Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread (Essential) makes its way to Chicago’s Music Box Theatre this Thursday. The venue is one of only seven theaters screening the film in 70mm, providing audiences with the ideal setup to see Anderson’s latest masterwork and very best film. Such luxuries are infrequent to the Second City, with such an experience sure to reward the most ardent of cinephiles. Having had the benefit of screening Phantom Thread on both DCP and 70mm formats, the differences are notable, where the meticulousness of Anderson’s craft – from his cautious use of close-ups, fluid camera movements, measured use of natural light, and densely-layered sound design – are given astonishing urgency and texture.Read More
Inherent Vice currently screens in New York City and Los Angeles. It receives a nationwide expansion on January 9, 2015.
An opening title card from Jean-Luc Godard’s Goodbye to Language features the following text: “Those lacking imagination take refuge in reality”. That’s the sort of line that could’ve fit snugly within the hippie drawl of Joanna Newson’s sonorous narration in Inherent Vice, where she goes as far as foretelling the “astrologically perilous” times at hand. As Sortilège, a name referring to a form of divination, Newsom lingers as an ominous spirit of dread-filled propulsion found in spurts through Paul Thomas Anderson’s film. Her presence accounts for less than a quarter of the film but is an integral part of the film’s success; or, perhaps more correctly, is critical to the film succeeding at all. Amid the visual density on display, the impeccable craft of its production and symbiotic level of performance, this is a film that finds solace in her ethereal spirit. For all of Inherent Vice’s gags and humor, for its verbal dexterity and frozen-banana crudeness, there is something jarringly downtrodden about the picture, where the film covertly trades imagination for reality.Read More
Django Unchained’s box office performance through December 30th has surpassed 60 million dollars – six days into its nationwide run. It’s tracking higher than Quentin Tarantino’s last film, Inglourious Basterds and has been closing the gap between Les Misérables – a more holiday-friendly picture released on the same day. Historically, pictures of such a violent nature find it difficult to find a foothold in the box office around this time of year. Just last year, David Fincher’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo struggled to find an audience – instead slowly garnering viewers the further away it got from the holiday season. Quentin Tarantino too, has struggled with releasing films around the holidays – most notably with the release of Grindhouse around the Easter time period. But with the remarkable early success of Django Unchained, its prospective awards chances ought to be reconsidered.Read More
Deciphering a thematic constant through the films of 2012 depends on how you felt about the political landscape of the year. The anxiety that stems through many films of the year, whether it is a blockbuster like Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises or an auteur’s musings in David Cronenberg’s Cosmopolis¸ are deeply rooted in the residual effects of the political and economic climate of 2011 going into the 2012 election. But, as if in response to the overwhelmingly anxious aura of our times, films aspiring for optimism and pure visceral engagement arose. Like a tale of great humanism in the face of catastrophe in Juan Antonio Bayona’s The Impossible or stories of love amid handicaps in Ben Lewin’s The Sessions, Jacques Audiard’s Rust and Bone and David O. Russell’s Silver Linings Playbook, the cinematic terrain was at constant odds, trying to take the bad with the good.Read More
Professional film criticism demands an immediate response to films, whereupon the rumination and synthesis of a picture is limited to a short amount of time. Such was the case with most immediate responses to The Master upon its initial release. Everyone from bloggers to professional critics voiced an opinion on the heels of the film’s arrival. Twitter responses were elevating to the level of scripture when attempting to gauge the film’s merits. And responses to the picture’s worth sparked every cinephile’s interest.
And while I appreciated getting the many hits on my site for my first review of The Master, I can’t argue that it was a review that I published with doubts; I simply wasn’t sure of the film. Even as I discuss dense movies, like my response to David Cronenberg’s Cosmopolis, I feel I have a handle on the material to write about it intelligently. But with The Master, there were simply too many moving parts that I failed to acknowledge appropriately. And having a late-night screening of the film after a long day of work certainly didn’t help. So, upon the film’s nationwide release, I gave The Master a much-needed rewatch.
