NEVER
IN BLOOM by Bennett Campbell Ferguson
Above: Joaquin Phoenix as a 1970s detective in Mr. Anderson's new movie
It’s 1970 and we’re in the
home of Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), private eye. The couch is red; the shadows are deep; and
Doc himself is lying down, his bulky dark hair bulging around his head. He’s a man in a haze—stoned, and roused only
when his ex-girlfriend Shasta (Katherine Waterston) wanders in, asking for help.
What if Shasta’s request had been made in a movie
directed by Nicolas Winding Refn? Or Sam
Raimi? Chances are, the result would
have been a colorful, heartfelt adventure, with Doc stemming the tide of his
loneliness through his quest to save the woman who was once (maybe) his true love.
As it
is, “Inherent Vice” is the work of Paul Thomas Anderson who, with “The Master,”
revealed a penchant for elusive truths and unspoken feelings. Hardly a crime. But while “The Master” found anguish in its
murky discourse on religion and post-WWII America, “Inherent Vice” fights off
any instinct to say or mean anything. That
makes it bold, but it also makes it sludgy, weary, and, dare I say it, boring.
Not that Mr. Phoenix is.
There are few performers who show his ease in front of the camera, and
ease is precisely what is needed for the part of Doc. Stepping into the man’s grungy shoes, Mr.
Phoenix swaggers about loosely, his head hanging back and his face gently
contorted by a toothily amused smile. It’s
a joke. Doc is tangled up in some
genuinely menacing business (involving government conspiracies and a heroin
cartel), but he smokes marijuana so furiously that he ends up sauntering through
each life-threatening crisis with a relaxed, anything-goes lilt of his chin.
There are still moments when Doc comes alive. He truly adores Shasta; he pretends not to
miss their stint as exclusive lovers, but Mr. Phoenix telegraphs Doc’s longing
lightly and clearly. Doc is also
curiously invested in the predicament of one Coy Harlingen (Owen Wilson). Recently, Coy left his wife (Jena Malone) and
his baby girl to work for the government; now he wants to come home. Sacrificing money and most certainly his own
safety, Doc tries to help Coy find a way.
The need Doc feels to bring the Harlingen family back
together seeps some honest tenderness into “Inherent Vice.” Yet Mr. Anderson (who adapted the movie from
Thomas Pynchon’s novel of the same name) never leans heavily on it. Instead, he mires us in scenes of spiraling chatter—all
of it deliberately obtuse. Even the
film’s key mystery resists our understanding.
At first, it seems to center around the vanishing of both Shasta and a
real estate mogul played by Eric Roberts.
But that plot gets wrapped up in a tangle of nonsensical details
involving drug deals, a phony insane asylum, a phony massage parlor, and a boat
not-so-subtly called The Golden Fang.
Confusion can be a
pleasurable part of moviegoing, and “Inherent Vice” is a buoyantly enjoyable
pop caper. But the movie is not just
convoluted—it’s apathetic. The story
isn’t meant to be truly compelling (I get the feeling we’re supposed to feel as
deliriously adrift as Doc does) but after a while, the lack of tension saps the
movie’s vivacity and charm. “Que sera sera,”
Doc mockingly sneers when Shasta tells him, “Cést la vie.” Yet that’s exactly what the movie seems to be
saying—life’s a mess, get on with it.
Que sera indeed.
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