Review: "Inherent Vice"

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Runtime: 145 minutes

Finding the right writer/director to adapt a distinctive novel is no easy task. When directors apply too much of their own vision, the original text gets lost in the shuffle (though The Shining is still an example of how such an approach can work). And if the director is too safe, the source material ends up being worshipped as gospel, often resulting in sluggish, line-by-line adaptations that fail to leap from the page to the screen. Perfect marriages of director and source material, those that complement each other rather than engage in a stylistic tug of war, are rare, but not impossible. The Coen brothers' No Country For Old Men set a high standard seven years ago, and in October David Fincher's Gone Girl joined its ranks. The latest adaptation to work so well, even if it's not quite great, is Paul Thomas Anderson's adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's Inherent Vice. 

It's understandable that it's taken so long for a Pynchon adaptation to reach cinemas. The reclusive author's works are characterized by dense, head-spinning prose wrapped around byzantine plots. Inherent Vice, as a novel, isn't as overwhelming as something like "Gravity's Rainbow," however, which makes it a smarter pick for a silver screen debut. In Anderson, Pynchon's novel has found an artist perfectly adapting to its pot-smoke flooded atmosphere and shaggy dog storytelling. 

Set right at the end of the 60s, Inherent Vice, like the novel, wastes no time in getting started. The instant drug-fueled detective Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) wakes up, he's confronted by his ex-girlfriend Shasta (Katherine Waterston), who's come to beg for help in the dead of night. Shasta's new boyfriend, land development millionaire Mickey Wolfmann (Eric Roberts) is in danger of being thrown in a psych ward so that his wife and her lover can claim his fortune. It's a classic noir opening, albeit dressed up in 60s threads and surrounded by LA surf culture and neon lights instead of venetian blinds.

But it's not long after this encounter that Doc finds himself in way over his head and the plot starts to snowball into a web of alliances, double crosses, and conspiracies. People show up out of the blue with cryptic warnings, and somehow everyone he meets, no matter how different, is somehow connected. Everyone, good, bad, or in between, has an agenda except for Doc, who wanders through the story like a confused extra rather than a true protagonist. If you come into Inherent Vice expecting answers to all of your questions, you're out of luck. Doc barely understands everything going on, and Anderson keeps the film rooted in his perspective. There are so many angles in Vice's story that it can be dizzying to keep them all together. 

Even so, Anderson's ability to capture the tone of Pynchon's overall story as well as his prose is commendable. Clocking in at two and a half hours, it's quite the long trip down the marijuana-scented rabbit hole, but the contact high Inherent Vice provides is often a pleasurable one. Though often quite funny, there's a pointed commentary on display about how those in power co-opt counterculture movements that gives the film just enough of a point to justify its narrative ramblings.

Though Phoenix is the story's only true main character (everyone else drifts in and out of the story at a moment's notice), it's the massive supporting cast that really owns Vice. Josh Brolin is an early standout as Lt. "Bigfoot" Bjornsen, a straight-laced cop who enjoys nothing more than making Doc's "hippie bullshit" life hell. His interactions with Doc bring out the film's off-kilter humor in both dialogue exchanges and weird visual gags. Waterston is an effectively alluring and conflicted surfer femme fatale, and makes her relationship with the considerably older Mr. Phoenix believable. Though underused, Benicio Del Toro is spot on as Doc's lawyer, while Owen Wilson and Jena Malone turn in memorable work as a missing musician and his wife, respectively. A somewhat unrecognizable Eric Roberts is also quite good as the missing Mickey Wolfmann, once the character finally surfaces.

Despite the characters who pop up across the entire film, the most memorable performance comes from one of the story's one-off characters. As a corrupt, drug-addled dentist, Martin Short delivers an arrestingly gonzo performance that marks Inherent Vice's comedic high point. To see his character leave the story so quickly is a bit of a disappointment. Other characters have plenty of spark to contrast with Doc's mellow attitude, but the dynamism Short brings to the film is often missed during other key scenes.