What struck me most immediately about The Master on my rewatch was how incredibly related it is to Paul Thomas Anderson’s previous two films, Punch-Drunk Love and There Will Be Blood. There’s an incredible leap in formal proficiency and growth coming out of Anderson’s work since Punch-Drunk Love. While his earlier films like Boogie Nights and Magnolia possessed an incredible level of nuance in roaming through ensemble casts, with Punch-Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood, and now, The Master, Anderson has reached an entirely new level of filmmaking. Perhaps in his own internal struggle as a filmmaker, Anderson’s most recent batch of films is a tip of the hat to Stanley Kubrick, whereas his first three films adopted a more shaggy Robert Altman-esque approach. Understanding the difference the filmmaking techniques is crucial component to approaching The Master and understanding its characters.
Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) possesses some interesting similarities to Anderson’s male characters, most notably Barry Egan (Adam Sandler) in Punch-Drunk Love and Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) in There Will Be Blood. The anxiety and erratic behavior from Egan is compounded a sense of viciousness that was explored in Plainview’s character. But to deconstruct the Quell character as merely a composite of Anderson’s previous characters is a disservice. There’s richness to Quell’s aggressiveness and visceral exploits. To see such a character driven my chemical impulses is nothing short of compelling. And unlike any other character in Anderson’s films (yes, even Boogie Nights) Quell is a character largely driven by sexual desires. I argued against the idea initially, largely because of the nostalgic reverence that Quell appears to place on a former love. But as the picture moves forward and as Quell bounces back and forth through the East Coast to the South and arriving in England, I resigned myself to the idea that his fascination over “Doris” is largely based on the idea that he missed out on one great fuck.
That’s not to dismiss the character – rather, I think it a bold move on Anderson’s part to have a character so ruthlessly ingrained in perceived vice and animalistic pleasures. What keeps the picture on an even keel is Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character, Lancaster Dodd. I suggested this in my initial review of The Master and upon rewatching the film, I feel justified in noting the commonalities between Dodd and Quell. The two are cut from the same cloth, suggesting the same tendencies. It’s self-control that Dodd displays. In one of the film’s many compelling images, Dodd and Quell are jailed. Quell brutalizes himself as a caged animal while Dodd merely exercises restraint. It’s perhaps the most crucial piece of imagery in understanding the motivations and behaviors of the film’s characters. Other scenes are worth comparing, such as Dodd’s bathroom handjob in relation to Quell’s sexual rendezvous with a buxom English woman. One experiences sexual gratification behind closed doors, experiencing orgasm with the aid of whispers. The other experiences sex in its most animalistic and uninhibited.
Another overlooked example is how both men react to skepticism. As Helen Sullivan (Laura Dern) questions Dodd on the organization’s newfound theological changes, Dodd attempts to humor her questions. But as the questions begin to get deeper, Dodd reacts with hostility, shouting at one of his most devout followers. In an intercut scene, we see Quell’s violent reaction to a follower who confesses skepticism to The Cause’s worldview. The two possess the same animalistic tendencies – it’s only Dodd who is capable of keeping it somewhat veiled.
Much like There Will Be Blood, The Master relishes in its ability to show the duality of its characters while exploiting the contradictions in their motives. The overlying interests of capitalism and religiosity in There Will Be Blood were in constant battle, with capitalism reigning supreme. The Master also has a fairly definitive duality of concepts between the civilized and the savage. The picture suggests a clear victor, but that largely depends on one’s interpretation of what constitutes savagery and civilized behavior. Perhaps most indicative to understanding the film’s final scene is who can really be called the “master”. Is it the one who hides their perceived misconduct from prying eyes? Or is it the one who accepts and relishes in vice?
Summer is reaching its twilight. The festival circuit is developing buzz as lineups are announced. And the awards season is taking shape. It has been an odd transition period for me, as I’m settling into a position at work and embracing a new apartment. As much as I want to fight out of it, cinema just has not been a top priority for my summer. But things are taking shape and the energy surrounding potential awards contenders are again sweeping me away. This is obviously all compounded by watching a lot of films again.
My 70mm screening of The Master is what really started things off for me again. Surrounded by fellow cinephiles and local press (Michael Phillips of the Chicago Tribune and Ignatiy Vishnevetsky of mubi.com were in attendance), coupled with the general hype of seeing the follow-up of one my favorite films was nothing short of amazing. As I’m still digesting the picture, I thought it appropriate to look back at the film that spurred my interest in not just Paul Thomas Anderson’s picture, but to cinema in general.
