frustrated with everything happening around him. It's really funny, DiCaprio having no problem playing the clown. He tumbles, falls, gets tossed around, and seems constantly annoyed by the serious questions being asked of him. “One Battle After Another” is not like “Inherent Vice,” where almost everyone in the story are stoned out of their gourds the whole time. Pat is the fool in a cast full of straight men, Benicio del Toro and Sean Penn act like distinctively in-control and cool minded individuals in comparison to Leo's stumbling around. It's an amusing set-up for a film, a guy forced back into action after spending thirty years smoking and drinking his brains away.

At the same time, “One Battle After Another” is regularly powered by Johnny Greenwood's high-strung score. It's made up of escalating notes. Scenes of Pat arguing on a pay phone with someone or fumbling around a dojo are obviously funny. At the same time, a mixture of his own incompetence and the pressure mounting around him means he could get caught. There's a feeling all throughout the film of the walls closing in, of the powerful forces at work in the government zeroing in on the radical heroes. The film explodes into violence frequently in the last third, which actually does little to alleviate this tension. It feels like another set of screws being put to the viewer. The film honestly made me feel rather anxious at times, Anderson and his team doing a great job of making the viewer feel the same jittery uncertainty that the hero is feeling.

It's not an unexpected tone from the director of “There Will Be Blood” or “Boogie Nights.” At the same time, you can almost see why – beyond the award season glamour – a profits-obsessed CEO would sign off on this movie. Is “One Battle After Another,” in fact, Anderson's go at making a proper action movie? From the inciting incident on, the film is in almost constant movement. DiCaprio spends most of the run time in literal pursuit of his daughter, often from the seat of a car. The last third features multiple shoot-outs, an explosion, an acrobatic car crash. The camera is often attached to the front of a moving vehicle as it spends along desert highways. In other words, there's a lot of what you'd call “action” in this movie and it's all very well executed. I don't think this is the director auditioning for a “Mission: Impossible” movie or anything but it's definitely somewhat, kind of abreast with that type of film making. 

As you'd probably expect from a Paul Thomas Anderson production, “One Battle After Another” is simply an excellent looking film. Michael Bauman is back as cinematographer, after gifting “Licorice Pizza” with its textured, deep look. He creates something similarly rich here. Individual shots stick in the mind. Kids on skateboards leaping across roof tops in the golden moonlight, fog behind them. A nun with a gun firing away in the dark. An erection bulging at the forefront of the frame. The editing, from Andy Jurgensen, is similarly precise. A shot of Willa sitting at a table, moments before a heavily armed squad marches into the room, is so perfectly constructed. The comedic timing and anxious mood are both created by cuts that are ideally arranged.
 

I don't think I liked the film quite as much as others did. While not on the level of grand cinematic shit-posting that “Inherent Vice” was at, “One Battle After Another” shares some of that shaggy-dog vibes with the other Pynchon adaptation. The ideas in the film are serious, the performances are very well done, the writing and construction are carefully place. But the silliness on the surface often suggests a looseness. For a film that's 164 minutes long, it certainly moves quickly though. Maybe if Anderson finally gets an Oscar for this one, he'll have another chance to make a film of this scale. If not, this is pretty damn good for his first strike at directing a big budget action flick. And, hey, maybe it'll radicalize some kids or at least teach young people to hate the fucking cops. Maybe there's hope for the future in the real world too, no matter if life is but one struggle after another, on and on until the end of time. [Grade: B+]

 

Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2021)

9. Licorice Pizza

Paul Thomas Anderson's films aren't exactly a stranger to controversy. The frank and explicit depiction of the seventies porn industry in "Boogie Nights" attracted some sideway glances at the time. As did the subplot in "Magnolia" depicting misogynistic, pick-up-artist seminars. But it's not like anyone was outraged by the content of "Punch-Drunk Love" or "Inherent Vice." Yet Anderson's most recent film has, surprisingly, been his most hotly debated. Not because "Licorice Pizza," a nostalgic hang-out movie loosely inspired by Anderson's own adolescence, is especially graphic or inflammatory. It's because the film revolves around a quasi-romance between a teenage boy and a twenty-five year old woman. This seems like a pretty silly thing to get upset about to me but, now that I've seen the film, I can say it is. Because this film is a lot more than just that. 

Gary Valentine is an unusually ambitious fifteen year old boy, growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the early 1970s. While she’s working as a photography assistant at his high school, he meets Alana Kane, a twenty-five year old woman from a large Jewish family. Gary is immediately smitten with Alana and attempts to seduce her. The two form an odd friendship after Gary, who has had a little success as a child actor, asks Alana to accompany him to New York. After returning to the Valley, Gary and Alana start a waterbed business together. This leads them on a number of misadventures together, their different perspectives on the world leading them to get closer and further apart. 

Paul Thomas Anderson grew up in the San Fernando Valley. Anderson would take this love for his childhood home and combine it with the memories of former child actor and producer Gary Goetzman to create “Licorice Pizza.” Fitting this backstory, the film is a largely episodic but extremely specific recollection of life in this place and this time. The early seventies fashions, fads, and styles are painstakingly replicates. The interiors of the homes are characterized by mustard yellow wallpaper, wood paneling, and teal phones. High-waisted pants, mini-skirts, garishly colored buttoned-up shirts are the fashion of the day. The cars are all very specific models. Real people and places, like the Cock O’ the Tail restaurant or city councilman candidate Joel Wachs, weave in and out of the story. I never lived through the seventies but “Licorice Pizza” sure made me feel like I was there. 

