I’ve been struggling to pull a single thread through Licorice Pizza. When Paul Thomas Anderson makes a new movie, pinning its meaning is reliably difficult, but one might think that his most recent ventures into romantic comedy would prove easier to encapsulate. In 2014, Anderson released Inherent Vice, a sprawling, stoner epic, far more faithful to its Thomas Pynchon source material than any classical genre confines. The hangout movie set, in the ’70s, builds upon Anderson’s canon of Altman-inspired ensemble casts. The movie is a hilarious bad trip and signaled a new foray for the filmmaker into the comedic recesses of his brilliant mind. Anderson’s response to Inherent Vice’s structural malaise was the profound austerity of his 2017 follow-up, Phantom Thread. Equally funny but sharply different in tone, the elegant and fashion-forward film is more explicitly focused on the wryly awkward romance, a sphere of character study Anderson has made himself comfortable with since his 2002 offering Punch-Drunk Love. Phantom Thread sees a shrunken cast, but a similar sense that Anderson is becoming acutely aware that he’s one of the greatest American directors of all time. This swagger manifests itself exclusively on-screen through brutally lavish directing—the kind of blocking and camera that makes you curse under your breath. It’s worth noting that Anderson personally picked up the camera for the first time with Phantom Thread, reclaiming the baton from legendary photographer and trusted collaborator, DP Robert Elswit. The question for an auteur after a successful string of comedic entries naturally becomes, well, what’s next? Pundits pestered Anderson on the subject, curious if he’d continue to flex his comic sensibilities, return to an ensemble cast, maybe go back to his roots? Well now I can answer for the master, respectively: yes, yes, and in a very literal sense, yes.
One thing that clicked with me was Anderson’s clear adoration of cinema and movie-going as a sacred art form. The release of Licorice Pizza has made no mystery of Anderson’s desire to treat seeing his film as an event. I saw the feature as a part of its initial commercial run and at the time of writing this piece, movie-goers in only a few major cities have the opportunity to watch the film in select theaters. The most essential marking of this limited release is the fact that each show will feature the movie shown on film projection. That means that if you see Licorice Pizza in its current run, you’ll be blessed with the rich colors, and stupefying grain of 35mm film, or, if you’re as lucky as me (still pinching myself), you’ll get a chance to see the picture on 70mm projection. This means a borderline shocking display of image quality, with a luxurious and syrupy palette of colors, and infinitesimal galaxies of film grain composing each frame like an impressionist painting.
The movie was magical. Deserving of its event status, handsome theater and celluloid projection, Licorice Pizza is an entrancing kaleidoscope of colors, characters, and locations that had me smiling for most of the film. Set in Anderson’s native San Fernando Valley in 1973, the film follows a 15 year old Gary Valentine, played by Cooper Hoffman, as he attempts to win over the heart of 20-something Alana Kane, played by Alana Haim, both of the two leads starring in their first feature film. The two actors will soon stand distinguished by their acting but for now, some context is helpful: In a tear-inducing choice of casting, Anderson picked Cooper Hoffman, son of late great actor and frequent collaborator Phillip Seymour Hoffman, from the home movies he’s made with his children, and put him in his newest feature. Alana Haim however, is already famous and lauded for her artistic contributions— they are just in a completely different medium. Alana makes up one third of the pop rock outfit Haim, alongside her two sisters who also feature in the film. Anderson has teamed up with Haim for multiple mesmerizing music videos and when you watch them, you can see the moments that Alana lights up the screen, and feel the gears that must have been turning in Anderson’s head behind the camera. Anderson manages to capture lightning in a bottle with the two stars, whose enthusiasm and lack of exposure reflect his own wide-eyed experiences growing up in the same location at the same time. Hoffman’s lips curl with excitement with every line read, as if he is taking luxurious pleasure just from hearing himself talk. He, like his fast-talking character Gary, is pumping up his charm to its highest potential and with every scheme, prank, and business venture, his happy-to-be-here attitude radiates through his performance. Haim’s acting is equally as gleeful, as her confused yet confident character stumbles through her mid-twenties, furrowing her eyebrows, shining wide smiles, and darting her expressive eyes along the way. Alana has an amazing casual quality in the film: she is effortlessly cool, yet believably insecure, and as she tries to find love and purpose in her life, you want nothing more than to befriend her. Critic Adam Nayman put it well when he described the two performances, “they have great, malleable faces, and Anderson likes nothing more than to hold on them until they light up.”
The rest of the cast pokes out of each of Gary and Alana’s schemes, with household names and faces familiar from Anderson’s filmography anchoring incredible setpieces with expressive character work. With only so little screen time, Sean Penn, Tom Waits, and Harriet Hansom Harris make massive contributions. The rollout of these side characters helps push the relatively formless narrative structure of the film. Mirroring the free-wheeling nature of the two leads, the story hops from one mini-movie to another, including an expansive departure in the form of an intentionally botched waterbed installation at the home of producer Jon Peters (Bradley Cooper). While the story drags occasionally, the structural approach felt conducive to the nature of the nostalgic and dreamy atmosphere.
Being his ninth film, I was expecting Anderson’s directing to be in terrific form, and he somehow surpassed my expectations. The blocking is elegant, the cuts are scarce, and the compositions are beautifully detailed, but nothing holds a candle to the ways in which Anderson moves the camera. His signature, profiled, lateral tracking shot is present, there are several delicious oner’s that snake through crowded setpieces, and some of the most tasteful slight push-ins i’ve ever seen. Visual influences can be seen everywhere, particularly to the 70s films that made Anderson the filmmaker he is today.
Not everything is glowing however, as there were several seat-squirming moments for me. Most of my problems arose from some of the humor and some uncharacteristic indolence in the finale. There is one joke in particular, that is repeated multiple times, which left a bad taste in my mouth. While set up to be from the mouth of a clueless and racist character, the joke itself did come across as racist in its repetition and felt totally unnecessary to the scenes it was featured in. I’ve read the takes of people defending these jokes, claiming that it’s inclusion is merely reflective of the time period, that we are clearly meant to laugh at the bad person making it. In theory, I understand this point, but in practice, it felt very uncomfortable in its delivery. This kind of writing, that feels lazy and not as well thought out as the rest of the film, is present several times, but I don’t view the crypt as a wholly problematic text, just one that lacked some level of representative tact. The finale, in a similar bout of laziness, feels unfortunately corny and by-the-numbers in its approach, with some borderline hack editing and borrowed beats that are far less tasteful than others. The film, like the characters, loses itself a couple of times, and as the detours continue to mount, you as an audience member, get lost as well.
Licorice Pizza is quite a fine film, it looks sublime, it’s directed by a master, and it captures a specific atmosphere beautifully. While I disagree with some choices, and winced more than I was hoping to, the film is an event worth attending, and a heartening love-letter penned by lovers of movies and kid-at-heart.
