Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest, Licorice Pizza, is something of a fever dream. It exists in a world so beautifully realised and bewitching in wit and optimism, you never want to leave. There is such a joyous sense of adventure and carefree exploration in 1970’s San Fernando Valley, yet it never succumbs to the behest of the rose-coloured glasses frequented in childhood recollection. There is something at every turn; anything can happen.
It is only fitting that in such a bubbly and dreamy world, equally apt performances fill the space. And exactly that has happened. With both lead roles played by first timers, Cooper Hoffman and Alana Haim , whose performances both serve as a testament to their superstar potential; two incredibly nuanced and deceivingly naïve performances. But critically, Licorice Pizza works best as a nonstory, which prospers on the basis of individually bold experiences; precisely that. Vignettes of experience. One of the most fundamental aspects of Licorice Pizza is it’s ability to tell a story, without there being a clearly defined story, because that’s not the point; primarily, the ‘story’ serves as pretext for the characters. Licorice Pizza is a series of events, it finds exceedingly mature 15 year-old, Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman) and headstrong 25 year-old Alana (Alana Haim), as they discover the world together, as business partners and self-convinced platonic friends, falling in love with others, to hopefully avoid each other.
One morning at his high school pictures, Gary sees Alana and immediately sets his eyes steady in her direction, extending an invitation to dinner, at the Tail ‘o the Cock restaurant, a generally expensive one. Interested by Gary’s adult like attitude and smooth talk, Alana gets drawn into meeting him there. While this relationship may seem problematic, Anderson’s carefully considered writing proves greater. Gary is adult-like in nature, and is respected as such by those around him, yet sweetly innocent and naïve. Alana is still waiting on adulthood to hit, working as part of a photography company, managing high school photos; it doesn’t help her situation that she is surrounded by high school students. Not only this, but the relationship is chaste, it is driven by Gary’s youthful innocence, and is often met by eye-rolls from Alana. But cleverly, Anderson effectively uses their relationship as a means of exploring L.A and San Fernando Valley. Take the pair’s stint selling waterbeds, successful and expansive, but surrounded by hapless entrepreneurs looking for a break. It is comic that Gary and his friends succeed, but their world and L.A is so driven by the youth and their inquisition, that it becomes somewhat less impressive. Alana tags along with the group’s business ventures, but overtime, looks to explore adulthood, and volunteers at political candidate Joel Wachs’ office.
For Alana, it is very much about finding her place. As Gary explores his changing identity of childhood acting recognition, and having his mum as his manager, Alana aspires for more. Perhaps through will, or as a distraction from Gary. She explores her life as a young woman, trying her hand at all sorts of things. She’s drawn into Gary’s world, hence catalysing a series of momentous encounters; selling waterbeds with Gary and his friends or trying her hand at acting, meeting with the intrusive agent (Harriot Sansom Harris) who informs her of her “very Jewish nose — which is becoming more fashionable.” As she explores her options, the entire world around her bends to her current position, from her outfits to the generic set pieces surrounding her, nameless, but wonderfully distinct.
But it is along their ride through the Valley, Gary and Alana both run into Jack Holden (Sean Penn) and Jon Peters (Bradley Cooper), two brief, deceivingly masterful sequences. Indeed, Alana doesn’t want to fall for Gary, she has reassured herself that he’s too young for her, but when Alana only ever meets the likes of Holden and Peters, it becomes blindingly clear that adulthood may not be as exciting as once perceived. Alana, desperate to enter adulthood and move forward in life, has a drink with washed-up and charming actor Jack Holden, who, spurred on by charismatic director Lex Blau (Tom Waits) attempts to recreate an old motorcycle stunt, with Alana on the back. On the flip side, Cooper plays macho masculine Jon Peters, with an intense and brash swagger, who encounters the pair through their waterbed business — and impeccable timing. And it’s through these two, notably, we begin to understand what makes Gary all the more intriguing to Alana; every adult man she meets is macho and pathetic, caught up in their own rapacious attempts at stardom.
While sleazy and ignorant, Holden and Peters both do wonders to capture the superstar energy of the time, with Holden’s more understated swagger, his identity stuck in the glory days of yesteryear, and Peters’ raucous, cocksure energy displaying the macho egotism. It serves brilliantly in Anderson’s reminiscent landscape of L.A. It builds up the bigger image of San Fernando Valley, which is wonderfully executed. Anderson, cleverly creates his world with broad strokes of unspecified imagery, which accommodates the film beautifully. Alongside the nostalgically ornate set pieces and the track list commemorative to the era.
The beautifully crafted atmosphere and set pieces, however, would not be without the fantastic cinematography, which sweeps and swings and sways to mirror the energy of the film, accenting all of the best parts. The ability here to imbue all moments with such lustrous efficacy, must be acknowledged. Anderson is extremely delicate in his cinematic mannerisms, it is the work of a fine blade, with the ability to coax the desired effect out of every scene and setting. It attests to Anderson’s fine filmmaking ability.
Licorice Pizza is a brilliantly realised film, created from a perverse and tangible desire for 70’s San Fernando Valley, it is made with wit and razor-sharp dialogue that effortlessly bounces from one character to the next. For two first-timers to play the lead roles with such magnetism and charisma, is certainly a testament to their clearly foreseeable superstardom – Alana Haim already experiencing great success with her band HAIM, alongside her sisters – or perhaps a display of Anderson’s sheer ability to entice nuanced and layered performances from the two. Licorice Pizza displays a wit and intelligence that works with such charming efficacy.
It should be noted that a particular character, Jerry Frick (John Michael Higgins) has caused a bit of controversy for his fabricated Japanese accent, which he uses to communicate with his Japanese wife. While, certainly by today’s standards, the interaction should be deemed as racism, when viewed as a product of the time, the 1970’s, it perhaps fits into the greater scope of the film.
Licorice Pizza is a tragicomedy for the nostalgic, but at its heightened best it is a sun drenched love letter to the 1970’s, the place of Anderson’s childhood, and the rollercoaster through the attitudes and definition of San Fernando Valley. It is a film of heart and understated spontaneity, which traverses the child-driven streets of San Fernando Valley. It is a simple romance at the centre, but it grows to encapsulate so much more. Wistfully joyous, endlessly.
9/10
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