“There’s this guy…”
It’s been my experience that any time someone uses that
phrase, trouble is in the offing. That’s
certainly the case in Inherent Vice, Paul Thomas Anderson’s adaptation of
Thomas Pynchon’s novel that begins with a young lady in distress telling her ex
about that guy, leading him down a sordid rabbit hole that winds up including
prostitutes, members of the Aryan Nation, a crooked real estate mogul,
blackmailers and corrupt cops, all denizens of Los Angeles’ underbelly caught
in the free love, liberal drug use era of 1970.
Anyone who’s tackled Pynchon’s fiction knows it’s not for
those who like simple, straightforward narratives. There’s a reason this is the only film
adaptation of his work attempted so far as the author’s stories are complex,
tangled, tangential pieces of the work that sometimes circle back on themselves
to provide closure and sometimes not.
Anderson should be commended for tackling such a dense work and he
successfully recreates Pynchon’s style as far as giving the viewer a story that
makes sense at times but more often than not, leaves the us in a haze.
This may have been the director’s intention so that we might
more readily identify with the film’s protagonist, “Doc” Sportello (Joaquin
Phoenix), a sort of baked Sam Spade who sometimes sobers up just enough to take
a case or two. The appearance of his
ex-love Shasta (Katherine Waterston) out of the clear blue one evening is
enough to snap him out of his stupor and as he listens to her tale of woe
(about that guy…) he knows he will go to the ends of the earth to help her out
of trouble. Seems she’s gotten tangled
up with a married man and an extortion scheme and before Doc is done stumbling from
California’s new suburbia to its halls of justice and back again he will have
uncovered an international drug cartel and much more.
What happens in the film isn’t nearly as important as what
it brings to mind and the emotions it generates. The viewer can’t help but reference The Long
Goodbye, Chinatown, The Big Lebowski and numerous other California set
film noirs in which the blinding sunshine belies the corruption that lurks in
its shadows. As Doc gets in deeper and
deeper over his head, you realize you’re in familiar territory and that he’ll
be uncovering far more than he ever expected.
Yet there are indications that some or perhaps all of what we witness is
a drug-fueled hallucination or prolonged dream as Doc is our guide, often
operating in an altered state. That our
first glimpse of him is waking up from a nap indicates as well that not all is,
as it seems.
However, the Anderson’s greatest achievement here is
replicating the feeling of the early ‘70’s as well as the collective
mindset. This era of moral reevaluation,
social upheaval and general confusion is powerfully underscored throughout what
with the juxtaposition of the grungy detective next to starch-uniformed police
officers while scenes that take place in beachside bungalows and tony mansions
underscore the gulf between the classes.
Yet, when we see these two lifestyles bleed into each other on occasion
emphasizing the confusion that propelled many towards disaster.
While Anderson deserves kudos for creating one of the most
immersive film experiences of the year, it’s not necessarily an entirely
enjoyable or entertaining one to sit through. While its meandering plot,
plodding pace and numerous dead ends are necessary to drive home Vice’s theme
of frustration and futility, the amount of patience you bring to the movie will
determine if it’s a worthwhile trip or not.
This article appears in Jan 1-7, 2015.