Perplexingly, the cast member who is least consistent is Phoenix. Though his look and mannerisms are spot on, the actor's delivery is wildly inconsistent. Even when his face is glazed over, there's a sharpness to Phoenix's eyes and features that never quite sinks into Doc's mindset. Similarly to his work in The Immigrant, Phoenix sometimes just feels too tightly wound and modern to fully immerse himself in Doc, who's the epitomization of a very specific subculture and time period. Phoenix certainly has his moments in the role, but just when he appears to have fully clicked with the character, some piece of dialogue or interaction comes along and rings false. 

Phoenix may be inconsistent, but at least the storytelling and tone are set on the right path. Anderson holds keeps the pieces of the story together, at times just barely, ensuring that enough of it makes sense while leaving plenty of connections skimmed over to the point where the film practically demands a second viewing. Anderson's longtime cinematographer Robert Elswit allows certain images to look grainy or rough, further drawing one into the story's representation late 60's Los Angeles. Composer Jonny Greenwood  contributes a moody, accessible score that nicely contrasts with the purposefully eerie themes written for Anderson's previous two films (There Will Be Blood & The Master). Other production details are excellent across the board, though special mention should be given to the hair and makeup team for putting so much personality in each character's coiffure.

Though Inherent Vice's longwinded structure can lead to sporadic lulls in pacing, it's still an engaging trip through the mind of one of the most important writers of the 20th and 21st centuries. Vice is not regarded as one of Pynchon's greatest works, and the film isn't one of Anderson's finest, but both work as engrossing pieces of entertainment that finely straddle the lines between high and low culture. It's proof that one can create a perfectly successful and satisfying adaptation of a novel without straining to find a hidden greatness that was probably never there in the first place. And even if it was, it would probably just go up in smoke anyway.

Grade: B

Review: "The Immigrant"

Director: James Gray
Runtime: 120 minutes

Well at least James Gray knows how to capture a time period. Even when the results are less than stellar - as in Blood Ties, which he wrote - the man does have a knack for bringing the recent past to life. Yet rather than stay in his comfort zone, Gray has chosen to branch out with his latest film, The Immigrant, which premiered at last year's Cannes film festival. Gray has leapfrogged over the time periods of his other films, and landed in the early part of the 20th century, a time when Ellis Island was filled to the brim with people from nations across the Atlantic. 

One of those people is Ewa Cybulska (Marion Cotillard), who has fled to America with her sister Magda (Angela Sarafyan) to escape their troubled homeland. Yet Ellis Island proves less welcoming than Lady Liberty's statue and her promises. Magda is quarantined, and Ewa's contacts in America are nowhere to be found. Ewa's American Dream is all but snuffed out at the finish line, when she's rescued by Bruno (Joaquin Phoenix), who promises her shelter, work, and money. It's the last item that Ewa latches onto, as it's Magda's only hope of survival while trapped in the hospital on the island. 

Ewa quickly learns, however, that Bruno's line of work may be a bit on the seedy side. The soft-spoken, off-kilter man runs a small theater, which of course is but a flashy display case for his cavalcade of prostitutes. Bruno does his best to convince Ewa that she's becoming part of a family, though she stoically tries her hardest to remain apart from the group. 

Despite a runtime of two hours, Gray lays the basic framework down quite briskly, even as he takes time to show larger images of 1920's Manhattan. Ewa and Bruno's relationship is an uneasy one, but it allows for interesting interplay between the film's two leads. Phoenix, though at times going a bit too broad and whispery as Bruno, does solid work as the more dynamic of the pair. His caring brand of possessiveness, balanced with Ewa's constant deflections, creates a unique set up. Even when a third party is introduced, The Immigrant never becomes a full-blown love triangle, or even a romance at all. 

It is, fundamentally, a story of how Cotillard's fresh-off-of-the-boat immigrant copes with being the lowest member on a food chain. More established immigrants (including Bruno) manage the newcomers, while also doing their best to please the authorities so as to stay out of trouble. Bruno may be Ewa's boss of sorts, but even he reports to an older woman at the theater. He also deals with Jewish slurs on a regular basis. He may be a pimp, but he's not a particularly powerful one. 

