INHERENT-VICE
“Inherent Vice” (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2014)
So dense and hazy that it was probably destined to be the most under-appreciated of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films, “Inherent Vice” is a strung-out noir odyssey through the fog of late capitalism that grows a little clearer every time you watch it. A little sadder, too. Shot like a faded postcard, and as untethered from reality as its source material requires, this rare Thomas Pynchon adaptation borrows a lot from sun-dappled L.A. noir like “The Long Goodbye,” but it’s sillier and more sentimental than Philip Marlowe ever was.
Per genre tradition, the central mystery is actually several different mysteries all knotted together; good luck untangling what a heroin addict’s missing husband has to do with a real estate developer named Mickey Wolfmann and a drug cartel that calls itself the Golden Fang. But while the plot may be hard to follow, PTA compensates by making the film’s emotional underpinnings as clear as Doc Sportello’s view of the California coastline.
The lost love between hippie P.I. Sportello (a magnificently frazzled Joaquin Phoenix) and his ex (a bittersweet Katherine Waterston) is achingly well-realized in just a few short scenes, while the pervasive sense of a country in decline is suffused into the atmosphere like so many “patchouli farts” (to borrow one of the best insults from a film that has dozens to spare). Forget “Boogie Nights” and the illusion of American possibility, “Inherent Vice” burrows into the feeling that we’ve already let it get away from us — that we’re all out there chasing our own tails and waiting for the fog to burn off.—DE