And it’s not just the superficial details of the time period that Anderson faithfully recreates. The 1973 gas crisis is an important plot point and the politics of the day are referenced many times. Yet, more than anything else, the film transports the viewing because of how it looks. Anderson and D.P. Michael Bauman shot the movie on 35mm film while utilizing older camera lens. This creates a film with a deeper, grittier visual texture to it that matches the way actual movies made in 1973 looked. You see this in the way the actors look too. The teens have actual acne. They have blemishes, their hair curly and skin sticky from the California heat. Great pain was taken to recreate not just the look but also the feel of Anderson’s childhood.

As eager as I am to call “Licorice Pizza” a movie about the early seventies, it is best described as a coming-of-age story about two young people at very different points in their lives. Gary Valentine is an irrepressibly horny fifteen year old boy. He thinks about girls and sex all the time. This might be why he’s eager to grow up, pursuing business opportunities that hover uncomfortably between real self-made jobs and get-rich-quick con schemes. Alana Kane, meanwhile, is in her twenties, unemployed and still living at home. She is still easily charmed by handsome, older men smiling at her. She gets high too often and spends most of her days just hanging out. She’s self-aware enough to ask if it’s weird that she spends so much time with teenagers, but is still desperately trying to find her own place in the world. Here we have a romance between an incredibly immature boy who wants the freedom and power of adulthood and a young woman trying to hold onto the carefree days of her early youth.

The film is definitely aware of the problems that are created between Gary and Alana because of their differences in age. (Making the outrage over the gap in their relationship all the more ridiculous.) And it’s not like the two are ever really dating throughout the movie. Gary thinks Alana is hot and obtainable. Alana is intrigued by the ambitious boy and gets sucked up in his elaborate swindles. Yet she pursues other guys, frequently more outwardly charming or mature men, making Gary feel jealous and impotent. Sometimes, she’ll even intentionally do this shit to make him jealous, showing her own immaturity. They have a flirtatious relationship characterized as much by trivial bickering and petty resentment as mutual curiosity. Any middle ground they find between their different life goals is destined to be short lived. To say “Licorice Pizza” supports the idea of women in their twenties dating teenage boys deliberately ignores that the film repeatedly shows why these two are ultimately not a good fit for each other.

Starring as Gary Valentine, is Cooper Hoffman, the son of Anderson's late frequent collaborator Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Cooper shows an easy-going and natural charm that makes it hard to believe this is his first ever movie role. But it's hard not to be charmed by a character like Gary Valentine. He's sleazy, perpetually attempting to get sexual favors from any attractive female around him, and sometimes tricking people into helping him. Yet you can't help but be impressed by a young kid who is able to pull off semi-legitimate businesses, seemingly overnight finding the money to open a waterbed store or a pinball arcade. When he sees opportunity, he eagerly leaps at it. No matter how much of a youthful swindler Gary comes off as, he's also just a vulnerable kid who sometimes can barely conceal his hurt feelings. He's extraordinary and totally typical in equal measure, a relatable mixture that Hoffman beautifully pulls off. 

Another relative non-actor was cast in the other lead role of the film. Since 2017, Paul Thomas Anderson has directed nine music videos for the indie pop group Haim. The Haim sisters also grew up in the San Fernando Valley, which allowed them to forge a friendship with Anderson. So it's unsurprising that all of the sisters, along with their mom and dad, would end up in “Licorice Pizza.” Alana Haim, the youngest of the three, stars as Alana. Much like Cooper Hoffman, she also looks like a real person, with imperfect skin and what is described in the film as a “very Jewish nose.” She gives a similarly naturalistic performance, playing an impulsive but conflicted young woman that generates a relaxed, low-key type of sexiness. It's easy to see why Gary would be immediately captivated by her, as she radiates with both an accessible girl-next-door energy and a quirky charm all her own.

Alana, and the movie around her, is also acutely aware of the sexual politics of the 1970s. All throughout the film, Alana catches the attention of various men. Gary is immediately crushed on her. His more traditionally handsome co-star Lance flirts with her the minute he sees her. After trying out acting on her own, Alana meets movie star Jack Holden – based on William Holden – and he's quickly interested in her. Late in the movie, an unhinged Jon Peters aggressively hits on her and touches her. Sometimes, Alana appreciates this attention. She's charmed by Holden and Lance. Sometimes, it disgusts her, as Peters and Gary's repeated request for a hand job do. Each time, Alana finds her actual thoughts and feelings being ignored by men who see her as a means to an end. Holden never remembers her real name and discards her the minute he no longer needs a young woman to hold. Alana is frequently frustrated by Gary's inconsiderate treatment of her. After developing a crush on Joel Wachs, she soon learns he just wants her to be his beard. She's tired of always being a prop in a man's story, instead of being treated like a real human being with a complicated personality. This represents the seventies as a time when sexuality freedom was trumpeted but often at the expense of women's actual feelings. Even the other women in the movie, like a female casting agent, see Alana as something she's not, as merely a reflection of her own experiences.