However, The Immigrant ultimately belongs to Cotillard, despite the overwhelmingly passive nature of the role. Ewa's goal is a simple one - to help (and possibly free) Magda - and Cotillard's blankness works to her advantage. This isn't a woman who can afford to joyously chase after her own dreams; she has to put her nose to the grindstone and get to work, whatever unpleasantness may ensue. 

The actress' work is mostly quiet, the polar opposite of her Oscar-winning performance as Edith Piaf, but Cotillard does a lovely job of managing Ewa's restraint. In the moments where she cracks, the actress refuses to go for big moments, even in a scene that is practically designed for Oscar-begging histrionics. Speaking both English and Polish, Cotillard is the heart of the film, and the limited manner in which she opens up is mirrored in the film's own emotional tone. When we speak of actors "owning" a film, it's usually about roles that require big flashes of emotion. With The Immigrant, Cotillard proves that it's possible to do this in near silence. 

Gray's direction - classical and elegant - understands this. Sadly, his writing has a much less solid foundation. Instead of merely allowing Ewa and Bruno's relationship to build into a natural display of unrequited affection and exploitation, Gray introduces a second rate magician named Orlando (Jeremy Renner). Renner is perfectly charming in the role, and makes you wish he had more screen time. Yet, enjoyable as he is, Orlando gets in the way of the main duo's relationship, instead of adding another layer to the drama. 

And as much as Gray keeps the story going (the pacing is stately, but certainly not sluggish), certain moments are rushed, and left feeling dramatically weightless. Gray's characters could use a bit more depth as well. There's a great divide in Ewa regarding her Catholic faith and her line of work, but Gray doesn't really dig into it aside from one notable scene (and there it's Cotillard, not the script, that makes it work). Though I'd consider The Immigrant a success, it is a strange, frustrating sort of success. The right pieces are there, but the script doesn't always do enough with them (that, or it deals with them too briefly). 

Production values, however, are very much a triumph. Despite a modest budget, Gray's vision of the 20s is as lush as Once Upon a Time in America or the flashbacks in The Godfather Part II. Sets and costumes are handsomely detailed, and Darius Khondji's sepia and gold-toned photography gives it all a nuanced, painterly quality. On a purely aesthetic level, The Immigrant is worthy of joining the ranks of the films it's so clearly paying homage to. Yet Gray's wishy-washy script trips the enterprise up one too many times. The Immigrant certainly never falls on its face, but it has enough unbalanced moments that cause the end result to be an overeager imitation, rather than a modern classic. 

Grade: B

AFI Fest 2013: "Her"

Director: Spike Jonze
Runtime: 120 minutes

The future is a sleek, dark, sterile world. At least, that's what your average near-future dystopia would tell you. This being the case, director Spike Jonze deserves a lot of credit for his simple, ultimately warm look at where our society is headed, with his new romance Her. He also deserves credit for, in his first outing as a writer, delivering such a funny, heartfelt, and empathetic look at love and human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. 

Despite lonely protagonist Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix), Jonze approaches Her by doing a complete 180 from his previous film, 2009's Where the Wild Things Are. That film took a children's book and infused it into a tale filled with poignant, soulful mourning. By contrast, this tale of adults and their romantic lives is mostly a light comedy. 

Rather than opt for a future filled with nihilistic heaviness, Jonze and his collaborators have dreamed up a world filled with warmth. Rather than oppressive grays, Her is shot and designed to incorporate a wide range of soft, vibrant pastels. Some of Hoyt van Hoytema's shot compositions showcase the towering skyscrapers of Los Angeles, but the film is ultimately concerned with intimacy. 

For Theodore, that intimacy comes not from another person, but from a futuristic new operating system. Once activated, the program develops a personality, that grows as its spends more time with the given customer. Theodore's OS, for example, gives herself the name Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson), and quickly becomes her own strong-willed personality. In line with the film's notions of simplicity, the artificial intelligence in Her takes no physical form. There are Blade Runner-esque androids. There's only the voice.

While Jonze gets to craft scenes and images, and Phoenix has room to visibly express himself, Johansson is left with only her voice. She's Her's make it or break it element, and thankfully, she succeeds with flying colors. Though she came to prominence in roles that emphasized emotional minimalism (Girl with a Pearl Earring, Lost in Translation), Johansson proves she's capable of creating a richly textured character without even appearing on screen. Jonze's script only helps the performance. He gives Samantha room to be her own person. Though she's technically there to be a voice for Theodore's computer, Her's progression makes her every bit as well rounded as her "owner," even though she comes into the movie with no background or baggage. 