There Will Be Blood (2007) Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson
Most cinephiles tend to embrace a particular film that changed how they view cinema. These pictures tend to broaden the scope, whereupon the formal qualities and emotional gravity that a film possesses break the glass ceiling of interpretation. They are typically films that widen one’s worldview and possess an intrinsic understanding of its viewer’s emotions. There Will Be Blood was that film for me. The circumstances of my viewing were hardly complimentary. While I appreciated the early screening of the picture, its midnight screening in the midst of a Chicago winter did not bode well for this commuter. But my interest in the picture overtook me.
From its beginning, Johnny Greenwood’s score attacks the senses. With the wide open landscape in full view, There Will Be Blood embodies a tonal sense of loneliness. Contempt and greed may be considered the opportune word to describe Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis), but the character’s follies stem from a perpetual state of social abandonment. While I certainly acknowledge the rich capitalist undercurrent found throughout the picture, my most recent viewing of There Will Be Blood afforded me the opportunity to delve into some of the more enigmatic elements of the film.
While I granted There Will Be Blood a rare 10/10 upon first viewing, I did find a narrative hiccup in the manner pf which Paul Thomas Anderson removed HW (Dillon Freasier) from the narrative. He was then immediately replaced by Henry (Kevin J. O’Connor). The decision remains an awkward point in the picture, wherein Plainview and his estranged brother become business partners. Upon my most recent viewing, the substitution bares a particularly interesting window into understanding the complexities of the Plainview character and provides an additional reading of the title itself.
While some viewers may have been disappointed by the lack of violence and well, blood, as promised by the picture’s title, one could possibly acknowledge the word “blood” in relationship to kinship. Given that Anderson and Greenwood have already thoroughly established the isolation of Plainview’s spatial and cerebral perspective, one can assume the importance of what familial bonds he might have in the continuation of his prospects. While Plainview is deeply rooted in his capital ventures, there’s undoubtedly an added pressure of continuing this upon his death. Provided the fleeting scenes of sincerity bestowed upon HW, I would argue that his greatest priority rests in his kinship to HW. While their relationship is bound by false pretenses, Plainview attempts to mold HW in the ways of the oil business.
Upon their arrival to Little Boston, California, Plainview and HW discuss what to do with the ocean of oil under their feet. They converse as if business partners, both capable of addressing the various moving parts to their industry. The two share an obvious camaraderie, whereupon the aspects of business and kinship are intertwined. Plainview has found his ideal partner, one who he can maximize his capital while insuring a trust and bond between. Basically, HW is a part of the molding process until he loses his hearing following a derrick explosion. Now, HW’s behavior grows erratic and Plainview can no longer shape his child as an image of himself. As the audience viewed Plainview without dialogue in the initial fifteen minutes of There Will Be Blood, HW is left to interpret his father’s actions. Interpretation is not sufficient to molding HW; therefore he is shipped away to a boarding school for the deaf. Henry enters.
Henry’s arrival, as jarring and unexpected as it was, brings the concept of Plainview’s quest for a successor to fruition. With Henry, there initially appears to be a legitimate blood bond that unites them. An absent quality in HW, Plainview accepts Henry with little debate. While there are scenes were Plainview looks upon Henry with skepticism, he becomes distracted by his capitalist ventures. But on the eve of his success, Plainview discovers that Henry is an imposter. Plainview’s violent reaction serves to underscore the singular missing familial component in his life – there’s no one that Plainview can mold because, no matter how close he gets, there will be crucial inconsistencies.
This falls in line with the casting of Paul Dano as both Paul and Eli Sunday. Originally cast for the small role of Paul, Dano was hastily cast for the role of Eli. While a casting made out of convenience, the implications it has on the picture is quite interesting. For one, the two characters share opposite characteristics – one is motivated by capitalism while the other is driven by religion. That’s the dichotomy that is explicitly played between Eli and Plainview, but given their brotherhood, it’s a startling dividing line. Moreso, their appearance plays on the concept of expert molding – a physical manifestation is possible, but to shape a worldview in the same manner that Plainview attempts to mold HW and Henry proves impossible. People think for themselves and it’s there that Plainview’s demeanor and social position cannot impose influence. And much in the same way that Plainview fails to shape the worldview of HW and Henry, Abel Sunday (David Willis) fails Eli in a similar fashion. His son admonishes him for failing to adequately predict Plainview’s intentions – this causes a scuffle between father and son, where son rejects the principles laid out by his father. Worldviews cannot be constructed and displaced from one generation to another. Blood may or may not unite two people, but even if it did, it certainly does not guarantee loyalty.