“Licorice Pizza” is a movie that has a lot on its mind but that doesn't keep it from being frequently hilarious. The episodic story structure allows for a number of encounters with the colorful, bizarre figures you meet on the fringe of the entertainment industry. Such as Alana's day-long fling with Jack Holden, played by a nearly unrecognizable Sean Penn, a movie star so enamored of his own persona that he frequently can't seem to tell the difference between his real life and his fictional roles. This sequence – which also features Tom Waits as a foppish movie director – escalates to a ridiculously dangerous stunt involving a motorcycle, a golf course, and a pile of burning chairs. The real scene-stealer in the film is Bradley Cooper as an utterly unhinged, probably completely coked-up Jon Peters. Peters rampages through the center of the film, his insane acts creating lots of laughs while also seeming genuinely dangerous. Cooper unfurls reams of rapid-fire dialogue and swaggers with a crazed machismo that truly must be seen to be believed. (And seems to be a barely exaggerated portrayal of a larger-than-life figure.)

Stand-out performances like these are paired with some stunning filmmaking. The lengthy Peters episode also includes an incredible sequence where Alana steers a huge truck, totally out of gas, down a steep hill and through traffic that could easily compete with the excitement found in any of last year's best action movies. Anderson includes a number of reoccurring visuals that obliquely illustrates the film's themes. The first are repeated shots of characters reflected in glass or a mirror, often separated from someone by some sort of barrier. Such as when Alana and Gary get a DJ to read an ad for their waterbed store or when Gary gets briefly arrested by cops for no reason at all. This seems represents the adolescent desire to connect, to touch, another person but being held back by other forces. The other visual trademark of the film are repeated tracking shots of people running to someone else, overflowing with youthful energy as they race to be with someone they care about.

If the visuals go a long way to cementing how “Licorice Pizza” thinks and feels, it's soundtrack takes things all the way. Anderson largely scores the film with radio hits and deep cuts from the time and place. The irreverent inhabitants of a Teen Fair – which include the Adam West Batmobile and a cameo of John C. McGinley as Herman Munster – are matched with Sonny and Cher's “But You're Mine,” another irreverent icon of then-contemporary pop culture. The jungle movie drumming of Chico Hamilton's “Blue Sands” provides an uneasy energy to the scene where Gary is arrested. Bowie's elegiac and sweeping “Life on Mars?” provides the right touch to the end of one of Gary's schemes as he moves towards another. While the thumping rock swagger of the Door's “Peace Frog” energizes an earlier moment of people simply packing up. The songs are so vital to the film that there's barely any room for Jonny Greenwood's score, though he does chime in with a beautiful and simple piece of piano-driven music just when the movie's emotions need it.

Despite the prominent role music plays in the movie, the record store that lends the film its title never actually appears. Anderson chose the title because of its nostalgic association. And because its a better title than working title “Soggy Bottom,” the name of Gary's waterbed company that is derided by Alana in-film as being terrible. Ultimately, “Licorice Pizza” is another triumph from one of America's most consistently great filmmakers. Hilarious, touching, beautifully constructed and performed and with enough ambiguity to keep people talking about it forever, it's a wonderfully entertainment love letter to a bygone time and place. [Grade: A] 

Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2017)

8. Phantom Thread

Just the announcement of a new Paul Thomas Anderson movie is an event. That's the level of anticipation that greets your new projects when you've made at least three era defining masterpieces. His latest, “Phantom Thread,” was an especially mysterious venture. Up until its release, we only had a vague plot summary – that it was about a fashion design in 1950s England – to go on. The film saw Anderson re-teaming with Daniel Day-Lewis, which made “There Will Be Blood” fans go crazy. Then the announcement came that Day-Lewis was retiring following the film's completion. For all these reasons and more, “Phantom Thread” was hotly greeted by cinema fans. The movie, perhaps Anderson's most difficult to unravel, has already spurned debate and discussion.

Reynolds Woodcock is the greatest fashion designer of his day. He has designed gowns for princesses, movie stars, the rich and famous world over. Privately, he's a guarded, conflicted man, living with a controlling older sister and obsessed with his dead mother. While getting lunch at a  country diner, he meets a waitress named Alma. He asks her out on a date and she quickly falls in love with him. Reynolds, however, proves a difficult man to love and live with. Soon, Alma takes drastic measures to earn his affections.

With “Punch Drunk Love,” Paul Thomas Anderson made a movie about the sea-sick, whirlwind feelings that occur when falling in love. “Phantom Thread” is also a love story but couldn't be more different from Anderson's earlier film. This is a movie about how difficult it can be to love someone. Alma and Reynolds' relationship ebbs and flows wildly. They have close, intimate, even sweet moments together. These can then be followed with ugly fights, Reynolds becoming upset over trivial manners. As is often the case in real relationships, one partner takes and the other gives. “Phantom Thread” is all about the tension that can exist even between the most loving partners.

Sometimes that tension even manifests in a more visceral way. Since “Phantom Thread” has been such a mysterious project, I've heard the film described as belonging to several different genres. Some have referred to the movie as a thriller. This isn't incorrect. There's frequently a quiet unease running throughout “Phantom Thread.” Alma and Woodcok's first date turns awkward when the subject of his dead mother comes up. Reynolds sister, Cyril, exerts a sinister, unnerving influence on her brother. As the relationship comes close to collapsing, during a tense dinner or a New Year's Eve party, you often wonder how violently things are going to fall apart. “Phantom Thread” is indeed a thriller, where all the thrills exist in the quiet space between two people. A ghost, of sorts, even appears at one.

