For purists and ride or die fans who like to quibble over such things, there are two Paul Thomas Andersons. One is the young, ambitious, hyper-caffeinated auteur behind “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia,” full of confidence (maybe illicit substances, too), brio, and show-off-y talent (keyed up Scorsese-like camera moves and soundtracks and Robert Altman-like ensembles). The second version is the more relaxed and mature, some fans have dubbed the “Kubrick PTA,” the filmmaker behind more unhurried enigmatic works like “The Master” and “Phantom Thread.” Whichever one you prefer (and this seems to be a never-ending point of discussion between fans), Anderson’s latest effort, the whimsically titled “Licorice Pizza,” might be the great uniter.
READ MORE: The Essentials: The Films Of Paul Thomas Anderson
It’s a film made in PTA’s current cinematic style—wandering, DGAF about plot, unhurried and unconcerned about the rhythms of today’s movie pacing— and unapologetically ok with revisiting the summery 1970s milieu of his beloved San Fernando Valley (featured in the aforementioned early films, but also “Punch Drunk Love”). It’s a bit shaggy and baggy at first, but once you get on its wavelength—seeing it as a kind of doobie-esque Hal Ashby/Altman-like hang out movie with “American Graffiti” night-on-the-town coming of age vibes—and once it all coalesces—warm, affectionate, nostalgic— it’s a real terrific throwback thrill of captivating, unique characters in a simple, unpretentious story about running around and growing up in 1970s Los Angeles with little tentative romance sprinkled in for good measure.
The breezy, unbothered “Licorice Pizza” centers on Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman, the son of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman in his first film role), a young aspiring actor and teenaged hustler on the make, full of chutzpah and moxie. Almost immediately, Gary meets and enchants Alana Kane (Alana Haim of the summer rock-pop group Haim, of whom PTA has directed many of their music videos), an aimless 25-year-old girl currently a photographer’s assistant taking photos of high schoolers in a gym where they first meet. Annoying in his pimply teenage way but undeniably charming, Alana initially rebuffs Gary’s compelling but amateurish advances. However, soon, against her better judgment, she’s whirlwind inculcated into Gary’s milieu of hustles, scams, and child actors doing his bidding. He crushes on her, she rejects him time and time again, and yet, there’s a connective spark they cannot deny, nor really act on.
That’s really it and the movie, though it loosely seems to take place over a couple of months or years. One of Gary’s get-rich-quick schemes involves a waterbed company (cue quick, blink, or you’ll miss them cameos from John C. Reilly and Leonardo DiCaprio’s super hippie dad). Another tangent involving a potential acting and auditioning detour for Alana coincides with a locally famous restaurant that Gary loves to haunt and features Sean Penn and Tom Waits in brief, fleeting appearances. “Licorice Pizza” tends to wander in and out of the two main characters lives, sometimes together, sometimes apart, sometimes estranged, but always seemingly loosely connected by the something that these two have together, whatever that ineffable thing of affection and love can be, even though their age differences clearly make it impossible for them to be together together. But their dynamic push and pull is seemingly magnetically connected. While not quite vignettes, the movie is too smooth and yet shapeless to feature anything resembling chapters; one story involves a deliciously unhinged Bradley Cooper as a coked-up version of Jon Peters, a film producer, currently dating Barbra Streisand, buying a waterbed from Gary and his cadre of kid hanger-on cronies, and pre-threatening them if they fuck up this installment (oh, Bradley Cooper, playing a coked-up asshole, my have we missed you). Cooper’s arrival threatens to give the movie a narrative engine, but as quickly as his delirious appearance raises its head, it ephemerally just floats away too.
Another subplot features filmmaker/actor Benny Safdie as a virtuous local politician running for office running on an anti-corruption agenda with Alana volunteering at his campaign. Actors like Maya Rudolph and Ben Stiller may be peppered into small parts here and there, but this is really the Cooper Hoffman/Alana Haim show throughout.
It shows a real leap of faith on PTA to put his focus on these two untested, non-professional actors, and at first, it’s unclear if the decision will pay off like he thinks it will. But the filmmaker’s confidence in them is earned and seemingly eggs them on to deliver impossibly charismatic performances. Hoffman may not yet be the obvious heir apparent to his monstrously talented father, but the gleeful, mischievous spark and rolling buoyancy and conviction of his character is so undeniably infectious. Alana Haim is a luminous revelation, and the movie’s keyword should be effortless. Together and collectively, Haim, Hoffman, and PTA create a film that just feels effortless, compelling, and magnetic and yet never ever trying too hard. There’s so much damn running in the movie—a hopelessly effervescent, seductive image the film keeps exuberantly returning to— and maybe it’s just because everyone feels so incurably, painlessly free.
By just staying true to their mission—the sweet, joyous, eventually exhilarant story of these two kids, their hopeful dreams, their idealistic aims, their irresistible magnetism, and their seemingly interconnected destinies—everything else falls into place.
Not much of a plot to hang onto? That’s ok. So much of “Licorice Pizza” is just a filmmaker following his groovy, intuitive, instinctual whims, clear in the self-assurance that you’ll find something of interest in his discursive story. And you definitely will. Soon, you’re just placed under a hazy, romantic spell of all the sincere, heartfelt, and very loose vibing (sometimes it feels like it features the rich, idling, and consorting languidness of Robert Altman’s “The Long Goodbye” minus the detective story). Much of it is bolstered by PTA’s gorgeous naturalistic lighting—both sun-dappled and crepuscular (he is co-credited with Michael Bauman, a lighting cameraman on “Phantom Thread”) and the boogie-ish denim-y vintage soundtrack (Wings, Sonny & Cher, Todd Rundgren, The Doors, Blood, Sweat & Tears, etc.).
It should be said, it’s possible normies, and non-PTA devotees won’t want to worship at the altar of this somewhat rootless and musing film—one that’s almost two-and-half-hours and feels more like three (though in a good way)— and some traditionalists might leave feeling a little bewildered by its slack structure. But if you’re open to its unconventional, idiosyncratic flavors, “Licorice Pizza” is a wonderfully wistful and evocative ode to youth, done by a masterfully poised filmmaker who doesn’t really care if this ain’t your bag. All our welcome and invited, of course, but PTA’s mellow and balmy effort feels like it’s enjoying itself too much to care if you haven’t caught on to its whole-hearted drift. [B+]
“Licorice Pizza” hits select theaters on November 26.