Likewise, Amy Adams' Amy is also given room to have her own life. For a movie ostensibly about a man falling in love with his computer, Her's women are refreshingly independent. Though they have moments to comfort Theodore, Jonze writes them as full-bodied beings with more to do than act as emotional sounding boards for a man. Even Rooney Mara, as Theodore's ex-wife Catherine,  is never simplified or demonized. Though most of Catherine's scenes are silent flashbacks, Jonze never robs her of a voice. The reason for her split from Theodore is given a fair shake, with both parties shown enduring some form of emotional struggle. 

As valuable as the women are, however, Her is built on both Theodore and Samantha. And for a couple who never visibly share the screen, Phoenix and Johansson work wonders together. Phoenix throws himself into the goofy, aloof Theodore with the same force he gave to the tormented and animalistic Freddie Quell in last year's The Master. Despite being known largely for playing men riddled with demons, Phoenix makes for a surprising comedic and romantic lead. 

The performances and direction only heighten as the film dips into deeper territory. Her is, somewhat contrary to the marketing, a comedy, but Jonze never forgets to push beneath the surface charm. Yet rather than become fully dramatic in the later portions, it's perhaps more accurate to say that the film becomes empathetic. Jonze wrings some beautifully romantic and heartfelt moments out of his sci-fi laced scenario, yet there's never an emotional heaviness behind it. In fact, the film's few uncomfortable moments come when seemingly dramatic scenes are suddenly punctuated with obviously intentional comedy. You enjoy the comedy, but simultaneously can't help but wish that a serious beat had simply been allowed to settle and take root. 

Her isn't so much a searing study of human relationships as it is a gently comforting, though ultimately lighthearted romance. It's easy enough to dismiss Jonze's tone as nothing but frivolity. The film's lightness is underscored by moments of deep feeling that speak for themselves though restrained direction and beautiful performances. Her is a gorgeous technical package (with van Hoytema's cinematography taking best in show honors) ,but it would be nothing without committed performances lending some real soul to its deceptive lightness. In Phoenix and Johansson, however, Jonze has found a perfect pair around which to build his singular vision of our rapidly deepening relationship with technology. 

So many films have tried tackling society's progression with heavy-handed seriousness. Her, on the other hand, sees fit to view the future with guarded optimism and a lovely sense of hope, despite the inevitable complexities that arise along the way. The journey into the future is uncertain, but for Spike Jonze, it's humanity's constant needs that are the real driving force behind society's developments. As it turns out, those are more impressive than any grandiose advancements in technology or special effects. 

Grade: B+/A-

Review: "The Master"

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Runtime: 137 minutes

"We are not animals. Maaaaaan is not a part of the animal kingdom," intones Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) over a tape to his followers in The Master. Yet Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), by his very existence, seems to have been planted on this earth to challenge Dodd's assertion. The two play off of each other in a manner that feels like an evolved version of the father-son bond in Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will be Blood. Only this time, the "son" figure isn't so impressionable, and is more like a wild animal in need of taming. Where Blood was overall more centered on one man's journey, Anderson's latest brings the father figure/son figure conflict to the forefront. The results may not be as immediately epic, but they are equally compelling, and quite obviously the work of a master.

Set amid the aftermath of WWII, The Master follows Phoenix's Freddie as he struggles to make his way in the world after returning from combat. He struggles to interact with others, often breaking out into fits of lust or violence, which doesn't exactly go over well at his various places of employment. He also has a fixation with crafting insanely strong alcoholic concoctions, which involve zesty ingredients like paint thinner. After one bout of drunkenness, Freddie stumbles aboard a ship bound for New York City. Its passengers are Dodd, his wife Peggy (Amy Adams), and the devoted followers of The Cause, Dodd's religion/philosophy/vague Scientology stand-in. Despite their drastically different natures, Dodd's civilized man and Quell's twitchy anti-socialite, they begin to bond. Dodd introduces Freddie to his family and his followers, and takes him under his wing in an attempt to help him overcome his demons. 