Yet I've also seen “Phantom Thread” called a comedy. This is somewhat true as well, as the film slowly reveals itself to be an extremely dry comedy of manners. Reynolds Woodcock is a supremely awkward person. He's prone to impolite outburst. During a fever, he repeatedly tells the doctor to “fuck off.” When well, and running into the same man at a Christmas party, he repeats the insult. The scene where he falls sick also has a sudden, odd comedy to it, the man collapsing suddenly. Depending on how you see the film, a scene where Woodcock becomes agitated because of asparagus is ever deeply unsettling or wryly funny. “Phantom Thread” tows this odd genre line, funny or uncomfortable depending on how you react to it.

As I review “Phantom Thread,” its the same week the final film in the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy comes out. Anderson's latest film presents an interesting contrast. This is also a deeply kinky film, without any actual sex being depicted on-screen. Woodcock and Alma's first date concludes with her coming back to his house. She stripes down to her undergarments, while Woodcock records her measurements. The film's conclusion has Woodcock giving himself up to Alma in a similarly humiliating way. It's hard to imagine someone as anally retentive as Reynolds Woodcock ever having physical sex. It seems these odd games of control, manipulation and exhibition, are the closest he can get to physical intimacy. (The film also luxuriates in rich food, a visceral, bodily pleasure Woodcock can enjoy, that almost takes the place of sex.) This is another way in which “Phantom Thread” is a very atypical love story.

More than anything else, I related to “Phantom Thread” as a story about perfectionism. Reynolds Woodcock demands every facet of his life be planned out and controlled. This is set out early on, when he orders a very specific meal at Alma's dinner. Any disruption to this schedule greatly upsets him. Alma simply entering his workshop while he's stitching a gown is enough to piss him off. Her making a little more noise then usual at breakfast enrages him. Further more, he demands perfection from his product. When a drunken, depressed debutante passes out in one of his dresses, he insists she take it off, as she's sullying his work. This is because his work is his life, as evident in the secret, personal messages he weaves into his outfits, the titular phantom threads. As a perfectionist with some obsessive-compulsive tendencies, Anderson's latest impresses me the most when focusing on how Woodcock's obsessive desire for perfection disrupts any semblance of a normal life.

Most of the press that has greeted the film has surrounded Daniel Day-Lewis' announcing his retirement, supposedly to pursue dress-making, the profession he learned while preparing to make “Phantom Thread.” Day-Lewis' performance here is not the theatrical, spine-rattling style of acting he displayed in “There Will Be Blood.” Woodcock is a far more reserved character than the thundering Daniel Plainview. He's quiet, his obsessions often working at him from the inside out. Day-Lewis, as always, puts an insane amount of detail and obvious thought into his acting. Woodcock's physicality suggests his emotional repression. His greater neurosis – his hang-ups about his dead mother, his odd relationship with his sister – are expressed mostly by what he doesn't say. Yes, it's a fantastic performance, a rich and thoughtful bit of acting.

Starring opposite Day-Lewis is Vicky Krieps, a relatively unknown character actress. Krieps, however, is just as good as the lead actor. Krieps' body language is as controlled, as expressive about the characters' inner thoughts, as Day-Lewis' is. Where Woodcock keeps his feeling bottled, Alma is more intuitive and feeling. Her attempts to interact with him, to pierce his prickly personality, frustrates her. Krieps displays this frustration in the most charming way possible. She plays Alma like a real person, desperate to connect with this person she has feelings for but finding it difficult. It's an impressive performance and I don't know how Krieps didn't earn a Oscar nomination herself.

Lesley Manville did, however, grab a Best Supporting Actress nomination. She plays Cyril, the closest thing “Phantom Thread” has to an antagonist. While Woodcock's obsessive tendencies are often counteracted by an occasional sweetness or vulnerability, Cyril is always hard and judgmental. She's more practical than her brother and seems to openly resent Alma. Instead of trying to keep the two together, she considers the girl a petty distraction for Reynolds. Of the film's primary characters, Cyril is probably the least explored, making Manville's performance more difficult to judge. The character is so unlikable and I found Manville's acting didn't overcome this status.

Being a movie about perfection, every aspect of “Phantom Thread” is sumptuously detailed. The costumes and production designs is incredible. There's so much meaning in every background item. The film is a feast for the eyes, the viewer being wowed by the amount of skill and work on display in every minute of this motion picture. The period details are accurate but, more importantly, reflect the character's world. The costumes, naturally, are brilliant and beautifully designed. Even the sound design is incredible, especially in moments such as that disastrous breakfast. Someone spreading butter on a piece of toast is made to sound like fingers on a chalkboard. As strictly a technical achievement, “Phantom Thread” is incredible.

Anderson just pointing his camera at this extraordinary detail would probably be enough. Instead, his visual approach to the film is just as meaningful as the rest of it. He switches back and forth between moments of overwhelming stillness – such as Alma and Reynolds' dinner, which is primarily shot in two static ways – with scenes that have more motion to them. Such as the camera following behind Reynolds' car as he drives towards Alma's restaurant. Or the dressmaker rushing into a wild New Year's party to retrieve the woman. Johnny Greenwood, by now Anderson's go-to composer, provides a score to match. The music fluctuates between throbbing low chords and sweeping, romantic themes.

