★★★★★
Five Stars
So the world is crazy, but is it bad? In his manic new stoner-cum-detective flick Inherent Vice, based on the book by Thomas Pynchon, that’s a question contemplated by director Paul Thomas Anderson. It would be inaccurate to say that the movie has politely divided opinion so much as it has brutally polarised it, with some lauding it as an embryonic cult classic in the vein of The Big Lebowski and others dismissing it as a self-indulgent, nonsensical mess. Just like the world, it’s certainly crazy. But it sure as hell ain’t bad – in fact, it’s brilliant.
The setting is the fictional Gordita Beach, California, home to the pot-smoking private detective, Larry ‘Doc’ Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix). A sense of paranoia is omnipresent, almost a supporting character so heavily does it suffuse the film from its very start. But while Doc is rarely without joint or laughing gas in hand, the kind of paranoia Inherent Vice revels in isn’t just a bad case of stoner’s jitters – it’s deep existential anxiety, a generation’s sense of its coming end. The film is funny, of course, but generational insecurity forms its backdrop. This is 1970, a year after the Manson murders, and hippies are now the enemy within, distrusted by Nixon’s ‘silent majority’. That fear of the other is perfectly captured by Josh Brolin in his show-stealing performance as hippie-hating detective, Bigfoot Bjornsen. The scenes with Brolin and Phoenix are in fact some of the film’s best and deserve to be savoured, so strong is their comedic chemistry.
Part of the trouble with Inherent Vice is that its story defies easy description. Its plot is as thick and fruity as the smoke from Doc’s dubious-looking roll-ups, and this might be why many have been immune to its charms. The film begins with the return of Doc’s ‘ex-old-lover’, Shasta Fey (Katherine Waterston) who, alas for poor Doc, has come not to rekindle old flames, but instead to seek his help. Her new lover, real estate magnate Mickey Wolffman, is being targeted in an abduction plot by his wife and Shasta is at a loss. In what follows, Doc doesn’t so much actively sniff out leads as go wherever the wind takes him – usually somewhere or something to do with the mysterious ‘Golden Fang’. There are also Nazis, Californian surf-bands, and Ouija boards.
Pynchon’s novels are perhaps not the most amenable to cinematic adaptation. Inherent Vice is, however, generally recognised as one of his more accessible works and translates well to cinema, with the film rightfully earning an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay. With a truly stellar cast at his disposal, Anderson is able to do justice to Pynchon’s motley set of characters: from the mercurial Phoenix as Doc to its large supporting cast, the film certainly isn’t lacking in quality (one of the film’s more minor figures and on screen for at most a few minutes is played by The Wire’s Michael K. Williams). This is, after all, where as a director he traditionally excels: from Magnolia to The Master, from Boogie Nights to There Will Be Blood, Anderson is highly adept at character portrait.
Despite its mixed reception, it is a film which will acquire popularity as it ages. One sexually-charged scene with Katherine Waterson and Joaquin Phoenix has the potential to rival The Graduate’s, “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,” for sheer carnal energy. The movie’s soundtrack and direction are also well orchestrated. Repeat viewings will be craved.
“Don’t worry. Thinking comes later,” Doc implores Shasta in the film’s opening scenes. Audiences would be wise to abide by those words when watching. Inherent Vice isn’t something that should be fought against; just go along and enjoy the ride. And don’t be too greedy with the laughing gas.