This scatter-shot dissection into expanding beyond the presumed thematic intention of There Will Be Blood as anything more than capitalism versus religion required multiple viewings to cogently put into words. But the beauty of films like There Will Be Blood is that there is room for interpretation. There’s no singular analysis of the film – nor will there ever be. The depth of the picture is immense – an ocean of interpretation left for the viewer to dive in and comprehend.
With its close quarters, tight close-ups, and perpetual yearning for intimacy and connection, The Master is a picture that continues the trend found in Anderson’s Punch-Drunk Love and There Will Be Blood – the trend of viewing men in a state of social decay. From Adam Sandler’s Barry Egan to Daniel Day-Lewis’ Daniel Plainview, the central men in The Master are consumed with an everlasting desire to achieve some measure of social connection. But it’s when Anderson aggressively employs various thematic elements to his men’s toils that the picture begins to falter. Like the vibrant blue ocean imagery that populates the film, Anderson struggles to navigate through the depths of his character’s psyches.
While much buzz has circulated around The Master’s subject matter, the film is not so much concerned about the religious affiliation of its characters. While spirituality is a crucial component to the film’s thematic resonance, it is less a scathing analysis on the celebrity religion of Scientology and more an astute observation on the nature of religiosity in relation to vice. Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) is first seen in his most animalistic phase at the start of The Master. Seen on a beach with his fellow Navy men, Quell grunts and howls as he fashions a woman out of sand, illustrating the man’s central concern. Coupled with Johnny Greenwood’s jarring but beautiful compositions, the audience is offered a glimpse into Quell’s life and his unsatiated and often intertwined desire for women and booze.
Quell’s vices come in contact with Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). The questionable spirituality of Dodd’s character initially seems to operate in direct opposition to Quell’s lifestyle. Dodd and Quell form a sort of camaraderie despite their perceived differences – but it’s through their contrast that we see Anderson delve into the commonalities between Quell’s vice and Dodd’s religiosity. In the picture’s central observation, Anderson probes how Quell functions as a man of instinctual mannerism, often regressing to visceral behaviors when placed in a difficult position – he’s a man without religion. However, Dodd employs his religion as a front for his own animalistic tendencies. When questioned about the specifics of his worldview, Dodd possesses the same spontaneity and erratic behavior found in Quell’s character.
Two scenes stick out as particularly relevant to The Master’s worldview. One involves Dodd and his wife Mary (Amy Adams) in a bathroom. With Dodd’s back to the frame, Mary proceeds to gratify her husband, speaking into his ear that her husband may embark on any sexual exploits he desires so long as she is not privy to the details. It’s a scene that is positioned in a purposefully jarring way – the two worlds of spirituality and sexuality are held in separately hidden quarters. There’s a mechanical manner to Mary fulfilling her husband’s sexual desires. It begins and ends in that bathroom as Anderson holds his camera static. The second scene involves Quell and a woman he picked up at a bar. Anderson frames the scene intimately. It’s here where Quell offers what is the film’s only clear integration of sexuality and religion - in one of the picture’s funniest lines of dialogue, Quell ends his discussion in the most crass and sexually-minded way possible. He embraces his flagrant sexuality and vices while Dodd does his utmost to conceal it.
There are various layers to the picture that I have failed to address. Most specifically being Quell’s familial past and nostalgia for a girl he left. They are intrinsic components that, admittedly, failed to register with me entirely. Quell’s parental abandonment serves as the source of social unease for many of Anderson’s central characters, and it is not much different here. But there are simply so many moving parts to this picture, that it’s the one component that feels too hurried and ill-conceived. As a result, The Master serves as Paul Thomas Anderson’s most emotionally distant film to date. For his past two films, Anderson struck a balance between brilliant composition and emotional heft. The Master clearly leans toward the former, as every frame drips with precision and purpose. What I got out of the picture is immediate sensory satisfaction (seeing the picture in 70 mm certainly helped), but something of distant, perhaps purposefully so, emotional poignancy.