When a director has made as many great films as Paul Thomas Anderson has, it's hard to decide where his latest work falls. “Phantom Thread” is a more mysterious film than his more widely recognized masterpieces. I have no doubt people will be trying to unravel its unspoken secrets for years to come. It's also a beautifully constructed and deeply beguiling film, with fantastic performances, that gracefully dances towards one of 2017's most meaningful endings. If it is indeed Daniel Day-Lewis' final film, it's an awfully good note to go out on. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2015)

7.5. Junun

Paul Thomas Anderson is such an enigmatic director that, sometimes, his movies are even shot in secret. “Junun” is a documentary Anderson directed. The film documents the creation of the album, “Junun,” a collaboration between Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood, Jewish composer Shye Ben Tzur, and Rajasthan Express, a collection of India-based musicians. Greenwood, of course, has scored several of Anderson's films which is likely how he became involved with this project. The movie wasn't announced until two weeks before its release. “Junun” would be an exclusive to online streaming library, MUBI. The film is under an hour long, making it more like Anderson's 7½ film, rather than his eighth feature. I'm including this as more of a bonus review, since its still enough of a real movie to warrant mention.

When I say “Junun” covers the recording of the titular album, I mean that rather literally. Anderson's cameras where invited into Mehrangarh Fort, a four hundred year old fortress in Jodhpur, Rajasthan. He observed the ancient space transformed into a recording studio. He watched the performers sing and play their instruments. Through his lens, he captures the creative process as it happens. Occasionally, interviews with the musicians and shots of the surrounding city are inserted among footage of songs being performed.

“Junun” covers a genre of music I wouldn't normally listen to. World music is not really on my radar. I don't even like Radiohead that much. However, the music in “Junun” is strangely affecting. The different backgrounds of those involved produces a blended sound. Greenwood's guitar playing and electronic work brings a Western bent to Rajasthan Express' traditionally Indian sound. Some songs are more upbeat, such as an opening number heavily featuring trumpets, or a song heavily featuring some female singers. Others are more subdued, such as a song mostly devoted to a man singing and playing his stringed instrument. I'm not sure I'll be buying any of the songs on iTunes but they are far more aurally pleasing than expected.

Since Anderson was right in there with the musicians, he documents some of the struggles and eccentricities of making an album. Electricity is frequently difficult to maintain in the fort. One scene shows the singers reclining on pillows, on the floor, trying to converse energy until the power is turned back on. Later, a musician blatantly tells the camera that he doesn't know where the power went. Some of the struggles are quirkier. Such as when a musician travels into town and buys a child's electronic keyboard from a music store, incorporating it into their recording session.

“Junun” also drops Anderson and his crew into a small corner of India. This allows the director to capture some of the local beliefs, customs, and culture. An interesting moment has one of the singers pausing, performing a ritual with some incense. He then talks about how he believes all beliefs are valid, taking elements from both Hindu and Muslim practices. Sometimes, Anderson does something as simple as following the musicians into town. We see small glimpses of Jodhpur. Such as kids playing in an exiting car, waving at the camera. Or two men holding hands before parting, which I'm really not sure how to interpret. “Junun” gives us a brief peak into the layered, multifaceted culture of India.

It's evident that “Junun” was filmed with a bare bones crew. There's very little of the elaborate camera work you usually associate with the director. Instead, it's clear that much of “Junun” was shot handheld. This, admittedly, gives the film a pleasantly flighty, improvised feeling. There's even one or two rough zoom-ins! This style was well suited to a movie all about the ebb and flow of creative juices. When Anderson tires of recording stuff on the flight, he employs a series of camera-equipped drones. Getting an aerial view on Mehrangarh Fort gives us a sense of the location's size and history. It also keeps the pace zippy, making sure the visual composition of the film is varied. For much the same reason, I suspect, Anderson also occasionally speeds up the footage, of the band assembling and dissembling their equipment in seconds.

Before “Junun's” final song is performed, an Indian man speaks about how the project has brought together people from different cultures. And, he hopes, has fostered a positive, international connection between different worlds from across the globe. It's a good vibe to conclude the film on. “Junun” is a pleasant viewing experience. Wrapping up under an hour, the watcher is left in a good mood. You get the impression that Anderson made the film more on a whim, or as a favor to Greenwood, yet I'm glad he did. In-between two-hour-plus epics about the human condition, a short film about music is a nice palette cleanser. [Grade: B]

Paul Thomas Anderson's projects continue to be shrouded in mystery. His latest picture is still officially untitled, though most people are calling it "Phantom Thread." It's a drama about the fashion industry in the 1950s. More exciting, it's Anderson's second collaboration with Daniel Day Lewis. (And may very well be Lewis' last film, assuming those retirement rumors stick.) The film is set for a Christmas release date this year, dropping the movie right into awards season. Hopefully Anderson will bounce back from "Inherent Vice" and maybe even get his Oscar, assuming "Phantom Thread" is that good. Either way, the director remains one of the most widely respected and beloved filmmakers working today.

Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2014)

7. Inherent Vice

Thomas Pynchon is one of the most enigmatic authors in American literary history. In the late sixties and seventies, he wrote three novels that were immediately hailed as dense, mysterious, groundbreaking masterpieces. Then he disappeared for seventeen years, almost literally, as the elusive Pynchon is rarely photographed or interviewed. Since then, he's sporadically published five new novels over the last two decades. Among those are “Inherent Vice.” Though his later books are a little more feasible, Pynchon's work has often been considered unfilmable. That's the sort of challenge Paul Thomas Anderson is up to. Written concurrently with “The Master,” “Inherent Vice” would be the first film adaptation of Pynchon's writing. It's also Anderson's most baffling movie yet.