Rumored to be loosely based on the founding of Scientology, Anderson eschews controversy and allows Dodd and The Cause to act as their own entities. There's no mention of thetans or Lord Xenu, but The Cause does involve sessions that might have some resemblance to auditing processes that often come up in Scientology discussions. Dodd's devout followers are more than ready to be "processed," while Quell presents a special sort of challenge. And from this challenge comes The Master's greatest strength. From the Quell-Dodd dynamic Anderson manages to craft an understatedly epic drama about man's resistance and submission to various forms of authority. Quell may be under Dodd's seemingly all-encompassing wing, but even Dodd goes quietly when an incident results in his arrest. Freddie, meanwhile, has no master, and he fights the authorities off like a rabid dog. 

As embodied by Phoenix and Hoffman, these two figures command one's attention, whether they're sharing the screen or not. Hoffman, a longtime Anderson collaborator, delivers a mix of self-importance and self-righteousness that is coupled with an easy going, affable patriarch figure. Through Anderson's lens we're able to see Dodd as a manipulator, a caring father, and even a boorish drunk, and Hoffman makes the character's facets flow together seamlessly. Yet even though Hoffman may play the titular Master, it's Phoenix who owns the film. His face is perpetually contorted into a half sneer, half twitch, further enforcing the idea that he sticks out from normal society. Phoenix's posture is another marvel of physical acting. His gaunt, emaciated frame is constantly hunched over, and he roams through many scenes like some mentally unstable vulture.  As the man and the man-animal bond and clash, the acting fireworks are few and far between, but both men hit their marks when the time comes.

Though not nearly as prominent, Amy Adams is also excellent. Anderson uses the character sparingly, and the actress takes on the mix of charming house wife and iron maiden with aplomb. Other characters abound, but the core of the film is Phoenix and Hoffman's dynamic, and Anderson never strays from this. This strategy allows the film some room to incorporate its third leading man: Mr. Anderson himself. Continuing his Kubrick-influenced phase, the director has once again created a world of character study blown up against an inexplicably epic-feeling backdrop, all while retaining an eerie sense of distance. The filmmaking is unsentimental to the max, even as it charts the ups and downs of Quell and Dodd's relationship, as well as their relationship to society at large. Coupled with Anderson's screenplay, this can lead to the film meandering. But what compelling meandering it is. 

The opening stretches of The Master, most notably Quell and Dodd's first encounter, represent the driest portions. Yet once the narrative settles into the middle (and the film is 85-90% shapeless middle), Anderson cuts loose. The film runs for over two hours, yet it rarely, if ever, lags, despite the sense that the massive middle isn't building to an obvious conclusion. Anderson takes great pleasure in luxuriating in his character's lives, and watching Freddie struggle to cope with The Cause's subtly (perhaps randomly) evolving methods and teachings showcases the director's best Kubrickian influences. 

Further enhancing Anderson's grasp over the material is the first class work from his artistic and technical collaborators. Longtime Anderson cinematographer Robert Elswitt may be absent, but replacement Mihai Malaimare Jr. fills his shoes and crafts some remarkable imagery that adds to the low-key epic feel of the film. Anderson's returning collaborators don't disappoint either. Costume designer Mark Bridges (fresh off of an Oscar win for The Artist) convincingly recreates the period along with the spare but excellent production design of Jack Fisk. And returning composer Jonny Greenwood creates another moody and menacing score, announcing its presence without manipulating our emotions. Greenwood has, once again, composed music that makes itself known, yet compliments the atmosphere without drawing attention away from the characters. 

There are many who may be turned off by The Master. Its initial dryness may, for some, extend beyond the first few reels. And, as was often the case with Kubrick, the perceived distance from the characters, despite their centrality, may turn some off of the performances. Those expecting another There Will be Blood could also potentially find themselves let down, or merely taken aback by the film's less forward-charging narrative. And then there are those who will, for whatever odd difference, be able to bask in the film's clinical pleasures just as Freddie soaks up the sun as he lies on the beach, his head rested up against a woman made out of sand. The animal in his natural habitat, free from any master.

Grade: A