Licorice Pizza opens on one of the most original, entertaining meet-cutes I’ve seen in recent years. Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman) is a ridiculously confident fifteen year old actor absolutely smitten with Alana Kane (Alana Haim), a twenty-five year old acerbic photographer’s assistant with a lack of direction in life. It’s picture day at his high school, he cuts out of line to talk to her, the camera following them through the auditorium; he tells her he’s in love with her, declares they were meant to be, asks her out -her sardonically rebuffing his every comment yet clearly compelled by him, his unusual frankness and charismatic ego. As bizarre as it is, there is something there, they share an instant rapport and understanding -and perhaps it is why she later shows up at the restaurant for their date.
I expected to like Licorice Pizza, the ninth film from Paul Thomas Anderson, from the start. For one, it’s a return to the time and place, the tone and cultural adjacency of what for my money is still his best film, Boogie Nights. But it also promised to be a sincere coming-of-age love story against this context, and based as it is in the San Fernando Valley where he grew up, perhaps more personal in nature than his other films. And the trailer was pretty sweet too -excellent use of “Life on Mars”! I was surprised to discover though that this film is fairly loose in its’ narrative, episodic even, as it touches on curious, alarming hallmarks of the very unconventional lives led by these two weirdos, who against better judgement are drawn to one another. It’s a love story of a very uncertain, complicated kind, in a world just as evolving and bewildering.
Anderson’s love for that world is all over the film, expressed with both sincerity and cheekiness. It is palpably a filmmaker indulging in his own nostalgia, hallmarks of 70s California culture are dotted throughout, but clearly there’s a degree of shade being thrown as well. That relationship the characters have to the vicinity of celebrity clearly informs their personalities a touch, Gary especially -whose career as a child actor has given him an ego only sated by Hoffman’s earnest charm. It makes sense though given his exposure to a primadonna movie star played by Christine Ebersole and based not subtly on Lucille Ball. These nutcase Hollywood figures who show up for their own mini-stories are one of the films’ biggest delights, as Anderson portrays the relationship such people have to public life and the lines of persona with a devilish excitement and incisive revelation. For example there’s so much joy in how he characterizes actor Jack Holden (Sean Penn in his best late-period William Holden impression) as a vapid flatterer in love with his own reputation, who craves adoration and will do wild things to retain it. There’s also Jon Peters (Bradley Cooper), eccentric hair stylist and boyfriend of Barbra Streisand, an impulsive, skeevy type introduced by threatening the lives of Gary’s family. And finally, a not terribly engaging political candidate Joel Wachs (Uncut Gems director Benny Safdie) with a heavy secret. What each of these figures has in common curiously is their unmistakable beguilement with Alana.
She is whom everything revolves around, a centre of attention and motivator for multiple figures who is nevertheless unaware of her own agency. Haim is excellent here in her debut film role, captivating in her aimless malaise and immature attitude alike. That arrested development is key: Alana is not at home in an adult world -she still lives with her parents and sisters (played by Haims’ real parents and sisters) and seems to crave validation and vindication of her choices that are not sustainable. On some level she knows this though, realizes she needs a life of her own. Part of what keeps her attached to Gary is that he gives her the impression of that, and weirdly even something to aspire to. Because where Alana is a twenty-five year old teenager, Gary is a teenage young adult, having grown up working among adults and with a single mom (Mary Elizabeth Ellis) whose job is to essentially be his manager. It’s how he somehow winds up a businessman operating a waterbed company for the transient period of time they are in style. In this way, Alana and Gary complete each other, and are attracted to what the other represents.
There’s only so far this can go though -every so often Gary exposes a carefree teenage lack of maturity, particularly around his emotions, youthful impulsiveness and naivety; and it reminds Alana of her disconnection with that and her need to be an adult -she joins Wachs' campaign for the wrong reason because of this, an effort to convince herself she cares about real issues that Gary has no understanding of. It’s an interesting dynamic, the pair both very flawed individuals who nevertheless bring out each others’ age-appropriate needs and feed each others' ambitions and growth -in a roundabout way, but one that does argue effectively that they belong together. And Haim and Hoffman have a good chemistry, the latter far less sweet but way more funny than I expected -likewise in his first movie role. Both deserve long careers.
All of this, the love story and the bizarre Hollywood escapades against which it is set is rendered with mesmerizing craft by Anderson. The cinematography is lush and sweet, the imagery often striking. Those running scenes across the film, reflected with aplomb in the climax, the visual choices in some of those touchingly intimate moments, and even the crude ones. Alana and Gary walking together and laughing by streetlight, the shadow of their hands touching on a waterbed, Alana’s silhouette framed in a dark space against an open doorway. Many online are pointing out a shot that is seemingly a direct callback to Punch Drunk Love, and I actually think it kind of looks better here. There’s so much lovely attention to how this film looks, how it’s shot and lit and edited -it’s bathed in a radiant 70s glow, vibrant and warm in its’ natural filmic glory, and is coloured by compelling music choices, including Nina Simone, Wings, Donovan, and Gordon Lightfoot.
Not everything in the film lands so strongly. The much talked about racism scenes are as uncomfortable as you’d expect. It’s clear the point being made is satirical -John Michael Higgins’ restaurateur with his successive Japanese wives is only fetishistically interested in Japanese culture; but the point could have been made without his overwrought and unacknowledged racist theatrics that are suspiciously indulgent. There’s also something rather nebulous about the ending, which is certainly abrupt enough, and doesn’t so clearly convey Alana’s final motivations without tinging them in an unsavory reactionary light. But then, a degree of unpleasantness is baked into the characters and accounts for some of their appeal.
These drawbacks notwithstanding for their brevity, Licorice Pizza is a stunning film, and a wonderfully tempered one at that -the kind of movie with low stakes, unique characters, and a fun. endearing script that you can just hang out in. I’m sure that’s the feeling Anderson wanted to evoke, one that fits so well such an alluring, ridiculous, but ambiguously cool title as Licorice Pizza. 2021’s ultimate good times movie, I’m relieved to finally know it!
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