I've never read “Inherent Vice's” source novel or any of Pynchon's fiction, for that matter. As a novice, “Inherent Vice” struck me as very difficult to follow. I had the Wikipedia plot description on-screen the whole time and was still lost most of the time. But here's the plot, as far as I can tell: Doc Sportello is a private investigator who lives in beach-side California and smokes too much pot. One day, estranged girlfriend Shasta re-enters his office and tells him about a conspiracy involving a local business developer.  Doc soon stumbles into a convoluted adventure. He encounters police corruption, several dead bodies, a vicious Neo-Nazi, and a drug smuggling ring called the Golden Fang. All the while, Doc yearns for Shasta, who has gone missing.

Time and setting remains incredibly important to Paul Thomas Anderson. “Inherent Vice” is set in 1970, right around the time when sixties hippy idealism was souring into seventies hedonism. The film tosses every social issue of the time into one film. The Manson murders cast a long shadow over the story. Repeatedly, the police referenced the murders, showing a clear paranoia about hippy death cults. Cults crop up in other aspects of the story. As do Aryan hate groups, black militants,  motorcycle gangs, prostitution, decadent sex, business growing out of control, and drug smuggling. And drugs in general. Just lots and lots of drugs. “Inherent Vice” certainly succeeds in capturing the feeling of the day.

Narratively, “Inherent Vice” is rambling, convoluted, and incoherent. And it's probably like that one purpose. The film is another homage to Raymond Chandler style film noir, a detective story with about a thousand false starts and leads, all winding around each other as our hero bumbles towards some sort of resolution. “Inherent Vice” is even less interested in making sense than stories of this type usually are. The film bogs down the Chandler-esque dense plotting with a druggy haze. Now the characters are just as confused as the audience is. By the end, it's apparent that the plot isn't really important or even meant to make sense. Instead, the characters and scenarios are meant to amuse us.

Which would be less of a problem if “Inherent Vice” was actually funny. Anderon has described the film as a comedy. He has cited Cheech and Chong and Zuckers/Abrahams/Zuckers as influences. Don't expect a festival of laughs though. Occasionally, a moment emerges out of the movie's pot-cloud haze that connects with the viewer's funny bone. The narration, provided by nasally voiced singer Joanna Newsom, interacts with the story in a frequently sarcastic, observational way. Honestly, one of the biggest laughs in “Inherent Vice” involves Doc being elbowed by a cop and stumbling to the ground, all in one continuous shot, of course. Otherwise, the movie seems to think that its characters reacting to the twisting story in a stoned out, confused manner is humor enough.

The film's anemic attempts at humor are exacerbated by a pace that moves in fits and starts. Anderson's films, despite their length, are usually excellently paced. “Inherent Vice,” however, feels exactly as long as it is. One assumes that this was a deliberate choice. The movie sets out to replicate the constantly stoned mindset of the main characters. And it does it a little too well. To a sober viewer, the film's pace drags. Scenes go on too long. There are frequent detours in the narrative, none of which end up meaning anything. I get that the shapeless story was intentional. Yet, when combined with a far too slow pacing, it comes off as more annoying than anything else.

Essaying the role of Doc Sportello is Joaquin Phoenix, in his second collaboration with P.T. A. It's as if Phoenix set out to play as different a character as possible from “The Master's” Freddie Quell. Well, I guess the two characters have something in common. They both indulge in their drug of choice far too often. While booze turned Freddie into a heedless rage machine, pot turns Doc into a deeply confused man. His only consistent objective is to reunite with Shasta and get laid, not necessarily in that order. Otherwise, due to the twisting narrative, Doc's goals seem to shift from scene to scene. He's a directionless protagonist, stuck inside a directionless film.

In truth, the only time “Inherent Vice” collects itself into something coherent is when focusing on Doc and Shasta's romance. Katherine Waterston's performance dominates every scene she's in. She reenters Doc's life in the first scene and you immediately understand why he spends the rest of the film chasing her. His flashbacks to happier days are wistful and touching. He longs for the youthful innocence they shared. One sequence, devoted to the two wandering around the rain, is enchanting but tinged with melancholy. When Shasta suddenly reappears near the end, the film builds towards a genuinely erotic moment. A very nude Waterson approaches Phoenix, teasing and seducing him, until he's overcome by lust. Waterson's performance is enticing. Doc's need to be reunited with her is the only clear narrative drive “Inherent Vice” has.

The only actual star “Inherent Vice” has besides Phoenix and Waterson is Josh Brolin. As Detective “Bigfoot” Bjornson, Brolin shifts between the ultimate square, the gruff of voice of abused authority, and something more unhinged. Otherwise, “Inherent Vice” populates it supporting cast with big names in bit parts. Benicio del Toro appears as Doc's lawyer, bringing some sleazy charm to the part. Reese Witherspoon shows up as the Deputy D.A. that has a fling with Doc, despite them being incredibly different. Michael K. Wiliams is one scene as the black militant who gives the detective a clue. Jena Malone delivers some absurd dialogue about heroin. Owen Wilson drifts in and out of scenes as Malone's missing husband. Out of these guest stars, the most interesting is former porn star Michelle Sinclair, better known as Belladonna. Sinclair shows a clear attitude and charm, stealing the scene she's in.

Out of the pot smoke fog “Inherent Vice” resides in, one or two occasionally interesting moment emerges. Out of the many false leads Doc pursues, two at least strike the viewer as interesting. The first occurs when he discovers a building shaped like a giant, golden fang. Inside resides the strangest cinematic dentist this side of Orin Scrivello. Martin Short appears as the sex-craved, coke-addict dentist. Short is at his most manic and irritating here. The scene is as shapeless as anything else in the film. However, Anderson does accurately capture the shaky, sweaty, nervous atmosphere the characters feel while high on cocaine. Another narrative dead end has Doc investigating a mental hospital that has been turned into the headquarters of a cult. The white robes and slightly unhinged doctors make this an interesting scene, as does Eric Roberts appearing as an unexpected patron.

As “Inherent Vice” clatters towards its conclusion, the film finally begins to pick up some steam.  Doc encounters an enemy that is suddenly introduced, just as pointless as any of the other skirmishes in the script. It quickly evolves into an actual climax, Doc facing down a Neo-Nazi and another bad guy. That forms into a decent confrontation between the drug ring and Bigfoot. It makes as much sense as the rest of the film – which is to say, none at all – but at least there's some sort of purpose to these moments. The movie pulls itself together enough to take the exhausting run time out on something interesting.

“Inherent Vice” may not have the precision screenplay you've come to expect from Paul Thomas Anderson's previous films. But at least his immaculate visual sense is maintained. There's a number of memorable shots in the film. One of my favorite moments occurs on a fog-strewn pier, characters appearing in and out of the fog as if by magic. Another interesting visual component of “Inherent Vice” is its set design. The Golden Fang building is a unique sight, as is its interior, decorated with gold and red objects. The costume design similarly shaggy but coordinated. If “Inherent Vice” attracts a cult audience, which seems likely, Doc Sportello's hat and coat combo will likely become a fan favorite.

If “Inherent Vice” represents what a Thomas Pynchon adaptation looks like, maybe its for the best that most of his work is unfilmable. It is not a bad film but a deeply amorphous one. It's essentially one long, rambling anecdote, the kind of thing that might be fascinating when you're stoned but is deeply exhausting when you're sober. Some interesting performances and a handful of good scenes elevate what is otherwise a shaggy mess. Knowing the kind of filmmaker Anderson is, one can assume this was mostly intentional. Then again, maybe it was time for the director to make a movie that was less than perfect. When you've made six masterpieces in a row, it was bound to happen. Let's hope it doesn't set a precedence though. [Grade: C+]

Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2012)

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Director Report Card: Paul Thomas Anderson (2007)

5. There Will Be Blood

Paul Thomas Anderson wanted to make a movie with Daniel Day Lewis. This isn't surprising since Lewis is one of the most desired and critically beloved – not to mention elusive – performers of his generation. Luckily, Daniel Day Lewis was a fan of “Punch-Drunk Love” and wanted to work with Anderson. Anderson would draw from several different sources to make “There Will Be Blood:” An unfinished script about feuding families, detail research into the oil business at the turn of the century, Upton Sinclair's novel “Oil!,” and the lives of oil barons Edwin Doheny and Harry Sinclair. The resulting film would widely be hailed as the best picture of the year. Lewis' performance would be rapturously received. It very well be Paul Thomas Anderson's greatest film.

In 1898, Daniel Plainview goes digging for gold and silver. In 1902, he discovers oil instead and begins a successful drilling business. After a worker is killed, he adopts the man's child as his own son. Nine years later, Paul Sunday comes to Plainview, informing him of great amount of oil underneath his family's farm. Plainview's attempt to buy the land is challenged by Eli, Paul's twin brother and a budding preacher. Daniel buys the Sunday farm but only after agreeing to let Eli build a church on the land. Soon, a rivalry forms between Plainview and Eli, each humiliating each other in their quest for riches, power, and inner peace.

“There Will Be Blood” is a masterwork that touches upon many different subjects. However, it's mostly about Daniel Plainview, an extraordinary character. Plainview's determination is without limits. The spellbinding opening scene, stretching on for over ten minutes, is almost entirely without dialogue. After falling inside the tunnel he dug himself, Plainview drags himself to the surface and into town. This is just one example of how far Plainview will go to succeed. Except Daniel's riches don't make him happy. Instead, it only exacerbates the hate for mankind he already feels. “There Will Be Blood” seems to detail a man's withdrawal into complete misanthropy. Yet it's also deeply enigmatic, raising questions about whether or not Plainview ever had anything but complete disgust for his fellow man.

Daniel Plainview gives probably the most mesmerizing performance of the 2000s. Daniel Day Lewis creates a voice for the character that was immediately a target for parody. Not because it's goofy but because it was so utterly distinctive. Plainview's voice is a gruff bellow, each word carefully chosen. From there, Lewis builds an impressive physicality around the character. Lewis' emphasizes the total discomfort Daniel feels around other people with small, barely noticeable movements. Yet these more subtle touches are in service of an operatic performance. More than once, Lewis reaches for the rafters, screaming, shouting and acting like a complete madman. Because this is such a carefully created character, these elements never come off as hammy or overdone. Instead, Plainview is made into an intimidating, hypnotic masterclass of acting.

“There Will Be Blood” can, perhaps, best be summed up as being about a fight between the two most abused powers in American history: Religion and business. Plainview, in many ways, represents everything wicked about American capitalism. His initial plan is to cheat the Sunday family out of million, planning on buying their ranch without mentioning the oil underneath it. He is ruthless against his adversaries, mocking them in public. He pays more attention to the burning oil well than his injured child. Eli Sunday, meanwhile, sums up everything deceitful about evangelical Christianity. He uses his theatrical skills as a preacher to manipulate his followers. He is just as greedy as Plainview but he hides his greed behind a virtuous public face. Later, he attempts to humiliate Plainview before a crowded church. Both men are totally self-interested. It's up to the viewer to decide which one is worst.

Plainview's son, H.W., provides much of the ambiguity surrounding the character. Does Daniel Plainview actually love H.W.? When he first adopts the boy, he uses him as a cynical marketing technique. With his son by his side, he projects the image of a family man, someone clients can trust with their money. Plainview admits this in the film's final third, disowning the boy. Yet there are other moments that make you wonder. He's affectionate towards the child at time. After H.W. is rendered deaf by an exploding oil platform, Plainview genuinely attempts to communicate with him. Attacking his son seems to be the only thing that actually infuriates him. At the same time, he ships the boy off so he doesn't have to deal with him. An action he seems to feel genuine guilt for. Did Plainview's growing cynicism cause him to disown his boy? Or did he never feel anything towards H.W.? Once again, Anderson's film leaves it up to the viewer to decide.

Family is a re-occuring theme throughout the film. Midway through the movie, a man appears on Plainview's property, claiming to be his long-lost brother. Plainview is skeptical at first but, eventually, seems to form something of a kinship with him. The two even share a swim together. Which is the same moment Daniel realizes the man is a fraud. His reaction seems to suggest that the world constantly disappointing him is what truly drives Plainview towards total misanthropy. At least it would, if he didn't deliver a spellbinding monologue earlier about how he sees the rest of humanity as competition, barely concealing the clear disgust he feels. In time, he sees family as a weight around his neck, something holding him back from the pure isolation he craves.

Paul Dano plays Eli Sunday. Standing up against Daniel Day Lewis' performance as Plainview must have been intimidating. Dano never attempts to out-act Lewis. Instead, he plays Eli as a despicable, squabbling little worm. He strikes the viewer as physically weak. Whenever he raises his voice, it only draws attention to how effete and unassuming Dano seems. This makes him the perfect foil to Lewis' Plainview. The two are similar, two men who put on public persona to swindle people out of money, except for one important detail: Daniel Plainview may feel only hate for the human race but at least he's not self-righteous. Dano plays Eli Sunday as a man who buys his own bullshit, who truly believes he's a prophet of God even if his behavior says otherwise.

The supporting cast has fewer familiar faces in it. Recognizable Ciaran Hinds appears as Fletcher, a business associate of Plainview's. Kevin J. O'Connor plays Henry Plainview, Daniel's imposter brother. O'Connor is soft-spoken, despite the obvious shifty qualities he brings to the part, making him seem possibly innocent even after Daniel uncovers his deception. Yet the unfamiliar names in the supporting cast prove more impressive. Dillon Freasier plays H.W. as a boy. Freasier's quiet intensity, that almost seems inhuman, matches the tone of the film perfectly. After loosing his hearing, Freasier plays H.W. as even more distant from his father. Russell Harvard plays H.W. as an adult. Though his part is brief, he makes an impression, showing the hurt and frustration that must follow being Daniel Plainview's son.

In “Punch-Drunk Love,” Paul Thomas Anderson brought a previously unseen level of stillness to his usually frenetic direction. This attribute is pushed even further in “There Will Be Blood.” Anderson's trademark long shots seem to linger on individual images more. Such as Plainview observing his burning oil well or brooding in a stairway. Or a quiet moment of Plainview and a baby H.W. watching each other on a train. Some times, Anderson's camera seems glued to Plainview's intensity. Such as the trailer-worthy moment where he declares he's “abandoned his boy,” in front of a busy church. Anderson marries his focused, still images to an extra-wide, theatrical visual palette. “There Will Be Blood” is visually similar to the sweeping, technicolor epics of the forties and fifties. This contrasts nicely against its morally gray themes.

“There Will Be Blood's” title makes a promise. The film is not especially violent, as far as these things go. Yet the violence is always treated with an undeniable ferocity. The audience feels the impact of Plainview's fall in the opening scene. When a loose pipe impales a worker inside an oil well, the blow is sudden and startling. H.W. being blown back by the exploding oil well is similarly harrowing. Yet Anderson's saves the most shocking moment for the fierce conclusion. The final confrontation between Daniel Plainview and Eli Sunday, playing out over his personal bowling alley, is one of the most intense conclusion to appear in a recent film. Lewis' performance rages on like an angry god as Plainview destroys his archenemy, removing any reason for him to keep living.

For “There Will Be Blood,” Anderson would split from his usual composer, Jon Brion, and pair with Johnny Greenwood, perhaps better known as the guitarist for Radiohead. Greenwood's powerful, strange, ominous music is one of the reasons why “There Will Be Blood” is so good. The score is characterized by throbbing, growling, deep strings, casting a disturbing mood. There's a constant, uneasy energy, powered by plucking notes and frantic strings to the music. This is best emphasized during the oil rig explosion scene, where Greenwood's music clatters forward wildly, discordant noise building atop a thrashing, unending beat. Even the quieter moments are awash in nervous repetition. It's not exactly easy listening but it perfectly matches the film, making it better.

The immediate influence “There Will Be Blood” had on pop culture can be seen in how many references it spawned. “I drink your milkshake!” “Drainage!” “I've abandoned my boy!” and a few other lines of dialogue would become internet memes, referenced and parodied all throughout pop culture. Daniel Plainview took his place among iconic film characters. Of course, Day Lewis won the Oscar and every other award he was nominated for. All of Paul Thomas Anderson's films are varying degrees of great but “There Will Be Blood” feels like an honest-to-God cinematic experience, a powerhouse of a movie that overwhelms and lingers in the brain. [Grade: A]